Toxic is Britney’s most danceable song

I still remember my voice in the hallway
when I told you
that the use of negative space
is a key element of artistic composition
and the way you rolled your eyes at me
was so specific
you said negative space is silly
and of course you were right
so I didn’t talk for some time
and I could not enjoy the art
still I kept nodding at the frames
I stared assumptions at the fresco
trying to come up with a way
to make it right
while you moved on
into other rooms
I didn’t know

I’m sorry I can’t write nice things about the beach

A blow up pool
with water and feet in it
is what I remember from that day
and the bits of grass in the pool
and the sun
shining on me in a way
that I took personal
like it was more violent to me than it was
to the girl across the yard
with the knuckle tattoos
too far away for me to read of course
not a single hand shake all year
not a single comment
on the softness of my palms
but the feet underwater
they touch the same

Heavyweight Champion

The priests team up
and work in shifts in
an attempt to comfort me
they spoon feed me fruits
directly from jars
but I’m having
none of it
this time
I spit it in a soft lake
and hide in the tall grass
wild and scared
when nature lets its hair grow out
I’m climbing every single one
until gravity pulls
a friendly reminder
of the stones in my pocket
but my god
it’s hard to feel heavy
next to you

She’s All That without the parts where you can see through the acting

When I look at her
I have no idea why I try so hard
to succeed at other things

She’s front row tickets to everything
She’s  Novelle Vague
and Jarmusch dialogue
She’s kisses in the middle of the lane
and well lit billboards
of Dior haute couture
She’s She’s All That
without the parts where you can see
through the acting

I’m Netflix and chill
and somehow she hasn’t noticed yet

Blue-collar soft kink

Monday’s a bad kisser again
You shower first
and I keep
sleeping while
Somebody out there looks responsible in black
Somebody out there knows a lot and writes it down
Somebody out there is teaching stunts to whales
I do not know anyone who can call themself
a great success or
is entertaining enough
I do not know what it is I do
but I know you
and your hair needs a long time to dry.

Your vacation pictures are turning my brain into salt water.

The TV is screaming at me
in the voice of people turning twenty one
while I dream of manspreading
my way into everyone’s life
to cover more ground
and take more than I need
just because
I can

It’s excessive behavior week
and I’m the Belladonna of this shit

I try to forget the too white sheets
and order some of the stretchiest attire
available online

Yes I still think of you
and how you would
count your blessings
using all your fingers
the gray nails the red nails the black nails
the too white sheets all year
and I would pull my hand out of a bag of chips
to mirror your movements
and immediately realize
the softest hands
I could ever imagine
are my own

Birthday Boy

Depressed ballons
full of bad breath
can’t push against
the ceiling
on your big day
you listen to your uncle talk about his RV
followed by something racist
as you blow out
the candles
for hot luck
next year

My dream house has a TV/VCR combo unit with a copy of body heat stuck in it.

This might be the start of something new
so we ask each other questions
like do you know this band
what would your dream house look like
and is your dad still alive
I shake my head
you cry a little
we smoke in bed
and drink from the same glass
your tongue carves pet names into my neck
and I cringe a little
while hair’s falling to the ground beneath me
yesterday’s socks on the ground beneath me
I put them on again
just watch me.

I’m spamming fire emojis in the comment section of your mirror selfies

I light a fire on both sides
of the river
because I’ve got nothing else
going for myself
while I shout confessions
at the river
and watch them sink
like rocks
until all I got left
is this mouth
and two fires
and everything




a thing you said on the phone but don’t remember.

I’m a hot mess
dancing in refrigerator light
I can blow up in the colors
of your favorite sports team
if you let me.

we used to pasodoble in dance-competitions around the globe.

I put all my stuff on your backseat
you put all your crimes in a paperbag
friendly fire in the streets
we keep moving
to fight this thing in different places.

burn a flag, burn a cross, burn some calories

while moving on the ashes
we keep dancing ’cause we’re cold.

come sit with us.

I put up a bench at the end of the field
So we can meet at the bench
And whisper things
We are afraid to say out loud.

Here is my mouth
There is yours.
We feed each other
Names and cures.
My body ends where
Yours begins.
Put my hand on your mouth
Put my mouth on your skin.

We walk
We walk
I keep repeating as I talk.

You nod politely.

Watch me survive as I cross the street without looking

I’m kissing half a million birds when I kiss you
how much could you take
from the corners of my mouth
and will you put it back again
I want it back again

I glow in the dark when I’m with you
and you laugh
for twenty minutes
with your head back
on the remote

Calendars make sense when I miss you
and wrap myself in arms
the size of cranes
I can’t believe
you considered climbing

Would you go all the way with me
if there was no harm in falling?

Please tape my hands to your ribs
no this is not a fetish girl
I just want to
be part of something
I can’t control

And read my lips all you want now
the man in the mirror is sewing his mouth shut
and he’s like halfway done.

Eventually all birds must land.

basic physics.

The moon is bigger
When I stand on my toes
Am I the only one who understands
The rules of gravity?
If you fall, you’ll crush into me.

So is it silly to hold hopes
To climb the moon with ropes
To climb the moon with a ladder
When we’re there, we’ll know better.

I thought of us in clouds
And I licked my lips,
I thought of us in space
And I wrung my hands.

After a lifetime of solitude
The man in the moon has an opinion on everything.

We held our breath for the longest time.

you have only one tattoo and it reads saudade.

It’s a long drive from your parent’s house to the place you started calling home a year ago.

