Sunday, October 3, 2010

there is something fertile in 20 west
something Here
in the rusting hydrants waiting for their fire
and the lights that are hanging
hanging themselves from the wires

Monday, July 19, 2010

i dream
i am masturbating
in the middle of a hotel room
standing between two beds
sleeping friends occupy them both
i am limp and want so bad to come
but someone turns over in their sleep
and i am gone

Thursday, July 15, 2010

i dreamt
of having viscious sex with you
you were eight months pregnant
and i don't know why

i dreamt
of creating a landscape painting
with a deep purple sun set
and blurry black animals in the foreground
with white stitching eyes

i dreamt
of drawing a self portrait
with an erratic and vague outline
of my soft body
but an intricately shaded image of my nose
it was meant to represent smell
and the clarity it brings
to memory

Sunday, July 11, 2010

straight edge
carved into a rusting bridge
in a weed filled town
in my new jagged home

Saturday, July 10, 2010

oh i
eighty on ninety four
your cracking tar is the fragile branch
for my timid little claws to inch out on
do you sway so easily?
do the whistling winds bend your western reach?
or will weighty water drips tip your
end into an early earthen bed?

no, you grow and flow towards the east
a sense of the sun's subtle warmth
a blooming expansion outward
oh i
eighty on ninety
little feathered wings in a whirling flurry
do they ever tire?
where do i land?

Monday, June 14, 2010

a mobile upload
of my grandfathers grave stone
a ghostly glowing

filling up my room
and spilling out my window
into summer air

moonless sky tonight
black except for your orange blaze

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

i wanted to connect the poetry
of the swooping birds on the interstate
and the depression of excessive masturbation

their graceful arcs that caught the winds
of speeding speeding trucks
tossing fragile bodies away in gusts
while the runts watched from the ditch
but there weren't any dead runts in the wavering distances

the brave games of birds stole my libido
or was it their directionless nature
or was it the pointlessness of their movement
which really wasn't movement at all
and i spent two weeks in the west without coming

back in the plains i keep my window open at night
and every little breeze carries her scent
or her scent
or her scent
or her scent
and i am hard again

and i am soft again

and i am still here again

Friday, April 23, 2010

i don't want to feel guilty
for holding you at arms length
while i have some time to myself

Monday, April 19, 2010

all my friends
are tiny little crescent moons
at three in the morning
and something about me
is like boys finding a mound of dirt
and riding their bikes over it
in a lazy loop

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

stubby cracked fingers
they're not

elegant and calming
unearthly connections
ten tiny wells

what flows through you?
what do you channel?

create through lead
through wood and paper
create through the flesh

little muscles focused
around the circumference of a pencil
something exotic
in the wild wild strands of hair

little muscles focused
around me
what do you channel through me?
what flows into me?

let my body
be a canvas
for ten slender brushes

send my color
flowing out across the page
across your sheets

a history of lines
across my back
and in my mouth
megan is in the hills
that follow me out to the east
flowing force of earth
swimming up and around rock and river
they're the arc of your back
and the rivulet of your spine
under a waxing moonlight
i can only feel the comfort of your calves

the hills are something boiling
something tumbling beneath the skin
and oh my flaming head against the window of the greyhound
a holy circle of frost around my bowing head
i was praying for something beautiful to happen

the way back west
soft earth and moon replaced
a painful solar gaze and a stretch of dead field
it was the morning's first invasive light
grown into the size of a week
and it was foreshadowing to me even then
in your basement after dark
my hands are spiderwebs
clinging lightly to every corner of your body
and in the dark we both pulse
we ebb and flow
between finger tensed lip biting tongue shoving leg gripping throat moaning sweat dripping jean straining neck sucking breath stealing muscle aching back arching thigh pulling hip thrusting
whispers whispers
what we are afraid of most
what time is it
but the black whispers us back into each other
and the black crushes me back into you
let me put all my color into you
can i show you my deepest reds?
my pinkest pinks?
an unseen black heart beats now
bangs out of pace now
something primal that swallows us both
it's in your eyes
and i hope it's in my eyes too
and i hope we're both caught in the black's bloodstream
swept up into clothe tearing wrist holding hard kissing hair tossing mouth gaping teeth sinking back scratching nail digging rhythmic pounding dragging grinding throbbing breathy heaving gasping

