i am going to be a very bad writer for now!
i am going to write the worst tripe ever!
for now

william says he's exhausted by people leaving
we joke that everyone we know is dead
(new york city is a graveyard for chicago)
he brings me flowers
because "in any case here's some flowers"
are those for you girlfriend
a man shouts on the bus
THEY ARE FOR MY DEAD FRIEND
MY DYING FRIEND
I AM TAKING THEM TO HER AT THE HOSPITAL
he says he can't cry
he cries anyway
i tell him do the sally bowles!
he shouts fuck maxamillian
i shout i already do
he shouts me too

take my couch
take my clock
(touch my cock)
take my shit away from me
(i realized i don't not like stuff
i just don't like my stuff)

seriously everything i write is going to be terrible
desperate and scared
we cried in my bed and in a patch of pachysandra
i have been drunk a lot this week
I'm ALL out of tearz
you were such a mainstay
you're my family now
i don't want a repeat of last time
and actually this has been so much worse

this is to say
xcuz the big melting sloppy feelings

HA CHA CHA CHA

yr a 1der mr blumquist yr a an absolute monarch butterfly, now let me tell you about the time a manboy administered a popular science test to me beer in his hand i said i'm not gonna know any of this stuff! but i only got 1 wrong this is how the situation ended being a date not a date per se but something akin i mean he get handsy in the taxi after he got handsy on the outdoor dance floor after he decided to smooch me when i was shit talking another manboy you know from my old canvassing days the one you know who made my insides go cold i mean haha! i never wanted him to touch me but he was always all about his hands on my shoulder or trying to hug me or whatever and i hadn't seen him in forever you know and i wanted to be ruder but couldn't do it so i just shit talked him after he walked away and so the scientist advanced degree weapons grade scientist i was talking too much was i was probably talking too much and any long story short it was a fairly underwhelming evening mr blumquist

okay i drunk now mr. bloom, mr. quist, mr. twist, you know i have a friend who calls herself twistine, it's a corruption of christine and have you seen the piss christ, do you remember when the piss christ was everything all the time, remember when rudolph guliani was mayor (dickhead), you know in my head mr. guiliana, mr julia, mr. gills is still the mayor of new york the only mayor of new york, honestly remember it though i was wee! really i do! praise be to the most high i will forget this time, i mean the intra-graffiti times though there were no manboys then only the shining shimmering WW (you will remember him, i pined for him, though he drooped and withered beneath my gaze, i was always mistaken about that which the that the with of whom would perhaps which which which boyness) oh brother mr. venkat mr. tres panchos i am hard pressed to remember anything at all!

have i told you about the time a rolly pole-y fell outta my hair onto my desk. yes, having a body is a disgusting and humiliating experience. cf. 2001 circa 2001 though pre-developing a theory of such as i was mostly disembodied (i touched and froze). have i told you i am ghost? no perhaps not? there are bugs in my hair. have i told you? have i told you anything at all? oh mr. nevermore mr. evermore i am drunk i am good i am gone. that suit looks good on you tonight. it suits you. HAHA. praise be. let's move on.

once i loved

tate is west

to the northwest

o wee i am just a little person in this great big sea

this great big scene of people

what is past

when it bleeds into right now

so easily

a big black duffel bag in the room i am staying in

i left it here years ago 

open it up to find old costumes and clothes of mine

capes, wigs, dresses, farming shirts

my old life almost

rags ringing still with those rhythms

in his house

his new house

with his new man

who is strange to me

photos of me are on the wall

are in the new book

but this man really won't touch me

with his hands or his mind

not with his eye

big suburban windows

through them i look out onto burnt lawns and the airport

just beyond the river

i haven't made it very far yet

from the airport

or the past

which, wrecked and misunderstood,

sits before me

i sit before my own image

and i sit before this man

yet another example of

i once loved and believed in many fragile things

thought the places and people i loved would be salvaged

excused from this process of change

time passing over and through what we love 

i remember this land, this face

from a many turned page

bewildered by old costumes 

i wore when it was all felt beyond forgetting

all my sins all present all accounted for

1. i told the story of you to people who know you, to people who had been in your house, opened your doors. it was yesterday. i wonder how long we will continue to speak each others' names. i will tuck your name behind my tongue where i have put so many other names. i will water my silence. saliva gathers in my mouth. i will not spit.

2. i've never kissed anyone. my hair always smells of cigarettes. i always have a headache.

3. i will lie. i will not lie but i will try to put off telling you the truth for as long as possible. this constitutes a lie.

4. the blood approaches the surface of the skin still inside the veins, taps at it with a sluggish punch. i don't shift shapes, i was not built of clay, summoned from the sea or pulled out of the air. it is very possible that creatures from other planets would cower in front of me because i will live an absurdly long time for a carbon-based life form and my nails keep growing after i die and i and my ilk have been known to put metal in our faces and our genitals. all i know is that i have always been bad at sleep. too much too little, though doctors would say it matters which. the blood is always a dull push after i walk for years. for minutes. i meant minutes. i am trapped in here.

5. DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA

6. i mean it won't seem dramatic, but i am terrrrrriblllllle (you know this word as it is breathed at parties or over coffee). although actually i have no idea what other people say about me. is this normal? though, no, i can say for sure "chronic inability to take anything seriously" is somewhere in someone's thoughts at the times when i am alive. maybe my ass and eyes and hair. i get that a lot too.

7. do not repeat this to anyone. i cannot control myself. but i wanna be a nice person. life is so long. i don't think i can go to parties for another forty years. i've never kissed anyone. my hair always smells like cigarettes. i always have a headache. i take really long showers! i am killing the earth too, you and me together, murderers. natural born killers.

8. once somebody said to me, "you're giving me this look like, this right here next to me is my brother and we're together." what was that about?

9. i don't want to talk about this.

10. don't talk about her like that.

11. there's a forest in the bed time tale. in this forest are creatures that can smell the souls of the people who live in the village. these creatures shift shape, are built of clay, were pulled out of the air, and summoned from the sea when the sea is near. if you smell right they send you certain thoughts. when you don't want to wake up, which is a lot, you will see your body peeling back to reveal a smaller you trailing a cord of blood behind you. your body will peel back and back and back until you are too small to be counted. or you will see knives sliding into your flesh but you will not bleed because you are made of marzipan. you become a porcupine. when you cannot sleep, you will conjure your hand pulling the trigger on a revolver. you have never seen a revolver. you have never held one. there is no magic in this world.

12. it'll be okay, i'll be driving all the way there.