AT THE GATES OF TITANS

shit what am i doing
     i should attach myself to you
    & pump what i do in you
    say what i do & spew it through
     you.


run to the fucking devil
     idk abt me tho
     smash this life together
     & funnel it in me.

Long
oil
slick under the sun.

Anonymous windshields,
nothing's near, you
gotta drive &
everyone's on their own time,
licensed,
empiring up,
self-cloister as not to see anyone.

W/th'thrifted

Best to keep the stale smell on them long as possible; do not wash.
an upward glance

like a mother

     a soft green scarf

trails

on the shallow descending steps of daily living

smelling old green attic,
smelling salvation cloth
     where tommy james waver-wilts
     in fluorescents above shoppers

the drab color of
familiarity,
of family.

has already been gutted for renovation.

'getting it all out'
bephore
d-i-sease
setsin

'even after Berlin'

That Fall Through Skin

The passage is shaped like a wedge & has no walls
& sand falls through it,
pushed forward with some exterior velocity
as it hits, or a new understanding of what
it is to pass through something.

A sift of force,
you sitting there with your head craned forward
and the sand falling through you,
your squinting eyes;
you grow older in it until you are pushed out.

Equivalence//Proportion

As wealth is inversely proportionate to one's compassion,* scar tissue may be directly proportionate to the amount she loves.**