Thursday, March 11, 2010

the first storm was this morning
rain at my window, thunder in the walls
but it was you that woke me
and all day a fog hung around the streetlamps
and all day a fog hung around my head
taking in abstract resistance
the shadow that's the darkest side of us
pulling me down
and 52 neatly packaged messages
of genital mutilation and rape filled up my eyes
bloated out my head
and i don't quite to know what to say
when you ask me what i thought
with your earnestly inquisitive eyes searching out the recesses in mine
and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you
when we're sitting in a dark room watching burning photographs?
i guess there's something in the way
that you run fingers through your hair
and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you
when we're sitting on a bench listening to local artists
i guess there's something in the way
that you kick your legs when you laugh
and it's foggy in my mind, can i kiss you
when we're parked in my car in your driveway in light rain?
i guess there's something in the way
that the streetlights fill up your eyes
and i guess it makes perfect sense that the drive home was through a thick fog

Dream Journal 14

i was with alec and we were on a soccer team but we were playing against a british team so the rules were really different. in the game you could use your hands and toss the ball around and pick it up and run with it. so i guess it was more like rugby. the game was a charity event to raise money for some disease, or veterans, or something.

a bunch of other people were on the team; kody, megan, ben, and others i don't remember. i wasn't on the starting team and neither was megan. on the bench she was talking with my brother and ignoring me. while i watched the game our team was not playing well, we kept doing all these extravagant and pointless moves and not just scoring easy goals. we kept missing shots by just a few inches.

then it started to rain and the field got muddy. megan was still ignoring me until i made a joke about how maybe everyone in the game actually had diseases which is why we never scored. she laughed at that. after i said that they played a video of a helicopter crashing and the pilot dying on the stadium big screen. i guess we were playing for him.

next it is after the game and i am putting on my clothes at home. that day i had gotten a new bra in the mail and so i go to put it out, but it's more of a sports bra that will leave me looking flat. this upsets me a lot. so i take off the bra i am wearing and put on the new one and then the rest of my uncomfortable clothes. i look at myself in the mirror for a long time and wonder why i never noticed that i wore women's clothes before.

then i woke up

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

so out of place
so absolutely in the only place i could be
listening to josiah
listening to flicking lighters
my quiet humming and your fingertaps
the fading winter wind no longer bellowing
the sounds of us both living in your car
so out of place
so absolutely in the only place that i could be
in your basement on the couch
feeling each other dully through thick comforters
feeling the sun and the hours and windows
slipping away
lusting to escape the growing springtime light
into the dark
so out of place
so out of sync with the way that we were
when you ask me kindly to go
so you can get some sleep
and i never worked up the courage
to try and touch you
so childish so childish
i drive home waiting for a message from you
swaying like distant heat in the summer
feeling like a child
meeting at a central location on bicycles
bare knees and bare feet
whispering beneath a plastic slide
when we speak in these wild open tones
it feels exciting
i hope i'm not placing too much hope
on your slender little frame
it's so exotic to have another body
inside this car
empty for miles and hours
escaping and returning to looming shadows of skyscrapes
i hope i'm not placing too much pressure
on your slender fingers
writing out each lengthy message
about color palettes of paintings
or the ways that vonnegut has affected ourselves
so selfishly waiting on your overflowing response
getting hard at everything that you say
i hope i'm not placing too much of me
inside of you
needing to tell you my anxiety at 3 am

Sunday, March 7, 2010

today i liked
sitting in a theater filled with people we didn't know
and some we did
i mean some that she did
and watching a terrible movie and laughing out loud
at all the same awful parts
and none of the little strangers making a sound
i liked megan's voice
and how it was so much lighter than i thought it would be
so much lighter than anything i had heard before
if i'm writing poorly it is like a whisper on winter winds
it is something forgotten, a moment shrouded in nostalgia from childhood
something like a million little ants on the sidewalk
something like being alone in a forest outside my grandparents house
if i'm writing truthfully it is soft and delicate
fragile, no not fragile, but crystalline
and her eyes that looked so unafraid into mine
and i was always the first to look away
and i will always be the first to look away
the drive home was fast and i was light
and it was a moment of pleasure that i should hold on to
like the tralfamadorians do
and it will just as pleasant to take medicine and fall asleep
to Daniel Johnston screaming about Satan in the woods
and how some things take a life time
and i wish i were a better writer when i am
sick and/or happy