You chew gum to pass the time and sing along to radio songs like nobody’s listening, because nobody’s listening.

You wish you could be the first person to travel Mars, but then you realize you don’t know all that much about Mars and that other people might be more qualified for the adventure.

You realize the stars make sense but they are boring.

You wish you had something interesting to tell at work.

You turn to your phone and type:

“Throw me in the middle of things! Throw me to the ground and step over me! Slam the door in my face like you mean it. Just for once.”

Silly you…

Silly for reading the primers. Silly for knowing exactly how it works. Silly for being vocal about it. Silly for being the only one not invited. Silly for showing up anyway.

How could you say this is easy a year ago?

When you threw tiny bits of pavement on the pavement and smoked just to the pass the time on the back of a truck

Behind a 7-Eleven, thinking about how Prince’s cremated remains were placed into a custom, 3D printed urn shaped like Paisley Park estate.

You just don’t get it anymore.

So you sweat into your dad’s shirt with no intention of giving it back when suddenly

Someone arrives looking beautiful

And they throw you in the middle of things. They throw you to the ground and slam the door shut, because they mean it.

And you,
You watch them step over your body and it matters less and less.

the low-brow eroticism of intimiate confessions.

the monster under your bed
wakes you gently that night:

I dont care what everyone thinks
I like you more than just friends

and despite the bony ankles
you’re the creature I’m falling for

you roll your eyes
but eventually
lift your blanket
all the way

’cause you know
it will leave
as you turn on the shower
as you do every morning

’cause you’re clean like that.

spit handshakes are not for quitters so we see this one through.

Shiny silver pill purse chained around your neck
serve me Cola from the dashboard
and slowdance back to back.

Feed me something electrical
something I cannot digest,
please feed me the moon again
baby, make me lose again.

This night’s a line in pen on jeans
there’s not a minute to redeem.

non ho sonno.

I pass out on
a bedspread in Giallo red /
I wake up to the sound
of soft pornography on TV,
holding hands with you.

(unforgivable, if you’ve got your mother’s hands, which I do)

fun fact about me.

I’ve been every U.S. President’s double ever since 1977, which is weird, considering that I’m not even a very political person.

I guess I can call myself lucky because I fell in love the same day I started my job. Sweet Melissa, looking like a billion bucks. At first we had our difficulties because she was much taller than me and already knew the puns to all the jokes I told.

But now I truly love her.

Even though she wears too much perfume all the time. She won’t know the difference between perfume and eau de toilette, no matter how often I lecture her.

We’ve been in this terrible plane crash the other day. I remember that while the plane came down, she squeezed my hand very tightly and pressed her head against my chest, hoping I could save her. I tried to calm her, whispering into her ear:

“Look, everything will be alright, boo. I look and behave exactly like the President, they won’t let that kind of thing happen to our country.“

And I remember that all the while, as the plane was crashing down into the riverbed, I just couldn’t stop thinking that I’ve never smelled anyone wearing that much perfume.

She didn’t make it out alive and I haven’t smelled that much perfume on anyone ever again.

I miss it sometimes. Especially when things start getting difficult.

I sometimes think that I’m the worst but I’m good at what I do and

I will fall in love again eventually.


Sirens from the distance remind you all this
might have been a mistake
as you spray flawless pentagrams
onto the gravel at the highway turnaround.

The cops don’t stand a chance
if you walk the devil on a leash.

the perks of insomnia.

Despite my haiku face tattoo about the perks of insomnia, I sometimes spill a little wisdom as I flip my tongue to the sound of your voice in an empty room.

I spit crooked teeth from the battles of yesterday
and sneeze sandwiches with no crust
and I pass the pieces.


Your hands strike a boulevard
Between this place and a place by the sea
I dream slowly
And I drive fast
With a gun in my lap
And your voice stuck in my head

All you asked for was something interesting
Like a kiss at the door
Clothes on the floor
But now I’m tired so
Let’s not make love here
Let’s not talk it out
Let’s just not speak at all

We’re both full of what this room is full of but
I’ll do my best to look alive
As you sing into my mouth
No, I’m not tired of these songs

the kind of thing people do to stay together.

Look at us, all dressed up again
at the movies holding hands again
lipstick and perfume again
It’s not that difficult.

Foreign words in black and white
knowing our lines by heart
It’s not that difficult.

Or else,

Us on a stage, in perfect lighting
your voice through a microfone.
and ballroom dancing.
A laugh from across of the room
(It’s not that difficult)

All it takes is two dragons maybe,
or a night at the bar again
where I order the usual and you’re driving.

We lift the jewels from the trash.
We take our bodies somewhere else.

the captivity narrative.

the story is simple again:
the hero is being chased and jumping off a moving train
the princess is trapped and unable to move
while you keep staring
with an open mouth
and I can just tell you’re dreaming
of something generic
so here I am
on the last page of the script
on the first floor of the warehouse
tied to a chair
with a bomb strapped to my chest
it’s the sound of helicopters in the air
and ýour voice through a megaphone
spelling out desires
that’s so you…
even now
you keep hoping
for the good stuff
but you got this
you’re killing it
you always have
it’s an all eyes on you scenario
the countdown’s running
you know your lines, sweetheart
don’t stutter.


Pour the champagne in my hands, darling.
I’ll watch them fill.
I’ll hold them steady and try not to spill.

Yet these knuckles will bruise over time
and skin will graze
and teeth will touch
and time and time again.

These nights will polish our veins
for future grudges to come
and as time takes its toll
and time and time again

we’ll realize,
it all stains.

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