WHERE ARE YOU FROM



i am not fucking w/ it enough
darktime eye bruise
sea of slimy grey see fight words written on
basement wall
who spray painted this on my body
perk yr red ears or i mean bluh eyes i mean who died
in here
cover nose
it smells like smashed fruit
echo my complaints against the basement wall
feel the mask rub against my nature face

she is an exotic type of apple or plum
my fingers are sticky
i cannot explain
why i am in love with this plant
or how do i look so naked
next to you 

time is frying by
my woods voice lodged between the heroin forest
& wrenching gut rot from the weeping tree
whipping post-modern-modern-all organic
poetry i don't get
poetry

& i am stuck here
in shut doors
where is my own earth to build
is anyone on the other side of this basement wall
am i pretty
young
can i still turn myself into a turned corner

most of the people i know are most of the people i know
i know
why my mad is getting stronger in the darkest water
they say murky
but i can't hear blurburburbs
but brrr it's moisture i can't complain abt
what i can't control

madness snaking through some fakesoul machine
gurgling up black paint
or something equally harmful
i eat rocks
i live in cave
i was in the marines i mean when i was in the marines
we tied snakes around our heads
& danced on top of a hill
singing abt pure despair

i am not a liar
i will not tell you fantasy numbers
like i was once two billion
who the fuck
says their own name at the basement wall
it is not so cold outside
i can't complain

it's almost a dark
it's not painful
there is no need to be a sweating somebody
on firebirds w/ capes of falling climbers
mad mad mad
in the summer
w/ the natural shape & length & where the light
makes my head look like nothing else
in the universe

i too can climb out of my tireless fear
the fucking world
is an ego
my buzzing bee-brain chases god shadows
through basement walls
my face equals concrete
or i can't afford to quit smoking cigarettes

counting toes or dead feet or the strength
in your ankles is because of stupid movements
that you don't think about
don't think about it
don't think
the way of a wave is an endless energy
trying to pull everything you need to survive
away from the only place you can survive
a fucking moon does this
or i dunno what magic exists
in space

god bless mud indeed
tall earth to push hella much
i can drink
mountain air
out of buxom cleaved rockies
stretch the spine out
into two billion gaps of look
i am a small silly ape
or some jacking-off selfmonster
going from star to dead star
my circumstance
of filling a life w/ several things

& the death of the self
& natural shapes still burning under weight
packing heat in layers of dark then light then darker
sucking out all the filler in my blood & other worthless things

the center of the solar system
the center of my solar system
the moon hangs like words
like worms
i am shit
i sleep slow
this poem is shit
i have to go somewhere at some point
pretty pretty fucking pretty things are in my eyes