Saturday, March 6, 2010

i promise to start writing in the first person more often
and using names of the people in my life
in attempt to be more truthful
whatever that means
i've been obsessing over the brains chemical cycle
and how it rockets and dives in bright violence
every time we orgasm
and how i pile these peaks and valleys on one another
creating a jagged landscape in my mind
rocky harrowing heights for a synapse to climb
and then a 500 meter drop off for my thoughts to falter off
and so it makes it feel all the worse when i get off in the shower
my stomach glowing red and little beads of sweat gathering
at the edge of where my forehead meets hair
and i can't quite remember if i said your name out loud when i climaxed
to feel the chemicals drag me down the drain
to watch half myself go down the drain
every time i get off
megan makes me wonder what it means to get this off my chest
and where all my anxities go when i pour them out onto paper or through keys
does she absorb me when she reads me? does whitney still cry?
does my mom have this page bookmarked as a way to try and get close to me?
how come i can only write about women? i need to turn my libido off
i guess this is me trailing off
i miss jackson and his slender frame and awkward elbows
and the way he made me feel like a central character in anything
and he was a cronie and a sidekick and more trustworthy and reliable then i ever
allowed him to be
nostalgia for a seattle summer and walking down to the fishery building
for creative writing and then loud laughs on the walk home
how often did i split off

guess i am trailing off now

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

sometimes i wake up
and my eyebrows are falling out
and the hair on my stomach is cemented down
held hard in unnatural bends

sometimes i wake up
and my arm is asleep and heavy heavy dead
cells spark up the feeling eventually
and i can rub the sleep from both eyes

sometimes i wake up
and my throat is full of mucus and i can't breathe
it hurts like i have been crying hard
or that i should have been
what do i choke back in my dreams?

sometimes i wake up
fetal and alone with a phantom body pressed to mine
i think about all the pretty pretty girls i am awful to
and how i won't be calling anyone today

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dream Journal 13

i was with Ryan walking around a hotel and a little kid came up to us and asked us if we wanted to see magic trick. we said sure and the kid told ryan to take the gum he was chewing and split it into three parts and put it into this bowl he was holding that had three separate segments in it. ryan did this and then the kid told him to hold up his middle three fingers and point them up in the sky, and when ryan looked back down his gum was in one piece again. we said it was a good magic trick and then ryan started to tell the kid how magic wasn't real and that was just an illusion or trick and it started to make the kid cry.

so we left in a hurry and went to the bathroom where i took a piss. the toilet was a huge room that sloped down to a drain in the middle and you just pissed into this empty room, and there was a mirror across from me and when i looked at it i looked like my dad. i was too tall for the mirror so i couldnt see my face, so i bent my knees to see it and then i was back to looking like myself again. i realized i was pissing all over my hands but i didn't really care.

then i was in a car with two women who i don't remember. i was crossdressing in a small black dress and high heels. we were walking around the outside of a giant mall at night and i kept asking if my bus station was in there but the women i was with were too drunk to answer me so i just followed them around.
i hope you will know this soon
that when he jerks off in your bed
after you've tried giving him head
he won't be thinking of you
no he won't be thinking of you
he won't be thinking of you
la la la la la la
and when i've gone soft in the shower
with my stomach skin glowing red
and the water pounding on my praying pregnant head
i will be thinking of you (la la la la la)
yeah i'll be thinking of you (la la la la la)
i will be thinking of you!
la la la la la la

you are the songs that i listen to (you're kevin's lyrics or yoni's q)
you're the pages i get lost into (you're lady ashley through and through)
you're the road and the highway home (and little snow blown haunting ghosts)
you're the stillness in my room (my blackened shadowed hollow womb)
la la la la la la
la la la la la la

Thursday, February 25, 2010

i want slender shoulders pressed
and little rippling back muscles under pale skin
a graceful bow running smooth to hips
and parted lips
and slowly parted thighs so so so..
fevered frenzied searching finding fingertips tensed
gripping grabbing choking out the feeling
chests pulsing rising falling falling falling
turning toppling twisting moaning MOANING
breathing heavy breathing heavy heavy breathing
breathing beating heating leading on
to saline slippery skin with sinking teeth into
swelling sin and suckle harshly hardly break the skin
of straining necks moistened splattered by dripping sweat
running sliding off tender nubile flesh
with each concession with each little press
growing gaining losing consciousness and aching sense
pounding loudening meaningful motions find us
coming to a rest
i was going to write about how perverse it is
to have all your sexuality channeled
through a cell phone in 140 character limits
and to have something so foreign
play host to what you find most intimate
to things you should out loud when you're alone
or on pen to paper
or from mouth to mouth
not with dull fingers
not with calloused tips
but with a dexterous tongue
catching and rebounding off hard white teeth
that grip and pull of fleshy lips

i was going to write about how my language has been strangled
beaten back down into brief little thoughts
afraid to venture outside of a sensible sentence
and how envious i am of megan
her words spilling out and bursting seams
flowing over edges with abandon
they are wild wild sentences
they are stallions on open plains
it would be wrong to capture them
to break and tame them

