the most coveted houses

The most coveted houses
have cliffs off the back.
Ocean cliffs. cliffs
that are not
just for jump
-ing but
that is

what the rocks below are for.

My state is shaped like a mammoth.

Today I wore black,
war black.

Car black,
I drive a black car.

Black Cadillac,
funereal and sexlike.
Hot car.

Today I am a tourist.

I am a cruise ship grandpa
who owns two
turntables.

The next time someone asks me what football needs more of,
I will reply (matter-of-factly), “feelings?”

My favorite drink:

1 part cheap whiskey
1 part canned lemonade
soupçon of Drano (crystals).

Sometimes in the shower I put my foot over the drain;
pretend the water will rise to my neck,
and keep going despite the door.

I hate the smell of cars.

My hometown has lots of trees
and on all the sidewalks there is moss.
I used to have an apartment
over the downtown graveyard.

There was
I swear, the sound
of baseball every
night in my bedroom window
but we were on a hill.
But there was no field,
but it was night time.

In my town there is a valley.
In the valley there are meth labs
time to time.

And that is okay except the lights
and all the people looking manic
and sadder and scratching
their arms, and once my teacher
died but before that we got to
watch her arms rub off
like lottery scratchers.

There is a glacier
and many places to drive and park your car.

In between the two places there is a retaining wall along the highway. Between the place where the malls and the valley and the scratching and the glacier are
and is
and are
and is
and downtown, to offices, to government, to parks that are shaped like triangles and paintings of men crawling out of clams
and a place to get Russian food.

In between the neighborhoods, there is a retaining wall where several people have died and you can see the marks from cars and sometimes broken glass.

There is a glacier
and many places to drive and park your car.

Today I listened to nothing but Dog Faced Hermans.
This one’s a true story.

I am a red wing creature
having affairs with paint and (rain
outside an airplane
window). Days stay
stock still
till
sleep.

Gonna git me some internet
and put it in a heartshape box!

Today when I was swinging my fists in the dark
when I didn’t have a dream about a woman,
I didn’t have a dream about a woman.

But in my not dream she was perfect.

I didn’t see her body
but she was the kind of girl with glasses on
who listens to The Upsetters and also probably plays bass
and she might be Asian or something
I guess but I don’t think so
and in my not dream she touched my sex.
Which is a quality I like in people.

The end of my not
dream she crawled
from my mouth
like a spider:
startled but
more or less okay.

Love is pelvic inflammation
Love is abortion
Love as terrifying still life:
pomegranates and lightbulbs, sockets.
Love is ectopic
Love is sex.

Today I am a happy stack of shipping containers.

“so much water so close to home”

woman in river creek.
her eyes grew vinelike up my legs

I am approached.
In a stationary state (stasis)
approached.
12 o’clock.

She peels an orange with purpose
ankle deep.
Acid blood gets
lost in water.

Today I nicknamed everyone by where they shop.
Bummed a cigarette from the Duck Creek Market.

She dripped words like rain wet windows.

Her favorite words:
Clementine
Castration
Carnation
Collusion
Caramel
Carbine
Candle
Cream
Canal
Cunt
Cut

Angry Samoans is a band associated with a place they are not from and I know and I love that frustration.

I feel like an old man in a Daniel Johnston shirt.

Women who are tall intimidate me.
I know because of giraffes that

they can eat all the top leaves off the tree as well as the bottom leaves and the middle leaves before I can get to the bottom or middle leaves because they are
closer to the sun and this I envy them.

She entered my time
like a record skipping
like scratches on the eyes
like a burned-in television.

we hand-scored ourselves like loaves and grew together.
Slowly rose.

Fist fuck is a fun thing to say.

Occasionally I find pyramid studs from her jacket in my bed
And I appreciate the way she holds her feet on the ground.

When I met her she was red like Lady Lazarus’
“I EAT MEN LIKE AIR”
red hair.
It rode above her steel-braced brow.

