i want to tell you
nothing is
funny
from the sun i am standing on
my feet get all sweaty
in these brand new wool socks
or he punched me
gave me a big beaut- of a shiner
said im buffing
get
and get ready
to be out of
your mother
is so
fat
makes me wobble in water
she says i am floating
but i know everything
sinks
to the bottom
of oceans
lick my elbows clean
kitty

FINGERS

around a stone
slider
skipping liquid ground
my feet
are on ice
and is them
pointing
fuck you
stranger
i can feel in you
your throat
rolling
perfect joint
won't bleed
leak
my ass
spelunking
or clutching
piano was a
dream and
pull the roots
rubbing
choke high on the bat
place
or run
through my chest hair
kiss and suck
hold
my bones are snap
pull the knots
out
of my back

THE WATER IS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ME



what does the sky do

are we feeling

or wings on these arms

waxing

late for my i want you

to stay

in atmosphere

is air

my rhythm

humming through your head hair

spread my fingers

in the future

i can whistle

to let you know

where i am standing

after the sun dies

BARBARA WALTERS

tell me clumsy
i am not a liar maybe
young mountain
point out the most awkward bone of me
humor my frame janked into unused
super hi-way
on the ground, a flat plain or the smoothest swamp
humming
i found is still
a mountain
just stretched out
my life
or questions about walking
how do you be?
call me graceful
i will always be alive
my voice is playing over
the internet
repeating the color of my throat
as a dense vibrating poem
i am walking
alone here
collecting
shark teeth on the beaches of Florida
so sand me
blow me a beautiful glass me
dangle the ghost
of a thousand dead fish
around my toes

INTERVIEW FOR AMANDA HUCKINS

1. WHAT IS YOUR OPINION OF THE NIKE SLOGAN "JUST DO IT" AND HOW DO YOU
THINK THAT IT HAS AFFECTED YOUR PHILOSOPHY ON PHYSICAL ACTIVITY??

i think it's a good slogan. it's a nice, bare slogan. now i'm thinking about it, and i realize that "just do it" is a rather ballsy slogan for an athletic apparel company. it is almost non-commercial, encouraging us- the public- to disregard the impulse to outfit ourselves for adventures in fitness. it could be thought of in absolute opposition to "just buy shit". like, "i know you're thinking you need new tennisshoes and maybe some kind of sweat-absorbing ipod arm holster before you hit the trail, but you need to JUST HIT THE TRAIL NOW". i'm no marketing whiz, so i'm not going to even pretend to know how this kind of thing sells stuff. maybe i'm just interpreting it wrong. i've browsed some info about nike that was in a weekly, this whole thing about nike being "found out" by wikileaks to be a company with a surprising amount of integrity/accountability. so maybe it's just pure truth and goodness that runs nike and they could pick any three words and everyone would want nike stuff.


in my own life, i agree with this slogan but its impact on my physical movements is relatively minimal. subliminal if present. i like walking places, and that's how i get exercise regularly. i go through phases of wanting to get in the habit of running but i "just do it" when i'm pissed of or feel pent up. and even then i wear 13-year-old shorts from when i played sports.

2. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE QUESTION "WHERE ARE YOU FROM?"?

i enjoy getting and giving this information, especially when there are obvious accents involved. what sucks is when the initial question gets followed up by some flat regional assumption that is completely uninteresting i.e. "where are you from?" "iowa" "lotta cows, huh?"


i always assume it to mean "geographically". like i don't ever answer this question "i'm from a middle class, loosely religious household headed by married, heterosexual parents."



3. WHERE ARE YOU FROM??

i grew up in Sioux Falls, SD. my family moved when i was 15 to Gretna, NE and i resented being made to leave my home, so i stubbornly referred to myself as a South Dakotan whenever the topic of origins came up, even into my college years when the initial resentment was long dead. over the last 2.5 years in Portland, i've devised the answer: "i grew up in South Dakota and went to school in Nebraska. i'm from the middle of the country." i say that whole thing. every time. often people will assume i am from somewhere rural, and then i have to explain that i've never lived in a town of less than 100,000 people that wasn't part of a large metropolitan area.


there's this phenomenon of people in different cities calling me their "friend from Portland" in certain contexts. that feels weird but since so many people here are imports, i kinda consider myself "a Portlander, in a sense". the move out here has had a significant impact.


