local minimum III

picking at bones

to nail fleshy

organ on an        advertisement

(he played it

         so well)

look at her

shredding

words on the

corner of his

silence

waiting for the ghosts to fall

on their heads

and turn into           men

an opaque voice leaps from his tombstone

                        it was like he was haunted or something

Local minimum II

I roll in this cusp

a line sprouts from my

forehead      

dawdling in thecup of a

           

parabola

a ball moaning back and forth and

back and forth in

graveyards sprung from

his hard hard hand

the buildings swallow

chew carefully to

remind you

silence peers back

curiously  

tilts his head

and you start to wonder

                                    if you’ve become

[        ]

it was like she was haunted or something

toilet flush
on my cheeks
my heart
has sunk to my
stomach
I've come to fear
space in between my lines
too harsh
too harsh
on the body
to separate
this shape
retract
rejects food again
hurling
on my cheeks
out
like it doesn't want to
live force food
in and
tell her it won't
hurt
it won't hurt
it hurts to
I down
water to
drown
it

Who's hunting who

Little jay bird
you always
fly away

when you see me
when my voice
reaches out

Is it creepy
that my eyes
always  trail
you

when you do

I am Nothing. I am her. I am you.

beetle eyes

    stare from the
corner
          o f this d e ar m
ed
 with bullets to
     brain
about to shoot

nothing
  re
      al

but mirrors

WAK            P
       

she pulls out
her index ca
rds with a m
edical precis
ion empty bl
ank and blac
                      k

beetle eyes
          budding
from the all too
      familiar
 slight
  tilt
    of her
        head

and her voice
oozes
     out of her
gaping hole
like cotton
out of her

breathing hole
like cotton

sun setting
will I wake
up