She said “it’s quite groovy” and I said I
hadn’t heard that word since 7th grade.

She has a Delta 5 shirt.
I didn’t even know they made those.

Turns out we both have a “thing” for sad Scottish boys with guitars and leather jackets.

---

for her, church is the first orgasm
of the day / church is bathrobe / church is
going for a second round at 11:49 AM / church
is putting on music so we can’t hear
each other because that ruins it but never on shuffle
because having sex to the Beach Boys reminds me too
much of family vacations and Phil Spector.

---

Sex in public parks is legal in certain parts of Europe.
See also: Leigh Bowery
---

I know that feel.

---

The space in which one sleeps is a second body.
Always Siamese. Always tethered.
(umbilical. womb.)

To have a bedroom is to say:
to live
is to intrude
And be intruded.

---

Man creates space in his own image:

He walks around and talks and breathes
to other humans and houses
humans, harbors humans.

They turn on lamps and breathe like
they are never going to die.

---

I was a loner
I was over the top.
I was a long distance runner.
I was a teenage nihilist.
I was a sandwich artist.
I was high fashion.
I was crust as fuck.
My life has lent itself to several rewrites.

she brushed my arm drunk and palpitation
palpitation
palpitation making motions faster in the vessels
wet welling washing
nerves.

Someone (god?) must have decided to anchor our mouths above our waists.

The world was anchored by two heavy belts.
I felt it start to float.
On the bedroom bedwomb floor,
two heavy belts and moving heat.
ceremony bodies let touch at first only
the hands.
Then arms.
Then legs then the

remainder of the skin.
(a yawp caught in the grip of living things)

I like how long her legs are
and how always she hides them under
long soft cloth,
always ill-fitting.
Gives me an excuse to look for her
through sweaters

(like the one with the Zounds patch. The green one. The big one. The one with sleeves that are too long so she looks like she has no hands.)

and the stud in her nose which makes her look Punjabi when she puts in a chain but also like a punk because she is one.

There is no difference between a sex tape and a mix tape.

We went downtown today and heard an angry South African man shouting about his penis.

We exchange emails that have pictures of cats in them.
These cats stand in for sentences.
Phrases like “I like you.”
And “touch me, pet me.”

Also naked pictures.

Today I learned she takes things.
These are things she is known to have taken:
- a five-speed bicycle from 1978
- a half-pound of organic oranges
- half a room of plants
- the following records:
o Unrest “imperial f.f.r.r.”
o Melt-Banana “Speak Squeak Creak”
o Polvo “Today’s Active Lifestyles”
o Breadwinner “Burner”
o “The Ethel Merman Disco Album”
o Neneh Cherry “Buffalo Stance”
o Shellac “At Action Park”
- two size small outfits for dogs
o japanese summer high school uniform (girls)
o taco
- one size small dog

these are the other colors her hair has been:
Turquoise
Teal/Purple
Coal
Yellow (twice.
Once for a Roy Lichtenstein theme party.
Once for theater.)
Purple/Teal
Brick Red
Silver
Pine

“French folks fuck funny.
Listen to them. The sounds they make.”

But I remind her these are the same sounds we make.
Sex is a language in which we both are fluent and also
probably are several French people.

I don’t know why we had this conversation.
I was feeling fucked up and ram-drunk-tious
and downloaded several hours of French art films pornography.

I think French sounds like you’ve got a cock down your throat
and you’re not happy about it /trying
to get it out with your vocal cords.

In between the stations on the radio
is where the songs I like hide.

she reposed her naked body
my eyes clothed and
then undressed
them,
undressed me.

Quicksilver hips taste lips.

We grasp constellations and teach
Each other how to move
Among them back
And forward. Snakelike.

Some things can’t touch light.

I can’t talk about Walden without talking about laundry.