4. WHERE ARE YOU GOING??

it's unclear right now. i plan to live in several more cities over the next decade, but i need to do a bit of research and also figure some things out, which is why i'm moving from Portland back to Lincoln for a while. my "ultimate goal" is to (instead of getting married and having kids and a "career" that i'm supposed to be fulfilled by) make a commune for poets to live together and rely on each other for emotional support like a family and spend their free time writing and doing poetry stuff. i'm excited about the possibility of EVERY ASPECT OF HOMELIFE being related in some way to poetry. i imagine (probably naively) that if 4-8 poets were living in a house together that would automatically happen. "here guys, we're having poetry soup for supper and afterward we're gonna do the poetry dishes. sweet poetry dreams!!"


in "anything is possible dreamworld" this would be some semi-remote subsistence farming situation and would last forever. but realistically, some iteration of this will happen in some town with a decent cost-of-living within the next couple of years and then i'll figure out something else i want to do, or continue working towards the unattainable farm thing. i found out that it's hard without thunderstorms, so i want to live in places that have them.

5. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON USING A LIFE TIME TO BE REMEMBERED?

this sounds like it's asking about whether or not i want to purposefully "do some work that lives beyond me" to the degree that i'm willing to allocate a considerable amount of my lifeforce to making sure something of me will exist when i'm dead. if that's the question, the answer is no, i'm not too worried about what will happen when i'm dead. i really want to be a good person while i'm alive, and i want to help people become better, but i'm not interested in "leaving my name" on anything, really. and furthermore i would advise anyone to concentrate on the work they do, on making sure they get satisfaction out of doing the work, rather than putting a bunch of time and pain and loneliness into something for years on end specifically in the hopes of some post-death pay off. i'm scoffing at the idea of post-death pay off, but maybe i'm actually just being selfish. no, i don't think i'm being more selfish than someone who is gearing everything towards being remembered.


it does make me sad to think that there is no way Mayakovsky knows how hard i cried during the April 12th-April 14th 1930 section of his biography compiled by Wiktor Woroszylski. i want to believe that he gets something for that, something for moving me 82 years after he stopped breathing forever. it's a nice thought but i don't think it's worth the risk to tear yourself apart during life. not that we're going to stop tearing ourselves apart during life anyways.

6. HOW DO YOU THINK WRITING HAS AFFECTED YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH OTHER HUMANS??

it is how i get around being bad at talking in most situations. and there is a multilayered history of my writing interactions (i won't go into the whole thing here, but i'll try to provide an overview). my first two loves were basically pen-pals (one for three years; the other for something like two years, but we still talk and are friends and see each other). they were both guys that i met once in real life through some common friend or acquaintance and then proceeded to have an emotionally dense correspondence, with occasional later real-world meetings. my most serious and longterm "normal" relationship was first built on a foundation of facebook messages and msn chats. i don't think i do very well with "making first impressions" a lot of the time, so when i have recourse to writing myself, i can build interactions instead of being marked "awkward" and forgotten. also, becoming a fully functioning human in the "computer age" or whatever is kind of great for me, since "chatting" is now a thing that is closer to "writing" (which i'm not bad at) than to "talking" (which i am sort of bad at, generally). then of course there are the relationships that have been built around poetry, based on a shared membership in the category of "writer" or "poet". in the past 4 years, these make up the majority of my new, lasting friendships. what i've been trying to say up to now is that, since high school, writing is in one way or another responsible for nearly all of the relationships i have with other humans. once i learned that it could actually be used as a way to find people, i have found it easier to build relationships with more humans.


a sidenote is that as my brain works now, there is a certain degree of "filtering" or "testing" new interactions based on willingness to engage with semi-non-functional modes of using language. whereas, when i was a kid, i just stayed locked up until somebody forced me to communicate with them, i now send out my own type of communication to sort of echolocate people who i might be already suited to communicate with. this tactic became available to me after i joined a "writing community" at school and got serious. it just speeds things up.


also i had a sort of breakthrough with my mom in the last two years. after lots of conversations and some key glimpses into my recent writing support group, i think she now has a really good grasp on what my "being a poet" means, and that has deepened our already good relationship considerably.



