undertaker makeup or tricky mess
more forced concentration than whistling train
all of these pages but my bloody pigslit
feels like wasted time
a weepy zodiac medicinally
or a tonic medievally
saving my skeleton walking on the balls of my feet
around and around the algae-filled swimming pool.
I’m always the one who stays longer
heat and therapy putting on
dry firefighters’ hats drinking vermouth
backing away from the river inventing seven more characters.
I am absurdist sore back, I can’t take
the directness of prose
or the same lame black clothes.
I wear the luxury jumpsuit
where Jesus humps robots in the Omaha bar
or what money to burn a red wool beret
a too-small denim skirt
where the man in the yard is all bones
and you can have his glossy bar
in your home or your car if you use his fingers to stir.
The Keeping Room
Fly me to the moon. I’m just as shitty as you
but I could be anything
adrift with a yellow biography my missing radio waves.
We come to the basement to tell our deep dark secrets
rainy Frankenstein and in the tornado shelter
a fake dr.’s kit. Fly me to walking all night is safe
a strain on my wrist uncapping the eye cream.
Fly me to why didn’t I bring anything plain?
I want to broaden the apples are blonding
broken theatrics. Your songs of assault are a comfort
a cage around the booze but I’m not that committed.
Fly me to darkness comes on/how I function
the girl lost as the crescent takes up an eighth of this day
or you can turn the knob slowly in the cheap slip of time
you can turn the knob smoothly
plop in front of the bunny ears for ten hours
proud of Missouri you miscount the hours
think this is kid stuff garbage or preschool or booze
get yelled at for leaving
your banana peel in the trash
and the films aren’t in order and the wallpaper man
keeps winking at you says relax into crime.
says be special be satisfied
let your drinking shatter the days.
Freight Value/Screwball 2
Suddenly I’m obsessed with—bridge out—the river
the sad Mary Astor with the house arrest anklet
pink-haired lookalike in pink amulet
appellation/apparition what she does in this city
afraid of the river burning the church for insurance, pink ice.
Say I have a mission no longer half mast
I read the map backwards
a numb tree adventure 1,000 cups of tea
the scarecrow broadbacked singing I’ll singe my hand
a simple question of candles of letting the air in
my ego illuminated too big for fiction.
Did you hear a commotion a skull with skin over stone?
Sometimes I think I’m all right
shiny, unmystical but I have been summoned
by a clock that is lying
to faint in the woodsmoke or on the woodline
but I want to stay iron my dress on the mirror.
I feel like a tree of missed opportunity
sleek legs in the leaves
ill-starred scar on my face.
I turn this way away from the slasher
want to believe when you say
everything has its time so just wait
but I’ve torn my white robe
and I’m missing a klonopin.
Weights and Measures
I never promised you a chokeberry or a cheap Grecian costume.
I like you but not quite that much
but this will end with a skeleton a ceramic pig
or a rock garden every day firefighting
river-smart and eager
dressing up dead possums as dandies or brides.
A man reads a map at the parish
as if he’s the river better than me.
I’m wrapping blankets around the trees
climbing wood casements slicing the crescents
but if you live with me I’m not safe.
I’m not a baker I exist like a ghost
I see the night scenes through CCTV in the day
filtered by ashes then I can’t go home.
Hayride ridiculous apple bobbing and crosses
extinguish my time
and I guess I’ll clean up know the cheap Grecian costume
is so I’ll have a shroud at the end
to run through the graveyard.
But first there’s wallpaper a cozy star bar
a side car a falling barometer
a sixth anniversary a stake in the heart
high small and globular.
But first there’s a tad of fresh air
the flame within white gown
the blonde bun in my hair
when you say you were his gold girl
you were his favorite
I wish I could be happy
I want to be natural
you bumped me out of first place
this should be comforting
But aren’t we all moving toward our final days anyway?
and when it came to his death he was philosophical
and can’t I call you later from the bedroom
when I use this antenna to tune sexy frequency?
Right now I’m engaged with his ghost’s heavy breathing.
You ask me what’s your trauma
as I rob you of your cheap scotch
in my silk sailor pajamas
as I creep down there to fuck you
already drunk on vodka
but it takes time to know a place
like a leather anniversary like a fortune-teller’s forecast
or a desert-mountain smash up
or a stark affair.