It is daylight now and the floor is cold.
Time is anchored.
The weather, usually brash,
does nothing to attract us.
“Hold me again. Like before.”
(a congress of limbs) and
muffled sound on chest. It is right;
this kind of not quite silent quiet.
We itch our stippled chins and back to sleep.
For now, let us swim in sheets of early day.

Today instead of work we got bored and scrolled around the hookup section of craigslist for shits and giggles.

People were looking for:

M4M,
& NSA,
& DDF,
& BBW,
& GWM,
& BBC

(& no, not that BBC)

We bonded over our mutual hatred of team sports.

She bears her marks like elk have horn,
hides in urban verticals.
Parallel Lines.

I tell her she is beautiful but she can’t hear me over the cold.
Sometimes I think she might hate me but
then we fuck or something and frown.

50 demopublican cockshots dot com

We did it at her place once when her parents were not home and on vacation,
she had a television that was on a stack of books and it was heavy and the books were straining and bent and I thought how sad for these books
before realizing most of them were awful things like

Crafts For Retarded &
several chopped up books
of “old people/sad thoughts” poetry
and then that was okay.

The rest of her room had things in it that were mostly black
And had hardly legible words like
“CARCASS”
& “CRASS”
& other things that start with C but some that didn’t and I felt questioned.

Today I am a blissed-out soccer mom; the vodka tampon kind.

Drove black car to mall to pick her up.
In her too big jacket and her other color hair again.

She takes a drink out of a Gatorade bottle
and puts on a Nuclear
Crayons tape her dad made her.

The label says green but she’s drinking blue,
I can smell it.

Her favorite drink:

1 part blue powerade
1 part pure grain alcohol
1 melted blue otter pop
dash of turpentine

She kisses me and it stings,
lipstings.

You may not know: Under most clothes are lumbering angry monkeys.

The morning was

Lumber
Loveless
Tidal
Wavering
So I Ate Myself, Bite by Bite

and she came by and we fucked hello.
Afterward I smoked two cigarettes because
cigarettes are sexy and she smoked no cigarettes
because cigarettes are bad for you.

There was a moment:
Our eyes both found the window and nothing walked by,
but nothing walked by and I realized that at this moment in time in this bed with this woman on this Tuesday afternoon, while some kids are probably in health class or practicing for swim team; I realized while a radio ad for a monster truck show drifted in the window from my neighbor’s parked car because he is white trash and I hate him that

I have no idea what I want.

Afterward I smoked two cigarettes
because cigarettes are bad for you.

She has this look on her face sometimes
like she is always going to tell me something strange
like she will tell me about the time she once
saw a large group of children dressed as clowns
running through a city park,

or she will present me a polaroid
of a bacon wrapped dick,

or a movie that is alec baldwin and a horse
who turns out to just be jennifer lopez
in a costume and he says “oh!”
and he is wearing a suit and
so is the horse/jennifer lopez.

She always stops before she speaks
She always knows I don’t want to know.

I wonder what she thinks when she thinks things / does she think of me.
I wonder what she says inside her head when she does.

I never learned the right way to hold a baby
but I realized today I don’t care.

If we are two and a baby is one,
It is no wonder suicides happen in threes.

I like eyeballs and also eyebrows.
Not-eyebrows excite me.

A person without eyebrows feels unfinished and I always want to draw their eyebrows on for them with some kind of marker that will make hair grow into the lines.

Imagine the applications for people who do not know how they feel.

Someday I will get a tramp stamp that is composed entirely of wingdings.

She didn’t make coffee this morning.

Some people call it love when
you always do nothing together
and are happy.
And that happiness is called love.

Some people also listen to Nickelback.

Couch on the front porch high on beer and melatonin.
And we slept just like little babies sleep
when they actually sleep and don’t just cry
even though we do just cry on occasion.

She got up before the sun did and thought I was asleep and she said, “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know why because I was the one who left her favorite sweater where the dog could get it but then she closed her mouth and closed me back in her grip before the sun did.

This is something bigger than a sweater, big like
the big fat fucking sun.