7. WHY DO YOU ENJOY WRITING COLLABORATORY POEMS AND SUCH AND HOW DOES
THAT HELP YOU AS A WRITER ON YOUR OWN?

serious, successful collaborations are relatively new for me, which is one reason to like doing them. newness. i guess me and rachael and paul did some collaborations with goog docs starting in december of 2010, and since then i've written the bulk of my present catalogue (including both collabo and independent poems), pointing to the fact that developing writing relationships seems to make me an infinitely more productive writer. one of the things i like most is being the remixer. i have enjoyed collaging in different mediums for a long time, and this really comes in handy when i'm ripping apart and re-gluing some mass of text. as you know, paul can really generate some mountains of text. he's like an ermine farm of poetry. i thoroughly enjoy skinning all that text and making coats and furniture. with rachael, although we haven't collaborated as much, i like going back and forth over a poem, hammering at each other's stylistic habits. she'll bust mine and i'll bust hers and i think we end up with something that we like because neither of us would have stood for our regular solo poems being edited the way we allow ourselves to edit each other when we make something together. it gets us out of ourselves by forcing us into each other's thoughts.


that's one of the beauties of collaborating, maybe the most beautiful beauty: it lays all of someone else's tools next to your tools, and you can just go crazy. like, i can use all of your surgical instruments ON TOP of the diesel mechanic's toolbox i've been using. with these two sets of implements we can really massacre some text. and also, it's a hands-on training for me. i might just pocket some scalpels and use them on my machines later, on my own.

overall i really enjoy the idea that i am giving up this (what i now view as) weird claim to my thoughts and words. collaborating has made me think differently (and i think much more productively) about authorship and responsibility and cooperation. WE ARE ALL COLLABORATING ON CULTURE AND THE ECONOMY ALL THE TIME!! WEIRD!!



8. WHAT IS ONE THING DIFFERENT AND ONE THING THE SAME BETWEEN PEOPLE
IN PORTLAND AND PEOPLE IN LINCOLN?

this is a hard question, because i am not some man-about-town here and i wasn't there either.


people that i was around in Lincoln and people i am around in Portland have a similar way of "creating identities out of a list of activities". i like this thing, it's concrete and meaningful. it's good when people think of themselves as being made up of the things they do, whatever those things are. and i think that there is a similar willingness to be that, instead of saying or aspiring in bogus ways. people in Portland might be slightly more committed to intellectualism and connoisseurism.


more generally:


Lincoln and Portland share this movement, this population shiftiness. in Lincoln it's because of UNL and in Portland it's because ""EVERYTHING IS BETTER IN PORTLAND"" so people continue to move here.


a major difference is that there is a greater variety of "types" in Portland than in Lincoln. it seems to me like more of everything is tolerated here, so there are like, 27 subcultures as opposed to what seems like 3 or 4 subcultures in Lincoln. or 1.


also everyone i've met in portland is an expert in at least one genre of film. i guess this ties in with the "types" thing.


9. HOW MANY OCEANS HAVE YOU "BEEN IN"?

atlantic and pacific. i only got in to my knees in the atlantic.


10. IF YOU HAD TO CHOOSE ONE OCEAN FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WHICH
OCEAN WOULD IT BE AND WHY??

the indian ocean seems like it touches all kinds of things that i want to know more about. it seems like the best ocean most likely because it isn't frozen and i haven't already been to it.



11. HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE DRIVE? AND IF YES, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT
THE MAIN CHARACTER PLAYED BY R. GOSLING NOT HAVING A NAME IN THE
MOVIE?

yes, i saw drive. i didn't have any problem with him not having a name, partially because his jacket was his name. also, "driver" is as good a name as any. like titles of poems, a name is just something you use to differentiate one thing from another, and it's good if it comes naturally and doesn't act like a sneaky way to throw in some extra info without doing any real work. like if his name would have been "jesus" i would have ROLLED MY EYES.



