these clouds, some / so light I can see the sky’s // ridiculous boundary

they don’t rise or fall. they’re framed / on the walls. driftless syllables ornamental / and motionless.

After I dropped her off, I lit a cigarette and blasted shit that could most generously be described as coffeehouse punk on my way out of the suburbs. I love people, but I’m also a little relieved when they go.

we are the dumpster fire we encircle to warm our greedy hands in the dark

Every fart, / burp and feces, the body’s / speech. What a triumph / to royal your own musk.

I haven’t been writing really but I’ve been / thinking about the words, “Palm Rose.”

If they would stay just where they are all morning, / they’d be the monument to the history they’re looking for.

Rain falls on the wedding / a hole in the church is suspected / and the blessing jumps crazily / from umbrella to umbrella

“You will crush our enemies or I will crush you,” the voice commanded. “These are my neighbors,” I said. “I don’t get along with most of them, but I wouldn’t want to crush them.” “It’s them or you,” the voice said.