At first,
five times

a day
in throat
on tongue
the chest,
and lower
back.

Slowly we would guide each other
towards.

Routinely now we turn away. Headache.

I wish I could fuck a guitar amp
and it would probably sound sad like Alex Chilton

I am vegan now except for “beef jerky”
& “butterfucker”
“butter of ‘69”

I hope she remembers the time we made out in my car in the rain because that is my favorite time.

My car only has a cassette tape player so I only listen to cassette tapes in it. We were trying not to make too much sound because the tape I had in was a Pixies tape that has many quiet parts in it in between the loud ones which is how we liked it. It fit us. And her hair. It was still pink but it had faded to a soft inside of a strawberry kind of pink. Pussy pink she called it. She had planned it this way and this was the first time I had heard it called that.

She didn’t call after practice.

She showed me that love comes in ounces and grams and eighths of ounces and halves of eighths of ounces and it is green.

I love the words Japanoise and mayonnaise.

Today I helped her dye her hair. It is the first time someone has asked me to do this.
It is the first time someone has asked me to do this, and it is the first time I have done this.

We hung out and drank blue drink and her hair drank blue and became blue we were blue too.

Blue like the ocean in places where the ocean is blue and there are small fish but also jellyfish that can kill you so the adults in the nearby undiscovered tribe know to never enter the water unless in a vessel. But every now and then a child wanders away and enters the water and is stung and dies because he does not know the water is very dangerous and the current stole a small token or toy. And then the current carries the body to the water near the center of the village and the mother cries and cries and she does not care about the water and she enters the water to fetch his body and dies and the water cries too then the rest of the village cries.

This is the color blue her hair became.
She asked for it special at the store.

she tells me there is another.

a woman.
her name is mel.

mel.
MEL.

the movements of MEL upon my tongue are sharp and bitter.
Mel: in Latin, “honey.”
Mel: in context, “loss of faith.”

Wait a minute.

She caught my sleeve and said, “wait
a minute.” And she looked down at my shoes “not because
I’m nervous I just really like shoes” she said when we met but
she was nervous
and she hates
this pair of shoes.

But then she didn’t say anything and I felt like there was
Something else in that hardwood hallway except just
Air and two now lonely-hip motherfuckers.
like there was something.

If life were a movie,
something off Vic Chesnutt’s last album
(before he killed himself)
would play right at this moment.

She’s probably surrounded by people and
I just wasn’t one of the ones she wanted
to be around.

She’s probably now singing
along to her Mecca Normal album
with her.
Ian With Mel.
Dovetail.

I invented a sport called pillow-singing
It is where you make louder
and louder sounds into a pillow
(the pillow is important
for the loudness.) and afterward
you feel like heavy anchors
poured out of mouth.

Today I stole a plant from a hallway at my university.
He was at the end of a hallway
that I had never been to before
in a building I had never been to before.

It was a ficus that only had three leaves
I gave him a name and that name was Eric.
And I took him with me to a diner
and ordered him at least a coffee
so he could sit in a chair

I drank a coffee.
I drank at least another coffee
and I hate the coffee at this place.

there was a note in my mailbox today that went like this:

“This game is a two-player game.

To play:

I try to let you not see me ever again.
Go about your life exactly as you did
before you knew me paying special
attention to breakfast foods and if
you see me, yell “boo” or “I found
you” or “ha” and I will run and hide
again and you will have won that
round. I am good at this game. I
hope you know that I will never
love you; no one ever really wins,
we just do a little better every time.

From,
Me

Postscript: because you know where I live
You know where not to look for me. Keep
the things I gave you as collateral for yours.

Post-Postscript: Also, the body and postscript of
this letter make the shape of a state when you
look at it the right way.”

Right after that I fell down.

We thought about breaking it off once before but then we realized how much we liked to touch each other.