12. SAY SOMETHING ABOUT NAMES.

i really love names and talking about names. i've mentioned this to a few people but i used to be really into finding baby names i liked. i have a favorites list on babynames.com that, can be dated to the end of high school because of the login email. i'm not actually planning to have children but i still like thinking about what i would name a kid. i also like to name things i own. Maud is my typewriter. even though i've only ridden it maybe four times and its tires are shot and i will never ride it again, my bike's greeness seemed to qualify it for a name: Doyle. i hated my name for a long time because it is so common and there were three amandas in my 7th grade choir.



13. WHAT ARE A FEW THINGS YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO OVER THE NEXT 5 YEARS?

the simple, preliminary commune is definitely on my mind for the near-future. i'm also starting to get really excited about figuring out whether or not sp ce could be made into a non-profit, and if not, i would like to devise something that could. i want to start teaching myself how to teach. i think this will involve convincing people to participate in a discussion group of some kind (attached to a writer's group, or not, i don't know yet) where everybody takes turns giving presentations on something they are interested in that they researched. when i get a job in Lincoln, i want it to have something to do with education, whether it's working with kids or adults.


i would also like to get some kind of certified skill. i've thought about getting an offset printer operator certificate. this seems like the most likely and most useful option if i'm going to continue with book arts. maybe i could wind up being the small printer who small presses like to work with. i imagine that being pretty awesome. i've thought about getting some kind of hand-skill certificate, you know like plumbing or mechanics, because i like to use my hands but i don't know how good i would be at that kind of thing.


it's possible that i will apply to graduate schools again in the next 5 years. the point of this next year or two is to figure out if that would be necessary for me and what field i would go into. my sister-in-law is trying to do this 14 month master's in teaching program for people with degrees that aren't in education, and that sounds cool. then there are the MFA options: poetry or bookarts or both? regardless, i need to keep making work to find out what i want to invest money in learning, or if i need to do that.




14. WHAT IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE READ IN THE PAST MONTH?

i have spent a lot of the past month reading "the life of mayakovsky" (mentioned above) and it was like he was alive during that whole time, which was pretty wonderful. this was true even more than when i read "night wraps the sky" (a newer introduction to Mayakovsky's life and work that is fantastic and includes a lot of excerpts found also in "the life". the editor of that recommended "the life" for people who wanted more to read, and by the end of "night wraps" i did want more) last spring. similarly though, he died again when i read about the gunshot, and how the girl who was trying to live her own life and still take care of him heard it upon leaving his apartment, and her knees gave. i wish there had been more whole poems. now i just have to get a book of the poems.



15. ANSWER THESE THREE: 1. PULP OR NO PULP? 2. CHUNKY PB OR CREAMY PB?
3. PETER GABRIEL OR PHIL COLLINS?

1. no pulp
2. creamy
3. peter gabriel



16. WHAT DOES POETRY MEAN TO YOU?

jesus christ. this is going to have to be a summary. it's kind of on topic, that curse. the reason that it is kind of on topic is that poetry in a way is a kind of like god i guess, to me. what i mean is that it functions in a way that is similar to how i thought of god when i was younger and still traditionally spiritual. i've never been an evangelizer. i've always been a doubter and an arguer and an analyzer, and i have always ripped what i need out of discussions about god and left a lot up for dispute. but i have also always liked having something to talk to or ask questions of. i actually think poetry can realistically replace god in probably most sentences about god. there are whacko poets and self-righteous poets and literal interpretation poets and uneducated mystic poets and rational poets and loving universalist poets and all that the same as there are those types of religious people.


as far as i'm concerned, poetry is not poems that people have written (though that is part of the process). it is a formless mass of information that i can't interpret or maybe can't even see, but i have moments of feeling some kind of movement working through me and mining out realizations. it works but i don't really know how. studying it and practicing it makes me feel like i'm getting better at it. talking to other people who study it and practice it can be illuminating. basing my life around it is a kind of risk, but it's also how i am allowed to get around and through life. i think this is how a lot of people feel about god, and i have just transferred most of my godfeelings to poetry.



this might be bullshit, though. i'm willing to admit that upfront.

i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you



i am not going to believe you

INTERVIEW FOR AMANDA HUCKINS


1. WHAT IS YOUR OPINION OF THE NIKE SLOGAN "JUST DO IT" AND HOW DO YOU THINK THAT IT HAS AFFECTED YOUR PHILOSOPHY ON PHYSICAL ACTIVITY??


2. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE QUESTION "WHERE ARE YOU FROM?"?


3. WHERE ARE YOU FROM??


4. WHERE ARE YOU GOING??


5. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON USING A LIFE TIME TO BE REMEMBERED?


6. HOW DO YOU THINK WRITING HAS AFFECTED YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH OTHER HUMANS??


7. WHY DO YOU ENJOY WRITING COLLABORATORY POEMS AND SUCH AND HOW DOES THAT HELP YOU AS A WRITER ON YOUR OWN?


8. WHAT IS ONE THING DIFFERENT AND ONE THING THE SAME BETWEEN PEOPLE IN PORTLAND AND PEOPLE IN LINCOLN?


9. HOW MANY OCEANS HAVE YOU "BEEN IN"?


10. IF YOU HAD TO CHOOSE ONE OCEAN FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WHICH OCEAN WOULD IT BE AND WHY??


11. HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE DRIVE? AND IF YES, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE MAIN CHARACTER PLAYED BY R. GOSLING NOT HAVING A NAME IN THE MOVIE?


12. SAY SOMETHING ABOUT NAMES.


13. WHAT ARE A FEW THINGS YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO OVER THE NEXT 5 YEARS?


14. WHAT IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE READ IN THE PAST MONTH?


15. ANSWER THESE THREE: 1. PULP OR NO PULP? 2. CHUNKY PB OR CREAMY PB? 3.

untitled

look at these hands not shaking in the dark
my workmits smooth as pudding
hands out sweat hugs

i knew i was going to
butcher it

hello i mean
to be

say to your next door neighbor
anything that makes you seem closer
but still on the right side of the fence

like i am swinging
this massive tree trunk
a thousand year old stump

(i made
a handful
of investments
in the dirt
-y words
biz)

my skully thinker is a baby bird
with babyspeak words
like fuck "it"

crack is my frame shiver
shelled under constant piano hammering
golden in metal makeup only

covered in my own feathers
i can't sing
i can only get out of this cage
once or twice

or was never in a cage
meant to be

my headstone says
as you walk past it

think about that
all the technology they will have to remind you
that i
existed

or nothing to sing about
mouth an o
like we're fucking

paint a picture and defend why you
remember anything
or then i spill what's in me

unspent heroin
looking to calm my living
and the rest of what i ate
over the past 28 years

a number
then a dash
then a number

SHAVED HAIR

nobody says you're going to die
when you're a kid

nobody says hurry up
because the end is around the corner

sure theres your whole life ahead of you
but

the vast emptiness of no you
is infinite

no song on repeat
no bawitdaba echoing in your skull

gobble my going gets tough
choke on marrow

the way a wild dog cums on anything
it wants

to be happy
and the sun is not sweating

my skin
is tanning hide

or be selfish enough to ask your son
to save you

and your creations
the things that die

weathered porous fat collapse
ribcage is ice crystals dropping

my pain is a kin
to your living

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR HAIR

it's a time thing
it's a
forgive

my energy or my
unease
looks ugly in a photograph
looks like i am leaping out of me

there are ghosts with no
color
they say
they are blind i guess

like a t.v. or some disease
in my eyes
from sitting too close to the ocean
thinking i can hear something so big

NUMB

don't mind me
i'm just the demi-guy
in the corner
throwing up
crying
sucking pot
into my lungs

killgod is my only answer
killgod is my hope
or a vacuum

if my body could become a vacuum
with nothing
but poems

WHITING OUT STUFF ON THE INTERNET

i have
the urge
to scream
about
the holes
in my
body
the blood
i am bleeding
how i
cry because
my father
is trying
to kill
him
self

WHITE HAIR

wasn't it just a february
it never hurts

to try
understand what the hell a man is

can only be a hellish whip
snapping at

cattle-backs
and sharpen your sunken shouts

on changing
on the decay of your living

the smell of cooking fat
my arm

is on the sun
but i can not scream from the searing

my everythings
have combusted

into the darkest ash
and even that
is burning.