i was going to write about how surreal it feels
to know that they will read this

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

you're high and texting me now
words pulled taught over limited characters
straining to say what we want
words pulsing
how sexually intense we can get
the things we do to each other at times when no one's looking
but you're mapping out your love letters now
research and structure
research and structure
and i am masturbating with no climax now
first hard then soft
first hard then soft
someone told me a dream about an elevator
is me trying to escape from you
that you are the towering buildings
all hard edges and glass
that you are the looming skyscraper
tearing a seam in a bruised orange and black sky
and i am inside of you
and i'm lost
and i am inside of you
and i'm lost
tracing my steps up through back staircases
and long darkened halls
my fingers reach out dumbly to get a baring on your walls
where is your exit?
where is my exit?
why does your soft steel bend and restrain me?
why do you bind my soft wrists down to your walls?
and when you fall asleep when i say that i love you
i realize i'm drying cement after all

Monday, February 22, 2010

Dream Journal 12

i don't remember most of my dream but what i do recall is this:

galileo is in a room sitting before an organ made completely of glass and crystals and it is connected to a telescope. right before he begins to play he says something really grand and epic which i forget now, but it had something to do with while he plays music the gods below and above weep or something. so he starts to play this really abrasive haunting music that powers the telescope so that he can see every distant planet

then it was this really great montage of the planets in our solar system spinning to this incredible music and as the music picked up and got more intense the planets began spinning faster and faster until it all sort of just ended in noise

there was also a part of my dream about bathrooms and showers, but that's all i remember.

Friday, February 12, 2010

lost outside your window
a milky film is resting over everything tonight
the fog lays low and swallows distant trees
and the dripping moon light
all the streetlights are washed out
their colors flooding the air
orange blends with a purple sky
the air looked so bruised
when you spark the lighter
and i catch my face in the mirror
snap back to you
thick glass is all our lips touch now
all our tongues secretly touch
we get lost in avey and noah
i don't know any of the words but you do now
you never used to buy albums
but at least you don't carry cigarettes with you anymore
and your face is freckling
i wonder what bruises your jeans are hiding
your body is everything unreal to me
religious symbols and holy holy artifacts
a dripping painting of a mother
another spark and i'm back
we're at your place
and i'm heading home again

Thursday, February 11, 2010

what are you?
what do you want from me
or what do i want from you?
will you haunt me like these street spirits
these little snow ghosts
that weave between my tires
do you inspire me?
i wish i could get into your skin
sleep soft in your grey womb
buses and snowstorms swell in utero
but i still pull right and watch you dip
under a horizon
you don't mar the sky
but you don't decimate me either
you are not the sublime monument of mount ranier
a whispering stranger behind the fog
but now rock is replaced by gloss
rock is replaced by gloss
rock is replaced by gloss
is this what you're telling me

Friday, February 5, 2010

it feels so selfish to cry
a slight swerve into the side of the road
iced and solid
so strong packed down hard into the ground
my chest heaves into the wheel
all i can see is the fleshy white
of your breasts
and imagine soft nipples in my mouth
it feels so selfish to get hard
pulling quietly to the side of the road
short breaths
short breaths
the car is cold and
i am hanging in the air in front of me
clinging to the windshield
left blinker clicking in the silence
pulling back onto the road
it feels so selfish to be writing this down

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
because until then i am a fucking fake
who has never felt anything deeply enough
and i have never experienced anything
and i shouldnt keep lying in everything i write
its more self deception than charlatanism
i feel minneapolis watch me
when i pull off the highway onto your street
my honda civic idling in front of your apartment
fingers idling with a box of condoms
i try to hold my breath between the car
and the front door
i guess i am ashamed of my breath
a weird premonition
something about it shouts sex and death
its so unreal to joke about suicide with you
why are you still here
and am i in your latest creation
what makes an artist
can i bite on your lip rings
when did we start watching this
what are we drinking
do you like to be here with me?
hard orange lights push in through windows
slipping between tiny cracks in the blinds
penetrating deep into our privacy
what do you taste like
how do you make it through a day
will you ever let me...
can i bite on your lip rings
let me stay in your bed
i can feel minneapolis gazing down at me
a snowstorms clouds hanging low
add a depth to the city that makes everything
frighteningly real
its really weird to see you do whatever it is you think you do
you take photographs of yourself and edit them in ways that
highlight really weird truths. like what you hear in pop songs
and you are really attractive in all these incredibly superficial ways
so every guy you know just lusts after you in awful ugly ways
but i think you are honestly trying to bring some sort of enlightenment
to your life and to the lives around you
but it wont ever quite work out that way because you are far too tan
and your tits are too big and your eyes are too big
and no one will really be able to look at your art
maybe you don't want that though and you just want their eyes on you
but its very depressing all the same
and sometimes im thankful to be ugly
because maybe i can be an artist

