i’m always on the cusp of it // coming and / leaving / a space / that never fully wants me /

I’d been anticipating heat death but not like this.

We talk of George Harrison and Thai Horror / and the way desire hollows a body out, turns the soul into a sinkhole / hungry for a love like an excavation.

Sometimes, when I lie beside you, your breath rattles like wind straining / against a warped door.

Here I am / hungry to bite, // hungry to fight.

I wonder if dance could ever be an objective criteria or a family tree

at the end, the comma / is carrying a coffin

your worksheet got pilot g6 smudge my fault ah everyday / i live like this one

imagine you are the last thing / to draw breath in a lodge once peopled with laughter.

Isn’t it beautiful, how the world lives and heaves?

Here’s a synthetic proposition: not everyone who is married is in love.

In the street where I walked with my parents before I became myself, I see her porous figure clearly.

secretary licking NDA / NDA licking whispers / whispers licking moustache

i’ve walked backwards nightly through these walls.

how many poems can you give a heart before it takes?

My head, a barbed-wire bed. My head, a minefield ballet.

you got ask fish if they know what is wet?

When I say I cannot love you it is not an invitation.

tonight i will sleep with everything i have.

Clones are acceptable to me if they r friendly and courteous