new poem!

Leas(t) Renewal Line

Your pine cone fiction-airs lost me on the highways to Georgia and back. I was saving bricks for your motor-less boat fantasies but the overnight drive took away your libido. I wore out some other rubber made man parts with my wicked insides. Your tips didn’t miss much, just maybe 4 hours of reproduction. I heard you say

it is

a waste of electrical endeavors but when the bitch can lick her gaping wounds the only remedy is a cork. The lunch box is in the fridge next to my aromatic arches aching for some structure or support and other things your bubble gum vending machine fingers relentlessly forget. There might be some sweets and nothing home right

about time

the dogs swallow these meat feeding paws. If it was tears you were after, those legs should have left the shoes in my mouth and the door crooked. Naked or not, knock knock jokes can’t win a watermelon at this un-fair ground. Are you wondering

that I

haven’t lost all my change of heart and pennies to a grown man? Too bad movies are more romantic when insensitive sound makers are directing. Ever hear the story of the goat and the porcupine. The porcupine only died when it did know realize it had to

live alone.

mark set.

Party Favor(ite)s

Mix fruit flies and ottomans were the only things left from your divorcee s Avon potluck. Papa don't preach because I'm in MRIs loosing my patella and meniscus stability's. It's just a drill April Fool's for another farm animal flu

we are

catching involuntarily in the outfield of Dodgers Stadium. Hold my hand out of sockets while you clamp my wrist wrestling brace to other soft machines. We have it under controversial impulses to sniff out trouble from behind. It's not that the trophy boy toy is

better off

the mantel than on the floor, kicking and screaming. Park your posies and pickled fingernails! We have an aeronautic adventure ahead. I forget most of your allergies in my other bed. Make sure you close the door and frame the gangster creeping out of your cotton bleached restrictive loin cloths. I missed you at the afternoon tea. Sugur and agave never could sparkle and leave us

alone.

admitting.

Pigeon Shit Breakfast

Call me Minnehaha but last week we had everything and the girl. Instant tease and oatmeal lost their embedded intelligence due to your looped mouth backtalk everyone can't seem to get enough of .

At this

intersection, I go left with no right angles to corner my lips. Thyroid explosions happen every time you bat your instigative eye balls. There's no sex in your violence or ghosts in your fridge. Why couldn't' you tell me the

point I'm

trying to make broke under your ten speed and forgotten French? Was it that hardly integrated into your daily regiment to pull and push some auxiliary strings so my ankle could possibly twist less? The drunk fly on my tongue and callused clean palms last night dominated rarely tanned leather while all you ate was canned spelling soup that tasted

not ok.

un stuck.

Bye Bye Bucky Blue Eyes

Greedy grape kissers kept inventory over ape shit. I thought recipes and calculators expired monthly in your mouth by really it was all the time in your hands. Call it namesakes because

that's how

we re wrote continental histories. African food stores diligent soap operatic one week newsstands waiting for our discovery. Was it after the strip tease

I stopped

wet landing the basic bed sheets your sweaty face pollinated? I hope pigtails and nose rings were only epoxy and flux for lady tar tar. Ten points for you dodging out of knee busting cinema sluts. if only the whole tale poked looser holes in my body bag. It's an Indian summer and I am not as fly as the mosquitoes

wanting you.

poem

Workman's Comp

Crippling crunches stole my integral appetite. It was off the wall and out of mind. Calender titty mags and old polariods don't seem to hang around much anymore. Beside you tongue calisthenics most nights kept me up and Adam

if you weren't

clipping nose hairs already. Funny, these games we play got arthritis from too much Patty Duke and cake for passive destructive dietary ignorances. I'm gassy and you swallowed a bag of Douglas fur. If you stopped exposing your inner feelings and moonshine maybe we would get something done around here. Too bad the coconuts are

so young I

bore them to tears and tea leaves last week. Rims ricochet ink deposits on your wrists in your dreamt future. Did you see any rainbows crawling across my carpel tunnels? When was this supposed to happen anyway? I can't care if you

would have loved

to be blonder in the last months. You have got this growth on your back and a twin eating a Puerto Rican just 2 hours from your parents house. I never said it was something they made trophies for at the convenient lottery stands. Hold my eyelids, Henry Darger's life styles appear more associated with vowels in a rapid increase. Whatever, you purr hypoallergenic kitten's breath. Until I swallow more salt and pepper, I am sure I don't really know

you by now.

Twin City Suicide

Vampire mouths might trickle down extacy lane if you aren't careful. I've been here before December and I still fee l the bumps. Am I just slow or are you you not aware of dietary monogamy? Why should LA love me after vomiting on her roof tops and topless dancers?

I

can't see past my window with out a slutty cloud of population graphs. It's only indian music that you

can't

stomach with kobe beef fast food. The pace of your eyelids is frozen for me. What was I doing here way other than sleeping next to your fragmented face. Ahoy matey, this ship don't stop for Thom Sawyer and any Yes song you can hum. The cigarettes

live

closer existence to your spectrum than my eyes. No matter, I'll get my own. It's only babysitting when your not drunk. Well excuse my outer body ethnographic experience but I can't hold this plate much longer. Are we beyond this or not even close to wadding afternoons under covers polluted with Seinfeld Dvds? So Minneahaha really fell hard off the rocks and snowcapped balls. Bobby Dylan and carpacio never let that big of a stain

here.

i had to ride the bus to santa monica to take care of my brother so i wrote a lot on the way...

