It's too early
for this
there's a kid
whose subwoofers
that keep shaking
the trunk of his '04
Honda Civic
providing a tribal
staccato
a background
trance
to keep me
motivated
as I use a
screwdriver
to pop the latch on my
door for the
third time
this week
because I accidentally
ripped the
door handle off
and
I realize that I
forgot
my coffee on the counter at
home
and I forgot to tell
my cats that I love
them
before I left
and this is
all being obscured
by the threat of
sleep in this parking
lot
because I can never
seem to get to bed
early enough

molten i woke
to your understated
outro song
crowded at the corpse door
with the curtains drawn
and only briefly wishing
phantom pain
on endless vigils
for a swollen soul

sealed the crypt
your moonlit recital ceased
to no applause

a clear spider made of diamond
traipses a crystal web; windblown
acrobat u are
everything; ur mealtime fly,
spinning her a new silk coat;
she sits for tea
but never eats; chubby body
split open so u may
eat her unborn children;
shaken u climb to explore
a windblown leaf quivering on ur
diamond sphincter's super strings

Your stocking welts & black seams
Seem to be the only thing I think about,
Why must it be that way?
Why can’t I get you out of my mind?
& think of other things
Besides the lingerie you wear
Every night, or almost every night
When I look like hell
& You are a glamour girl
All dolled up like a Barbie doll
In black seam stockings & lingerie

You make me believe in goddesses
& The enchantments they spin—
I’ll stay under your spell willingly
Like a drowning man or a burning man
Or a floating man,
Or whatever kind of man is Adam to your Eve
You so like a magician with 1,000 doves up your sleeve,
But the dinner gloves come off,
Slowly, one then the other,
The wait is like forever,
The moon getting stuck in the trees
& I see you is stereoscopic 3-D
Just like everything else these days;
Through the knothole
In your bathroom wall
Can you see me? I am the Invisible Man of your dreams,
Culled from the depths of Freudian reveries,
I danced with Cthulu at the ball of mysteries,
Can you see me, really see me?

Any serious doubt on the merits of surrealism is a fruitful discussion.
The phrase, “The window walked through the door, ”
For it’s simplicity opens up in one a queasy sense,
Can such things occur we ask ourselves,
Knowing full well (and concealing crippling doubt over the same)
That such things cannot.

I wish I had a tool that I could use
To make you step out of your sleepy corridor
And open the shuttle door.
I’d like to see you **** descending a staircase.
I want to see your seven faces.
You are one of the most beautiful things alive
And the reason for war.
I saw you drowning your several faces in the bathtub,
Dying the marble the color of flesh,
Sipping champagne & smoking a cigarette.

My girl is drenched in sunlight
Every step she takes
She sets the hollow ground ablaze
Her hair is spun from silkworms fingertips
She is stained glass shot through with moonbeams

My girl is sewn in neon
Stitched with the violent nighttime glow
That renders shadows as indigo ink
Illustrates them so
In ways the quiet amber streetlights
Envy so

When she dies
I am certain that
My girl’s embers will burn dove white
In the twilight’s velvet sky
And outshine every other winking ember
As her smile did so in life

I’d travel for miles,
You might wait around.
I’d lay down my life,
You might watch me drown.
I’d bare my soul and open my chest.
You’d most likely laugh or smile, at best.
I’d be there in an instant,
You might show up late.
I’d place you first,
You might save the date.
I’d give you the stars and all that comes with.
You’ve been promised before so you won’t hold your breath.
Who ruined you?
Why can’t you show love?
Why do I try when
I’m never enough.
I’d be loyal to you and I’d never stray,
So why can’t you just meet me halfway.