LONG HAIR

burned into my hiding head
i burrow
or i shoot the fruit off you
my arms are jelly
sugar gooey
grr's coming from the dark is scary

i feel worthless
when you you me
hitting a wall with my head is breathing
hi i
am too short of a fuse
i can't even understand what you're saying

the doing it
my dying is not your business
my digging into my skull wall
hollow out the chest
brain

of course not
i should say
of course not
there is no reason
for me to be included
in a world

LONG HAIR

GROW A PAIR

MOVE EVERY YEAR

where my breath is
hello a darling

i cut the grass
the grass is under my America

or the dirty is gushing
love mud blood oil magma

man i have a question
or hey friend can you spare a

choking on my own teeth
i like bite marks

the pink skin
marking where life hides

doesn't this costume look like
a battle-hard sweetheart

a dog is a
cute thing you don't kick

can't say i don't miss
a mutt, an honest father

just somebody who says a teacher thing
the rules of being

calling me son i guess
calling me the happiest moment

o' my air sloshing lungs plenty
ploughing through sky-earth

clouds you can point to and say
looks like a cloud
to me

GET Y'R GUN

i want to be in love more than anything
i want to be in space
ships
i want my bones to slow gin
I WAS A JUMP AWAY
for awhile
my atrophy from flying
only
my arms are folded paper birds
i am buying
you an entire nebula
pouring
whisky into small glasses
to look through
shaped out of my chest
i am thinking
so step on my yard
tip toe the eggshells
so stand there
so break nothing but my ribs
with my chest brain pulsing
i can
beat the walls i build
i can
axe the forest i hide my face in
nest open
can i hear my own skull drum drop
my voice ricochets
help me
i am not seeing anything
my vision is going foggy
i have loose pills in my tummy
my god died
one time
stopped on my self lying
it is a cancer
or etched small names into my rice grain
teeth made of sugar
and cocaine
i am sniffing the glue in seams
breaking away from torso
waving red cape
at this charging blind anger
just fear of the changing
the death of my army
my back up plan
to my back up plan was
to shoot myself out of a cannon

the iceman cometh

we invent a one shot time machine
i say i will go back in
time
to win lotteries
and bets on upsets
and find you
maybe
when you're 15-20 years of age
and say
i am from the future
you are
my friend

gin and tonic

i got 2 New York
likes
like i
am in the big time
say America has become
comfortable
with a white kid wanting to rap
for a living
but
you
will
live
after this
my status is
i am drinking at a bar in nebraska
i cry sometimes
when i am happy
and kick my feet out
i
invent lightning
and this drink
is my i miss you
or how else will i enjoy the jukebox

name changing instruction sheet

one of my replies was about my abnormal
bleeding
i checked yes for leaving
the body
does drugs
or does anyone say yes to the document
buy paper
buy lots and lots of paper to stuff into
boxes
creative factories
i am a genius on a genius line
or
i am a germ on a stone
the size of my ego
sand
is all over
for me to stuff my head into
packing in my
peanuts
my brain the size of dinosaurs
i got a speck of dust to launch
i got breathing to do
for now
take all this gushing
and i spit
my life
out
on a crumbling parking lot
on a fenced in fuck you humanity
a block away from
i love you's
the shiny parts of used toys
when gifts were the unwanted
my food
is all sugar
my blood is thickening
to a gravy
slowly choking off my lovepit
i cave in
around the fat neck of my eyestand
standing naked in a window
you can
see me
as my hair grows down to my ass
my eyes point to nowhere
where i am going
the edge of the world is always there
calling you
names