Saturday, January 30, 2010

yeah let's get fucked up
and go for a drive
we're so young
and only a little corrupted
how many nights have i
avoided drunk drivers by chance
yeah let's get fucked up tonight
and drive your car up the road

Thursday, January 28, 2010

and all those pretty songs
with all those pretty words
and all their pretty meanings
that got thrown into me
are now rotting in me
because i am a landfill
and i am compost
piled hot and wet on the ground

Sunday, January 24, 2010


you fall asleep on your floor
and i am lying on the couch where every major
sexual experience of my life has taken place
and i wonder if thats what you think of when
we go to the basement to watch television shows
not that everything we are has to be sexual
because right now i dont want you i just want to talk
about every little problem in our lives
and make ironic racist jokes and talk about Cunt
and laugh about your family and all the customers we deal with
and all the songs we listen to and why we love them
and i'll get jealous of how much you love yoni
and feel a little like you've stolen something precious to me
but i won't say anything because who else could i talk to
so i would just smile and laugh and feel self conscious about my eyes
but you are asleep on the floor
so i grab my keys and phone and leave
your cat is at the door
i wonder if you think anything different of me because she likes me
i really hope so but maybe thats artificial
so i head home
the roads are wet and gleaming
and minneapolis is drowned in fog
and when i get home all i can do is text sydney
and play around with the words of how terrified with her i am
and my other friends want to go to uptown
and sydney is the only one i could make a joke with about that
that really disguises how upset i can be with everyone
and whitney is the only one i can tell about that
and rich is the only one i can tell about that
and he is with cassie for every weekend now
and i work all week
i wish my grandfather were here

Saturday, January 16, 2010

i finish my poems on every dirt stained
cracked wall spreading out in the
city in all directions
with thick white tongued brushes
or slender splintering chalk
fingernails dug deep into crumbling complexions
lit up by street lamps or passing drunk drivers
hummed by the drone of traffic
and sung by every passing pedestrian
a choir in round pounding
loud sound in the town
a choir in round pounding
loud sound in the town

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

how to handle anxiety during minnesota winters

on the salt stained highway
hard crusted snow slips off the backs of semis
a violent splash and spin
little crystals splatter in the wind
let it bring a little smile to your cracked lips
see every driver rest heavy on the brakes
cautious for the ice
cautious for the light
is fading faster than a week ago
and fading faster than a century ago
turn up the radio
let the noise carry you home
white rhythms on the road hypnotize
your fingers lose their warmth on the wheel now
no longer finding her thigh
or the firm muscle on the back of her neck
miss your exit
drive to somewhere foreign in the dark
and nervously flick on your lights
be blinded by the semis around you
and the fog that clings to the inside of your windshield
a memory's warm vapor haunts your backseat
until you can't even see anymore
turn around when you find an entrance
the gas is waning
watch your headlights lose their power as you enter the city again
drowned out by the powerful streetlamps
that glow heavy and large in your dirty windshield
dried salt kicked up from the highways rivulets
pull on to the one way frontage road that never gets plowed
feel the tires slide into grooves left by larger vehicles
lose control on the ice on the turn
into a quiet apartment
where you go to sleep alone
and the trains ramble by every hour
sending vibrations into your dreams
of course not with fingers so dumb
of course not with a tongue so dumb
could i ever make you come
and i know it is probably
what will keep us apart

Saturday, January 9, 2010


the last two times that we've had sex i have failed
when you pressed my slender wrists down
back against your cool metal head board
and slide so meaningfully onto me
and in that moment i felt everything sexual and meaningful we were
and i was overcome
and i came too soon and was
and then you were on the phone with your ex
and i was

and now we find each other with candles around us
and wine and vodka and tequila
i hope you weren't bracing yourself for the inevitable
was it a protective thing?
did i push you into drinking more and more?
i know i kissed you first
and i know i looked at you with a sexual hunger first
why can't i see anything less? or is it more?
and then we're in your bed
you're asking me such sobering things
"what happens in the morning"
"what about him?"
and i honestly don't remember what i answer
but i make it sound good
and i give you head
and i dont make you come
and i finger you and rub your clit
and i dont make you come
and i slide inside of you
and i dont make you come
and you make me come
and i am limp
and i fall asleep in your bed
as you vomit uncontrollably in your mother's room
and i wake up alone