(2013)
we are nearly always a world which almost
if ever someone is my dearest ear who hears my truth as theirs
does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that
I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me
people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring
shall we turn down the covers, crawl inside? find there a place that’s been waiting for us, a vortex of sorts
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
we were all talking, things taking shape as they do, when someone said, be desireless, like that is at all a thing people
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