i know who u r

i know your kindness i know/ your scars i have some of those 2/ i know where you’ve been/ i know the smell of your shit/ i know your guts, and/ i know/ when you are giving up i do not want you 2 give up but it’s not up…

Junkie’s Winter

that december of thursdays we lived on the subway like dishrags, incredulous that this had happened to us/ slamming in the subway toilets/ like cats/ vicious as a tattletale/ someday someone is going to put a bullet/ through your head/ and the rest of us and our second selves —…

Bikes At Night With No Light

i’ve done it naked, too at the end of the bad days the days you were nice all day nice nice nice to all the wrong fucking people that i find beneath contempt but i am nice to them while i grit my teeth to tooth dust just fuck me…

Winter’s Grip

it was SoLongAgoItWasYesterday it was crawling under your blankets to be with U2 smell the death sweat FangedLikeASnake whispering some bewildered we were all bewildered whispers of indifferent affectation whispering that 1day in WintersGripWas all we really ever had/

the pills are here

he keeps falling over his mouth of birthdays a carnage of scars sailing skies the pills are here the pills are here

All Those Years & We Never Knew Him

i had suspected he had been seeing other women for some time but i had no evidence of it it was just a feeling turns out i was right it was awkward and confusing we did not know where we fit in anymore maybe he loved her and not us…

Life Is Just a Film Clip

adrift in the fetish of excited voices something blinds us stammering stopped & screaming remorse stuck in our throats we have lost all faith in love & have replaced it with venom

what appears to exist

i am a very dark person/ wilhelm nietzsche was my problematic love child/ reason is impotent/ every moment in life is subject to the subjective interpretation that dominates and prevails at any point along the timeline of history which is mud clinging to a wall not a linear hierarchy or…

Tongues of Serpents

My Junkie, My Lover

THE LAST JUNKIE FIX i scream a lot about assisted suicide/ you don’t have the right to tell me to live or not to live it isn’t up to you/ this is not your life/ this is my life/ you have your own life/ so go live it/ i just…

Death’s Footsteps

UCan breathe safely now i am told that AIDSISOVER jumping down TheRabbitHole of hiv is what we call TheNormal LifeJustThinkUCanLiveLike the normals live and UCanHave the AmericanDream because it WasMade4U if U could stop listening to death come down the hall

Breathing Under Stress

it was like breathing with a plastic bag tied over your head in and out in and out/ and you should not have been able to breathe at all no one knows that you are really there/ the alarms did not go off they never do/ the people you loved…

Dead Whores

Stop asking me what photography means. The dead ones and the ones who are still alive. They do not become indignant or outraged if I call them whores. It is what they call themselves. Only normals get their hackles up. Stop asking me who the normals are. Normals are beneath…

What I Want

i am painfully aware of the reality that you are giving me what you think it is that i want when i have no fucking idea what i am supposed to want want want so you end up wearing some kind of disguise or mask around me the perfect student…

The Bed Last Night

none of my lovers has ever been what you could call the timid type more like unruly dogs who do not forgive each one smells differently i smell their smells in the bed i sleep among them in not unlike the weather fadeaushka smelled of russian vodka and his butt…

answering letters

i will drown in answering all these letters just the ones written at midnight when the paradox of light slinks in like amber weeping at summer’s end when my rooms of dogs and rowdy children dropped off here by the humane society between the lines i must remember to burn…

On Being Here

i have never wanted to be here because i am above it all all all all daddy tried beating it the fuck out of me and i was literally at-risk of being murdered. he bashed my head through walls and came after me with broken liquor bottles but i could…

And Shove Toward Us

The light. Or the Darkness. Is there a choice. Or is the choice forced upon you. Mercurial. Having vanished. A full flood of blood lifts itself. Even the most overtly secluded of us can study evil in a small attention’s grace in cups. We are impotent and changed. In an…

Your Many Holes

out of all the various holes you have constructed for the rest of us to fall into like juices spilling savage secrets old scratch make your very own wounds again malicious little pet disengaged from the rest of us intractable among the rugged charybdis not made from water but from…

Assisted Suicide Should Be a Federal Holiday Like Christmas

assisted suicide could go a long way toward ending medical abuse the abuse we endure letting them inside us after they abuse us they have to kill us you know it’s what they want you can smell it like the water from the lake drips from the towels hung on…

As If Suspended From Above

knowing you, loving you was to suspend all belief in apprehension you could tame the rest of me in the hanging of you above the bed whispering of slow ruin in the wandering your books of yet another star undone that used to hang there in the southern sky before…

Roads of Salt

his ass had traveled & had disappeared many times only to show up again at the carnival of sea walls and quaintly labeled jars containing his voices & his fluids having torn himself open with tongues at the edges of the ponds

Theatre of a Thousand Songs

you against the drag of others I saw your barefoot prints in the shadows of the snow everything from you spills your passions being communicated are impressive with their immediacy but I have no fucking idea what you are talking about you have sworn me to secrecy as if words…

the tyranny of convention

the marketplace is the tyranny of convention many many many of the artists i know and i know them in their guts a few in their bowels are creating the same fucking images they created years ago or the same fucking poetry they created years ago because feeding the voraciousness…

Poetry: Bondage of the Foster Parent

U R different yet in many ways u 2R the same having been there U know what U know in decrepitude that this rope both binds U&him &ties U up together his echo cold eyes of death in the land of savages is always rendered moonlight& the wind he only…