brittlejacks

the magistrate’s unnecessarily majestic fingers tear through wallpaper he swears on pharmaceuticals ;right? fucking Jersey gas stains                                   it smells like sunshine and wide western summers. rolling down South Dowling the radio crackles like         impotent thunder & our last shouting match we’re watching the stains evolve, dragging their petrolstench brassbodies silently across our floor.             ‘why didn’t you ever tell me it was like that before?’                        why didn’t you ever show me any fucking passion? why,doesn’t,it,ever,shutup ... like a l

you can't lie. not when I can see your thighs. but then again,     you had me sold     on tales of sweet molasses     and dry cider. the way you paused when speaking . . . ungraceful, distant murmur -                    *** overexposed, the sunbath upon Observatory Hill and recollections of stark snaking contrasts     washed&mapped rolling contours;old town suburbs this was oilpainting by seconds.                    ***            coffee break.     Fuck. What did we talk about? I felt so self-assured ,but     we dropped clauses from our conversations, until our     sparse sentences resolved to dust and breath.              

magpies scream into the morning,mourning their silverware    and semicolons where they suffer cancer,claiming personalspirit/u/ality through grit teeth & crumbs, and coffeestained punchlines 'this is the transcendentalism of your fuckedupmind                                                                      and not mine.' - whispered the cobblestones each night resisting drunks & theories of individualrelativities surfacetension and (fire)flies children sown up with lies punctured with topazbuttons for eyes the river slows into the lake,fleshy and pallid,

Jesus. If i could strip lengths of your flesh They’d only be on the inside of your cranium Like ice and concrete. The taste of concrete, grazed across your tongue Each taste-bud or Furnace; Relieving the snowstorms you can’t imagine ... When each pure flake is a wedding-dress of its own, and you can smell the cold Until you stumble upon cobblestones, and tumble like a drunk. Blood as aromatic as vodello. ‘Let’s cause some fucking havoc?’

sunlight leaks through my skin and swims; a head of liquid silver and radio waves so i walk at night when i can't tell the difference between the rush of passing cars and my own breathing (even though my lungs seize every time i mistake a pine tree for human) in gas station lights the parking lot shatters fluorescent and gravel i pick dried berries off the hedge and throw them at the intersection for no real reason my heart rate only slightly faster than comfortable

my father's silhouette painted on the canvas of waves assures me that water stains are not permanent. darkened fabric means nothing more than the fruit of possibility spoiling on countertops. i ask grown men for more answers than there are chandeliers in my parents' abandoned mansion. the creases of my grandmother's forehead skitter over concern and land on laugh lines. i've always been a clever joker, spreading lips like a contagion. they could never catch me; my intoxicating serpent slithering through sidewalk cracks breaking backs as children do. my limbs may have expanded, but i am just a hot air balloon. if there is anyt

She used to tell me of math and poetry by the length of her arm and rhythm of her heart condensing verse and fraction with form following the function of communist theories and greek philosophies. she beat out aesthetics with a perfect symmetry. because no one understands the relationship between seafoam and shoreline the way she does [swimming in saltwater sorrows] reimagining time in an hourglass, she shot up infinities with a glance and left me moondrunk in the night. she emits sparks throughout my system breaking and entering-- my kingdom under siege. her name was an amalgam of numbers 1.61803399 . . . . and I lov

but I believe to seek unbecoming is more cultivated than stretching out the leaky fibers of a semi- circular self-image until they spiral into uncontrollable forests, cauterizing eyelids; yes, unbecoming, like picking bones out of a salmon's chest.