(after the blast)

there is a ringing softness in the air
which tells me it is okay to be still.
if i am still things will not hit me.
they will wait and watch but they will not hit me.
dodging chicken city buses.
there is no Mel.
no bitter honey on my tongue,
she puts a hand on me
and slips a slim apology
under the doorjamb of my hearing.
it hides behind tinnitus.
i fall fitful back to fitful sleep.

(I am playing blind deaf chess
under the lungless weight
of all of auke bay.)

i feel like a dog in a pyongyang hotbox
when i think upon her hand upon my shoulder.
i close my lips on firecrackers

Today I am in love with all the padlocked doors in the Pacific Northwest.

To apologize, she gave me the following records:

TOKYO ANAL DYNAMITE
ACHE
ROSE CLOUDS OF HOLOCAUST
1995
WE ARE VOICE AND RHYTHM ONLY

I took each personally.

I remember when I was a little kid I would sit in my back yard which was by the freeway. I would sit with my back against the tall concrete sound wall (which I thought every backyard had in it), and try to feel the cars going by on the other side.

When my dad would drive me past it and let me sit in the front seat before I was supposed to because I was too small he would point to the same section of sound wall every time and say “that one’s ours” and I would reach out to it every time and say “that one’s ours.”

In the park.

The one out by the pond in the valley where the lake freezes enough to play hockey once or twice a year maybe but I like to lie on my back on the ice at night when no one is around because it might crack and eat me but at least I’ll stay fresh for a while.

She put more studs on her jacket.
Honey blonde.
It was HONEY blonde.

“STINKS OF BITCH” (Beckett, 1964).

She told me a long time ago that the human jaw can bite through a finger just as easily as it would a carrot. It’s my brain that keeps me from actually doing it.

Once I bit hard enough to draw a little blood and leave some indentations of teeth in my knuckle, but it was nowhere near satisfying and it makes me think how easily one could get their cock bitten off.

Fallacy is a noun, but phallus-y is an adjective.

I stole a cactus off my neighbor’s porch today because it reminded me of her and I wanted someone to talk to, but I found her (Melinda) to be too chatty. And similarly unyielding.

what surgery
made me this ill-faced creature
of finite time and unlimited distance.
discrete measurements of joy.

take it back
i want to love no longer.
i long to want once more,
i need to know no linger,
before it can take me sudden.

I ran into her someplace it was behind the convenience store or a party or a park or a show or the backseat of my car (my big black car, my red hot car) and we fucked again because we were drunk on mad dog and like rabbits but she didn’t answer when I called her on the phone and the next day I woke up and I had a black eye but that was from something else.

My favorite beer is drugs.

Today I found the naked pictures of her on my phone. I had arranged them in such a way that you could see the passing days through the colors of her hair.
They got darker.
Longer.
Louder.

I am stuck in a room full of skinny women eating salads.

Watching silent films about silent films is a thing that I do,
apparently,
when you are not here.

Watching maybe girlfriends maybe making messages at many men.
Girlfriends who probably sound like Ray Charles would were you to actually talk to them because it is the 1920s
and even cigarettes smoke cigarettes.

I don’t know why I assume the worst but I seem to be right most of all the time.

Men and small dogs
Men and small dogs
Always men and small weird dogs.

Someone tried to get me to date someone.

I met a genderqueer gingerqueer
feminist of color who identified as Hispanic Herpanic.

She read me a poem (thinly veiled, but proudly about her breasts)
and the poem referenced the following fruits:

avocados
halves of pears
a bunch of grapes
tomatoes
oranges

but these are not the only fruit.

Cars are lonely creatures.

We spend most of their lives trying to keep them from touching other cars and it is sad for them that they will never come together.

Like the other day I noticed that your cat has the same color hair as me in spots, before my hair was green and before it was orange.

My favorite is French people speaking English.

My masturbation-hand
is friends with me again.

she just texted me the letter “y”
which was probably an accident
but that means my telephone number is still in her phone
I will call her and
I will hang up so

she does not see me breathing like this,
all monstrous,
because I don’t want her to think
I am creepy because I am
I responded: y not?

