I am      Invested in
by a      Huge Fund
Heavy                    highquality
furniture
Sense of heavy
Addiction glossy pleasance

I was lying Down on a yoga mat
My bones
basketing air     Barely draped in
skin
the basket             Effulged by local
Air      Highquality        scented
humid air
to support          My orchid        Skin

Suffuged in this Air
expense I nearly
floated Who was my Body

I am comfortable I am
comfortable     Flying my spirit

On a long leash
She is            in the wind
   I am in the     belle
belle jar
shellacked and        brittle
begins to      ding

How can I      From inside this comfort

Represent      Hope to

No no

I am                 Too tempted

To think I            Deserve it
                     Rigidly and with effort

know my privilege

I know my fluorescent doorway

A rectangle   Among the ceiling tiles

Ordinary flecked coated 1) foam rectangles

and one hard white light regularly rubbled
2) glass rectangle

these are my choices
the

     ceiling tile                  I would tear
in                         behind the
       Ugly lattice to the   Duct area
   Unscrew the grille    Smallen myself
Into the dark cold Square pipe
    To share My cold What is in
       My basket    Bone-basket
              With the other      breathers/Workers

Or through the fluorescent door

Means giving up   On going   behind
the lattice.

All that’s allowed   Through the flow light

Is what   Is shined upon

The light bends looking at my   Skin
and hair   and   green blouse

       When I concentrate The light bending
All at once       Hooks my outsides

Hooks them into itself

             Now I am
     absent that

I am not / shined upon

     very small        dusty

     lizardlike   a toad    a turd

   on a tabletop     corner

And the outside of that is hooked away

         wow my parents

hooked away           People

on the street   skin and clothing

    hung on hangers

from    electric wires

blooming and twisting    swells of breeze

leave behind             on the street
a fair       weather

an easy            weather
walk-through

I think I’m better    than the walk-throughs
    because something is left of me

that’s what I     think I must
be wrong to     think so

               Would you like to    Eat at my house

Fill up your              Walk-through

You drive through               Fill it up with

tea and sheets
water from the toilet

These could    be your eyebrows
                                       [crayons]

these could be your knees, these coasters

                  What could                be your inside?

   Paper       wadded paper
      It says something

What about              Something sticky
       For your mouth             Honey

Then we will read you      For dinner

In my transitional housing    [dirt ball toad]

   I picked myself apart   With a fork
Connected a wire      Where my belly was
                                         Coiled up   the plug
           The prongs poke hurt

This is the part        Light plugs
        into           My/The outside plugs
into         To light up

The    shine    is    from    unshiny

sewn in place with the little
     Light hooks     Made a case for me
Visible

   so I retaliated
Against the hooks

I was    trying       My lizard turd
   was trying    to    join the other

Mud

my thrashing         harnessed
motored
made the light

Meanwhile       My toad
absorbed
pollution

from the walkthroughs       High empty
thoughts      Funneled   backchannel

Won’t you be mine [mind]         Be my thought
softening                   the rockmud

I will reorient now          I will claymation
That is a scary    Gingerbready

    mud man
walking          You can’t catch me       hole for
                        Your thoughts
   tunneled invisible     Unreflecting
unrepresenter
Not wrapped

The Sun is here    Also   later and at
the same time   the sun burned
    up and we revolved

around it dirt rock

    warm   dirt rock

    in the dark                     of coursing
    around the dark

I have made myself the center of

     the galaxy
I am very important to myself

must lose this

visibility

The shine is off

perspect while kicking

Where do you      think they get the lights from?

   Burn it up, burn up all the fuel
into furious dirt

     Nematodes
don’t need light

When I am in a room with forest
It is not that myself comes home to myself

   Selva oscura, ya

     Obsecurity of self

      I considered long and seriously before

           I was bornt

      I stood on the street

    With the hookers

Who were selling

Disappear into a hole

Into Mama

but come back out.

   Go in, boys.

   Go in and stay there.

Related Poems

Related Authors