THE ARIZONA

filled with leaves on ground
blades my organ grinder
fills the dead tree scalp
on my sleeping
on my grass growing
my face was an expiriment
my quoting you is to say
i am an outsider
a middle life
son of nobody all my
grandparents are dead
and my name is erased
or google me
up and down
i used to want to be paul giamatti
i used to drink two bottles of wine every day
names are not gods
my chest brain does not think
THINK?
i am a time waster
i am a dusty farmer pulling dusty carrots
out of my garden
wash them and make them shine
like shiny glitter suits
like a billion dollars worth of skin
put a door here
push me into the closet
force me to kiss
whomever is in this closet with me
i am ready to get off
this universe
my standing
my ice tea shower
hunting for migratory lemons
leap off the ledge of AMERICA
put a fence
around your fence
I SAID I AM READY TO GET OFF
i'm sorry
did my all caps wake you up
did my saying i love you
like a lizard
suck the ground water from your breasts
my titty eye saw just a small reflection
a near rifle line
the distance of my hunting
the length of my noah flood
eyes leak an ocean
over walls
where you have yet to put doors
insulated with friends
and black powder
i never said i believe
or there is magic in my frantic
hand gestures
as i pull down my pants
or take a few pills
with this
delicious water
to swim in
to put out your drowning
to say i am drowning too

VINCENT

cover skin in i's or blade me
or toss me a dozen donuts
to fish
i looks like a sword
i rose from concrete
i don't look beautiful because i am beautiful
for now
a cloud
of toxic gas
or light from sun flares
or my name
said again and again
through a solid metal door
key hole
afraid of news
afraid of a black nothingness
or a rainbow nothingness
smell star dust
life as a baller
when i am remembering
being up at 2 in the morning
blazed i guess
i am storming
talk about what i can touch
in a chest brain
pipe dreams
dripping the sweat from your sun
laughing out loud at our words
my dungeon chomper
look at us now
look at us again years from now
we live
and die at the same time
i can sing songs from the grave
but only thug til i die
written on a stretch of leather
a california cowboy
said west was a direction
or great plains was a sky
and if the buffalo will run
off a cliff
so can i

'a real bittersweet symphony' 

i wasn't inventing love always
or say what a fool i am
on a bus
in a line
stoned drunk
saying to my lovers that i can swim
or i can't swim
at least not long enough to survive a flood
or an ocean
or drown down to the bottom of my ass washing
look at my punched face
broken sniffer and smile
i see
you again
or i kiss you
again
or i
smoke cigarettes again
like i am dying
like i am standing still
or to know
what you want to say to me
if anything
something wrong is
or there is this great ironic lyirc
smoothing out my nice button shirts
like my knives
my stop lights
my man of my dreams
i don't think about dying sometimes
you make me
float
down a river

falseman

wasn't setting sun
pink veins dot the eye
over my
dead body
yelling and clubbing and clubbing
can you feel
it
my watering eyes
never
chasing
i can sit in the same chair forever
i say at the nothing
the creeping fear of being
forgotten
or dotted
or what we are
passing
solar flare
light burns through debris
both end and begin
with death
maybe

1 person named Matthew Truslow in Idaho | WhitePages

broke in my leather
caked in
mud and covered in
gasoline

i burn my poems to get the age into them quickly

bury head in sand
was always a good joke
unless you are an ostrich

i don't have time
this thing is saying
running around
looking at all his watches

there are words in your mouth
no
moth
no

i have a song in my ear

did you see the sun ticking
tock or drop with a bell ringing

if you stand still
and stop thinking
the day will still pass

i will miss
all the talking we could have

and if you stop saying words
words will still exist

listen
put your hands on the axe
and wait for the trees to grow

blowjob

birds sing
birds just open and make a loud squeek
you brag
about your gag reflex
let me say handclapping
or bark like a dog
like its' your dog
warning
bull dog at the edge of campfirelight
alone i am
in the dark barking
afraid of bears?
my old friend
we are never in hell
and this scaredness
is unattractive at night
like i am
holding your hand
here
take any part of me
and swallow
or build a boat to hold
all your animals
i once
dug
and you can make
me giggle
with your acting
place a finger
on my
chest
and push

birds sing
birds just open and make a louds squeek
you brag
about your gag reflex
let me say handclapping
or bark like a dog
like its your dog
warning