Spoke and Poke Driver

Cross those knees and unbutton those lips, it's the greatest show on this side of the frozen hemisphere. Weren't the stuffed bipolar bears scrumptious as the inventory vomited from the mausoleum? Make shift rears and gears got you from Tempe and back. Hold this while

I

tie my shoe. Did you know I could balence hats off of Prince impersonators as well? It's cool frostbitten figments were the last texture I knew of yours so

never

finger bang my tonsils again this week. Broken accordion staircases

meant

more after the future was published. Let me tell you about this cryptic trip tic your saliva and I took just

to say

I love it when you each peanuts and tobacco. Are you feeling and filling me up to the brims and bottoms with lollipops and lolly gaging? You kept asking me to gag and grapple more than your Adam's apple and bananas foster. My mouth's full again can you repeat what you said. I got lost down there in between I forget and

I'm sorry.

poem.

Fictional Poster Child

Narcissistic egg layers and stretched out laryngitis landing pads became fresh kitsch TV dinner just like in the movies. Biking through the BladeRunner tunnel on a daily basis continues to act as a face lift for chemical imbalances and nuclear membranes. Patronizing my knotty ligaments

sometimes

gets milk to shoot through my nose. Let me tell you what happened last night while you were choking on oxygen and dust bunnies. All of a sudden we were in the park but really in Ireland with cliffs under our knees. Backdrop fiber glass bricks made better intents than your fists. King Kong doesn't live here any more. And all

you

can say is something or another about the weather vanes in Kansas becoming extinct like the partiarchy. I can't wait for the popcorn or your acned back to hatch. It's 8 o clock,

are

you coming in my mouth or on my ear because the blindfold you left on left skid marks. This is getting a bit too extroverted for an afternoon luncheon. Wherever did you get that hot sauce sucking routine? We were floating on mattresses and title waves enacted their eminent domain

everywhere I

forgot my sunglasses. It was my first blockhead carving and cellular mysticism all wrapped up in 2 concise spheres. This is entertainment. This is an octopus. This is just what's been between most of my fat layers and physical sheet slappers for 10 years now. Man times a grasshopper and I can't smoke enough. Don't believe me? Just take a

look.

poem.

Craigslist Concubine

Anabolic diets and diaphragm meters clogged more than the arteries exiting the city. Criminally speaking, I can't take my eyes off of you or any other cat scratched mustang romping through Boyle Heights. It's not that high that

I

can't regret not ever seeing it. It's less and less that I see your courageous blue eyes replaced by females wreaking of Koffi Anon. Last night, the groin and the makeshift testicles did me in only partially in preparation for turkey basting and drainage. After all the book reports and pornographic film reviews I have spit and swallowed for your own traumatic asymmetries you'd think that you'd

want you

to be the only bees between my knees. Really, I am in the armpit shaving cream sundae. Ex-LAX and sponsorship from other undigestible matters flooded the CNN freeways, stroking my rear. There is this truck that you talk about on a daily basis. The sheet metal kept crinkling under our twinkle toes. I am not terribly certain about the immediate need

to destroy

every last parking spot this side of Fairfax. I am not moving till June. I caught myself bare lip kissing bricks again with broken bottles of Tapatio. Was it a mistake to tell you everything on the menu at the tamale hut was awesome? Never mind the dog and my little pony show, I tend to strip bare after carrying my unicorn up the steps. These dreams post rubdown are getting more and more lost highway. But really, it was never more revealing than all the spelling mistakes that you couldn't tell

me.

poem from a few weeks ago.

Santa Barbara School

I was christened by deli slices and vanilla wafers but nothing nearly digestible as your rump. Merry weather middle names kept us pregnant with ha has and hot air. Maybe it was a mistake to tell you in parcel post how

nothing

tastes like you out west. Open granges and cast iron ranges left us tripping on Joshua Trees. I prefer to be an ivy intoxicated median in your meta mph movements. Don't tell me breakfast

is more valuable

than Joy Division Public Enemy mashups. Wait, you lost your monorail ticket and you want to shower in my shoes? What happens intothe seamless stream line audible bass jam and beats?
It pieced out the mountain tops. AFrames in southern California told better bed time stories

than my

local RV clearance mart. Just imagine a nomadic spit shower in a rain forest of for rent signs. Did you see it under the concrete and skid marks? Your gingivitises bleeds just as well as Cubans for

freedom.

gonzo scrible.

Backseat Diplomat

Twenty four ears molded to cell phones and rebate commercials kept indigestion a hip thing. Do your gay neighbors sing that high too? Goofy two shoes went animal killing last week.

By this time

next month you'll be swallowing Viennese sausages for opportunities in carpel tunnel syndrome help circles. It's all just a bunch of verticies when it comes down to it. You hold my head better than anyone else

in my life.

