three arms crossed awkwardly

‎"find me," it read.

waiting.

somewhere in the breaths of all air in the world with everything between the fingers; eyeless, foundless.

waiting.

a familiar skin much too silent on the cheek.

waiting.


for you.

bye product

i take pictures

so that maybe


i’ll time travel



and be able to answer the question i had




behind my back

ajar full of simple need

what should i say when you are amazingly entire

the words that would reach you
crush from their own wait

i am the social whisk,

you are the batter

without a boll

silver naïf

we need to see each other

somehow beyond

what we each think

or know



we need each other

too much



when you are all

i am



we grow

spooky knuckle

i’m too happy to be sad.
no, correction, i’m too appreciative to find rest at any polar end; any end.
the way i see it, there are no ends. birth? death?
not: “in the middle,” “gray area”;
“all”
concepts, not beginning, not end; abstracts we arrive at to situate ourselves and make nice the continual congress held with instinct, intellect, intuition, wisdom, and the rest of the insinuate parties present.

my fragile outward crust gives fragile outward abbreviations
inept needles poking about exaggerations
trying to find the stitch in time to rhyme
along lines that cut the dime in half

my left nickel
upon a spooky knuckle
can be worth the whole of sentiment quilted in our nuclear present
its value sticks on the keys of our xyz’s

correction in the white out
noise of the clack and clack

the stable
where all rest just fine

and i’m screaming, “hay!”

tantrum epistaxis

i was crowded, and thought the world a bit tight. and right when i was getting ready to rip the mantle, my nose started bleeding. what timing!
my grays were so obliterated to black and whites that i stripped the threads and the earth reset.
just like that!
and i was all like "well shucks."

get your halo off my affect

haphazardly stitched with wine.
a vague brightness from my own scratches against the sky.

what can i say
when the breath to say it is hair as hog
and spoils everything else like carthage

airs become the roll, spinning
and curled
with sugar on top
and cinnamon to disguise the noise.