Thursdays feast upon me like dogs
I am a Thursday And I am a dog
molar
You turn fuzzy
All flea like
Swarming
architectonic
I like the way that everyone lives here. Bodies stacked up in streets. All lives organised into rows and blocks and apartments and rooms. Quadrants made entirely out of residents.
lichen
my growth is stunted
by seasons that collapse like lungs
choking on soggy air
cat caller
God, I cannot wait for the rain
I’m dull bored swarming in a layer of sweat
Mine mine theirs
Skin on skin tacked down
Nancy
Nancy bought kitchenware obsessively
little rows of silver
she’d polish until she could see right through
x-ray her own liver
dark times ahead
I’m trying not to let it get to me. It gets to me. Luxury is just dread in a costume and so to make me feel better, sometimes I will pretend I have the money to let me worry about the things that no one else does; treat things the way everyone else does.
gone fishing
It’s an inherently selfish thing to be sad. To sit in the bathtub all evening and to light up a cigarette and to willingly fade away. To run the water too hot just to burn from the outside in.
Sweet Dreams
Her room smells like new shoes
Or new jeans;
Fresh rubber fresh fabric. Fake-
Clean in a factory way:
Obituary
I hate Sundays
Gulp
there is nothing.
leaps and bounds of it:
skin on the line
washing day:
the bimonthly emptying of pockets-
warm swells of detergent-
Sweet steam room damp.