Excuse the bumps, my scalp's a stress related landscape. Something you do for money. Somethings you do for love. You haven't done anything with your dead skin cells for months. With all this social networking and autoerotic texting

you'd think I'd know

more thank just a think or two. If this is why we can't have nice things how come you stopped brushing your teeth? Could you talk to me open mouthed in your car before I forget what you said

by now.

sitting here wishing on a cement floor...

post industrial bovine

Hold my breath for two more minutes. It's easier with your fist in my mouth. I can't really blame you for going with the flow of 10,000 cadavers and 3 more unknown.

It's a sign of our times,

this organic Molotov cocktail with silicon cherries on top. Lisa Frank still represents my inner monologue better than pork-less beans.

When you know

you're right you are most likely left of the manual spectrum. She was a cute little Asian girl with pigtails and keys. Not many complaints there other than temperature related scars. You can't tell me that

it's better

this way with Mars and Jupiter living in your veranda. Mr. Rodgers never held a kosher hand towards the direction of a nostalgic tomorrow. All I can say is that I have a masters degree and I am learning

to be solo.

noun compost...

Four Eyes and Two Fists

Micheal Jackson jerk offs kept me up longer than cranberry sauce. Chestnuts and kumquats rolled strait over the counter past the racist chez lounge. Your staring abilities won platinum medals amongst the European metrosexuals. Long term bird baths tied up my peripheral ligaments until

you stubbed your toe.

Your spiraling follicles and bionic particles turn me inside out. Polly wanted crackers but only got slapped hands and foreheads. Really, you could be my Allison. I'm so gone in the fairy tale forest of chest hair and fuzzy nuts you bring to the mesa verde.

While in the position that

jelly beans bake, I miss you like every time. I can't be critical about our crusty copulation when there are TV guides and homo erotic napkins in the tub. Repeat the linguistics that

made me come

3,000 minutes of ego centric mix tapes to your pad and pencil down under. Boo Radley had almost everything to do with it. We are two in a million flapjacks served. Could you untangle my eyelashes from tarot card anthropomorphic Mexican lovers? Affairs with sulfur stained porcelain ejaculated new and improved recipes

so hard I cried.

new poem! !!!! number 1!!!

Meat Man Metronome


Tear me apart form your twinkle toes and pterodactyl harpsichords. I've never had that liquor licked off my lips. Forget it. I was out of town when you were locally misanthropic of all the times

you washed your

face pressed to the panorama of a smog town bird bath. No way could I index knuckle rings this early on in the caloric counterbalance much less the majority check list and autistic labcoats cluttering my Tupperware.

Teeth before biting

eggplants and transplant black and gold bleeders scrape more than shiver. Either way, you can't blame me for forging cheerio sounds muzzled by you chest hair.

The last morsels

molded in your deciduous neck brush. Most likely it was carbon fiber and gluten free. Any way you look at it, nothing realy fits as much as you on top

of my body.

narrative progressions....

(w)Holy Moses

I'm looking at pixels and all I see is your eyes. Maybe it's the fat lips on filament that I'm craving most afternoons. Sometimes your face looks smashed. Sometimes it looks cleaner than elbows. I don't see those ridges and revines past my hat rim. Did I really know back when you were giving lip hair and height measurements? I've grown to not lunch shorter than you.

Thank you for telling me what not to do last week.

My ankle is better with zest and pepper. Your face is redder with Bengay. Buckle up and drive me off the deep end of the Jacuzzi sunrise. Summer breeze had me hanging in the window on a Friday night.

Let me know every thing's alright.

That smile waiting in the kitchen, butter and warm won't leave my pancaked fingertips and focal points. I'll relearn my body with the black and blue. It's just my contact endorsing moisture partial blindness. You might have to put a bag over her porcelain head and close your lids and think of me.

You can be my hero

Back track flap jack

I forgot to post this up here. This is the first catalyst product that I wrote on a field trip to the Hollywood Reservoir. To explain how I write poetry: it's a collage of words. Ideally it's just ink on page, pixels background(0). The meaning is what you make of it. When we reviewed it in studio Juan Azulay interpreted it as a suicide. Another valid attempt to escape in the land of drift.

Hawk bite

Forget those cacophonies that I sucked out of your hot sauce gums twisted and sistered under the Hollywood sign. I choked on cellophane and gelatin while catching splinters in my knees. Your taco tainted tongue left lime stains on my upper inner thigh.

I was one of the first.

Dandy candy lovers on the carousel poles look up for loose light bulbs and Edison flytraps. Polaroids caught up with infinity and unbuttoned my jaw. The stories in your pockets tasted inky and dry. It was petrified lashes that dragged me to tears.

I haven’t laughed for you since December.

Dead berries on a crooked branch hit my diaphragm with more bounce than nights you traded me. Hold on to that token keeping the laundry machines bulimic and warm. Maybe in an hour you can spit serotonin back in to my aggressive spores. It’s all relatives around the toe of the lamb ass boots. Won’t you hold my breath while

I can’t remember when to leave.