Comedy is harder the candle is my crutch
but in the Venice Beach short
let’s just focus on my blonde crotch
and I’ll stand in the town square
of this town that’s not my own
let homeowners fly their flags
at half-mast marcelled ghost.
The one time I looked good smooth smoke on the throat
my midriff exposed leopard sex
a magic fur like a roadside attraction
I stumbled drunk through screwball city
and all the girls said drag her
drag her through the blood-muck
underneath the roadster
rip her face off with the roadster.
Now you make the best of me
I’ll make the best of you
return the bad luck bloomers
the wind-up doll narration
the haunted radio.
Now you climb up the red-lit watertank
to jack off on my sweater wrap me in your black lace
to say you have to have a steady hand to find your proper station
House of Wax/Cinnasnap
I could say a worm in apple
don’t make my black lips blue
always done up or add up
they’d have to put chicken wire
between you and my hips on the stage.
I communicate sadness red lip and tips
since shit will happen in a bloodstained negligee
and Bela Lugosi’s baby
looks like a mini-Dracula.
They say fingernails are the key to your health
gothic, anemic and how did sadness go?
and I had a dream about a man with a pool cue
strapped to his back
and my lack of birth control and my lack of headspace
in the weather of Satan and white satin dresses.
Sadness goes viral the same man driving by
in a vampire mask
the hunger of the tarantula girl
inside the B movie but spiders are a sham
and I want my nails plastic
want to dig up his body with a plastic Halloween pail
reading his obituary
make it a wolf or a bear
then follow his healthy still-growing nails
past the men to the traintracks.
House of Wax 2
Staring into the pot like Dracula’s daughter
the pool in October transitions erased
my head is jealous encasing your youth and your tutu
no air in here but I’m asking for it.
I wish I could be you but the disappearing carrot stew
is how I see myself
or the crème candelabra compulsively buying
elemental lipstick blue undertone shimmer.
The girl in the house arrest anklet
says the old couple made their asylum matte red
pissing and shitting mole crickets in bed
candleflames snapping hidden lexicons
pulling the tubes out joinery sad and bad
hearing the cows moo at sundown
chokecherry beat/bleat his skin hangs like a mask.
They made the pool into a haunted house once
or maybe we dreamed it in the cold snap.
I don’t know what to eat. This isn’t the best place
to preview illusion and it’s easier to write than to listen.
Remember how I walked with nothing?
The big church glowed red
leaves turned overnight
corsos kept cutting off.
I wanted to build but I couldn’t move
and you said I smoked too much
as we waited for the drunk to have
the undertaker’s baby
and I didn’t like how
you faced it or death.
Arboreal House Wax/Did Me Like That
Snow on the devil and my ghost fell over
then again this was alone time
then again I’d never tire
of the red town church square every night
loose meat in the tornado shelter
masked boys riding by
in the cold-chromey cars
screaming don’t break the goats!
then again opals and crushing up pills
wood, chains, and light
ok, that’s pretty good
a coat closet, morphine, and tits in the dollhouse
badness and blackness and my jewel-toned nightie.
I’m afraid of the night. I’m afraid of soap operas
on the Predicta TV. I’m afraid of leaving something
at the injection site.
I’m afraid of the wood smoking near triple wicks
playing twins in a split screen
red wig, I’m in Brooklyn
when I wear the gold heels
I fuck like a dog
pyramidal points cutting straight from the wood.
Yes, this was alone time and you only said
something nice about me
since I said something nice about you
art-deco lanterns antecedent anniversaries
a lime-green smock dress
shaking like Saturn
vodka straight from the bottle
you’re laying an egg in your foreign bed
is it your back or is it your kidneys?
I’m lying blue-cold in the orchard
but I’ve horsed around
and isn’t it lucky in the movie
you two are in love
and I end up hanging myself
or I keep swinging bon-bons past the flames
isn’t it lucky as I lie in the twine spiderweb
my hair curls like Veronica Lake?
All these new women
keep coming up in bad faith
and the pressure of welcoming someone
and I touch the doorframe obsessive/compulsive
and I touch a little
of your confession but it’s limp fatalism
and now my third eye is so tired.