Atari Teenage Riot’s second album, “The Future Of War” is banned for sale to minors in Germany.

months make
cracking
sounds like
frozen
trees.

Today I had a friend that brought me hash brownies and video games and he said stop being sad because you are acting like one of those kids who listens to Bauhaus and cries or something and I said I was a kid who listens to Bauhaus and cries
or something.

Then I played hash brownies and video games with him until I couldn’t feel feelings anymore and it was warm in my apartment for the first time since the last I played the heating bill game that I am always losing at.

When I lie still I can feel time dripping slowly through the center of my forehead.

I did college once and I was put in a box with other gifted babies and we sang at each other and cried and drank things and ate snacks and pierced our bodies and we practiced putting words with other words to make other words to see how they work.

This is the first time in my life that a vagina has made me very sad.

Sometimes I wish I were a cat because then I would be more popular on the internet. What I want is to sleep and be naked on someone else’s oversized couch and only occasionally be picked up by a giant.

I have started watching the news on mute while listening to The Locust because it makes me sad
and it makes me sad.
I have started drinking whenever I am sad and
it’s a game that I lose every time,
but at least I do a little worse each time
because I want to do worse I guess.

I have never been better friends with my bathroom floor.

and the sign on the fence said “BEWARE OF GOD”

That time we went out driving not long after we met I remember I hated your music and that made me dislike you a little, but not enough to make anything of it and I thought about what a shallow person that means I am.

I remember I saw a raccoon but it turned out to just be a weird cat.

I remember we drove by a fence and it was night and it was a nice night. And by the fence there was a woman. And a man. And a child. I couldn’t see their faces because it was dark but I watched them. And they made sounds that I could hear. And the man started throwing small rocks at the woman and the child and the child ran into someone’s yard with a clumsy fence and he looked out of place in it like a small garden gnome in an obscene puffy jacket. And the woman ran and the man stopped I think, but the car was moving too fast.

I asked
“did you see that?” and you said
“see what?”

I turned up your music because I have started to like it more because I have started to like you more.

I wrote a poem about it and thought that it probably wasn’t a big deal because the rocks were very small but I still wondered at the small sounds the small child made. Scared. Even though he knew the man and the woman, at least I thought.

Then I decided to look at the two old men in trucker hats sitting in their empty mattress store. Trying to look comfortable.

I found scars on my arms in places I didn’t know I had them.
These armscars came from her. I know it.
Always scratching at me scratching at her because we liked it
and yes there was always some red on the skin after
but we just let it stick us together
to feel the skin peel apart.
printed symmetrically like a Rorschach test.

I used to date a girl who when we broke up threatened to fuck me in the afterlife.

I have not met all of the people in the world
And I do not know how many people there are in the world
But I have met one or two of them
And so far I am not impressed.

I saw a scab on my arm and I picked at it and out came a part of a tree.
It waved and I was ashamed to have a tree arm
on my me arm and I pushed it back in
and it made a small sound like a cat when you squeeze it too hard.

Now I cannot stop imagining that there is a splinter
somewhere in my veins that will kill me suddenly.

The second album was supposed to be “heavier.”

it rains but i still swim to you.

you called me from there right then when it happened you were gasping “it hurts” it was late and i had to turn the stove off and ruined the dinner i bought at the valley supermarket and wiped the honey off the doorknob and i left the “come quickly” phone off the hook and i tore my coat on the doorjamb and also it is late
but you are worth it
and i had to come.

and see you.

[beat]

it rains.
It rains and it is cold.
i followed the lights and stop

please
don’t.
come back.
[beat]
wait.

There are a lot of songs about people who have died
here are some of them:

“Tonight’s the Night”
“Needle of Death”
“Isadora Duncan”
“She’s Lost Control”

---

Today I noticed that there is only one “vowel” in Kyrgyzstan.

---

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741