disutility function

oh, but for the years we lost,
is this that wretched half-mile marathon again?

i’m yr favorite frost-bite father figure
in
forgotten phone bill caustic costumes.
virtue?

damn the skyline and scalp all traffic lights,
we flash the badge of dreamers,
fluff a pillow
and leave the truth on sworn and scoreless doorstep(s).

this night is a broken mirror.

these words: a magical enunciated
            phantasy.
i don’t quite fear the future (yet), and yet,
      i will keep my pure and given-gift
            hope locked up, if only to keep it safe.

all else: i offer daring and direct. to you.
but let me keep my hope to myself.

let’s share another, and slightly different, hope
      between us (as we(had) always tried). this one made of
            overpasses and measurable mileage, yay?

all this timing and lease sign[ing].

and let’s both cozy-up to teddy bears this newyear.
for now; foreverz my favorite

      place to be.

breaking the plain of another nation’s notepad
skipped a phone call & buried meaning in a miracle
im a squeaky cat & hairball,
im a turn signal that never resets
going left going left
going left
going left
seen the seething of a trunk
& wrote a drunken bad luck lyric for the wishful last spirits,
have you seen us?
we leave our business lights on
and forget keycards on the counter

we half expect saving; but feel fully betrayed
beware satellite dreams and rocky mountain roster mountings,
this derelict daring domino theory stands alone
& aint lonely for nothin’
lets get full on bologna and stomach churning,
chastising stormfronts for bluffing us.
mine is a streetlight gone haywire:
check yr engine
for fueling the fire and
goddammit all when no one’s inspired.

watchful eyes and serial hotel spines
the broken parking meters
and oh the shiny drunken streets
thumbnail text, shaking plastic
LED period

the city’s less intimidating from above
shouldve done it
this way all along (hm?)
moving walkway warnings,
geometry and airvents we
once called it freedom i
think but we’d been
wrong before

tonights all but a shell
empty trains and cold streets
echoing caves and gusts of
nothing i almost feel strong
here tonight.

fuck the traveling and fuck
the wildberries
why bother sitting

i am the zero integer
i am the sky through seated
windows
this rationale and rolled suitcases,
blame me! forever
forever ything i am
a hunchback and i eat
hilarious lifelike forced habits
we are all the erotic utopia
and cleansed clarity mistaking
itself for bare legs and too
much backbone.

im drunk on horror and nothingness. shimmering lights
and univers(al)ity constants. lets help ourshelves to
ourselves, never seldom

 
[ ... missing(./?) ... ]
 

stacks of ink and handcart
dreams always draining
this deferred, this daring damned!
and catered to my mistakes
whats all this abt
valence and tiny arrows??
my baby bottom graybeard
is stinging rug burns
over sized up carpal tunnel
syndromes like turn yr
lights on! we need to
[ ... section removed ... ]

this end.
scribblings & no_sense
i used the quarters
for laundry & threw
pieces of tape in the trash

this time the night tried to save itself
but it failed. and i watched
two subarus kill themselves
soiled napkins and barstools
became our notepads
then signposts and suburbs:
some coordinated conquerors? wear
havoc like a necktie
a narrative. our prerogative.
shine like a softmore, sell your

hate filled fakes and rhyme melodies
with mistakes and pacific
north gates. wait!

patent false and paisley praise

one in a million. choices.
sewer fog rising obscures
dumpsters and parking meters
scene: the same seen
set in forward, my one
eternal memory. choice.
or a trolley car missing or run
off track and timing must
be everything or else its
nothing and nothing is nothing
and if i were the right
doctor i’d have more ________.

a work in progress; many stops do not follow

. crease ina forehead.conjuring image with words.organs of space between tiles
 . draining dimensions of smoke lost to the elevation ,what careful kind of   
     patterns have we etched airborne in burnt or’nge anonymity.

youngwhippersnapper fashionably fastened _im trapped in the digital
age made magical by hearing aids and casually backpacking burglary
through emptying_spawned_menacing and lopped-off pawn shops moving
-full.stop-on up, pops.

scrounging computer parts and rummaging through riddle worth bridge work

welsh or wealthy, i’m whipped into submissions by scorn and softer sororities (fuck the sorrowful sand dollars!) i steal the landlocked and lost love coffee shops whose the closing time closet timing King Me! may she never forgive me.

  :  :  :

something even the most venerable of us all could not avoid, this one thing i cant get out of my head (you see how the rain obscures lane markings?) our least favorite mismatch pedestrians jump between wiper blades and past ponchos (precariously, we nudged and nodded at one another) let us lean forward i scream stumbling awkward arrogances (you call that stamina?) mumbling addresses and cell phones fumbling for heartache hidden in grammar school mattresses like holidays and trash stains all come together and the ending bent in breeding stretched my breathing across an eden misleading myshelfishness locked and boxed in (i put the abs in absolute).

  :  :  :

here i am angels, again no stabs in half all swallowed up in bear traps and throat grabs the puddle’s collapsed in all warnings vanished or wrapped in ice caps, horror and finesse forever.

and all at once we spotted that nothing so sudden could occur.

there was a thorough and terrifying moment in the making, you warned me.

lets drink in schematic invalid valises, i thought, and satisfaction.

she rose, when the rains slowed, a rough draft in doubt.

like lightening rods and airplanes, we flirted with the space between ourselves.

a gesture; a secret; what i overheard that night through the crowd.

you seem like a broken lost&found jukebox; its all my fault.

hope in this eternal sunshine california, so don’t worry.

broken neck fairy tales for a jonathon stand-in: a band i never liked.

canceled subscriptions around daybreak departures.
who’s choice to do the Right Thing?

watch out for counter space watchtowers when the wishbone keeps bending.

im a rose bush that needs trimming, over grown and welcoming the blade.

the sky
is
the sky
\
  and the limit

is the
        limit

, , ,

ihatemyshelves-blahday; blah