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