No Means
time wraps itself back up
before the week starts so slowly it can't
theorize sensation
it can't stay put deep in a ditch the
way I am backward dreaming
lunch break my worst genre is sex
talk
how it can't keep pace w/ the leaves rate of bloom inert
under my heliological need pointing out the trancelike
underdeveloped trauma hypothesis it is always just a hint
the way my meat doesn't want to rearrange the words all the time
it doesn't want lips to sip opening w/ a jaw clicking
discarded remember how I make
flowers cry on the side
of paved parts of day most private the time it already promised
no means no time to say when I decide to give it all away
and for what I wonder what
performance solves the proof of interiority
Before the Sentence Begins
feeling real and relevant
sleeves rolled high
I name myself event and you swallow me in
a just over there feeling the cloud sound makes
thrilling to wake up in your marshland rust to
drink your beer and soot
every note marine cast light in a happy smoldering home
where news scrolls through our hands like water how horror holds us on
handheld's & with each caesura we stop and deflect
all sloppy stumbling angelus novus ducking from blustery
survival
& my curse is how I gag on my every demand I spit up ghosts
to make my genre perceptible
remember
the unheard sun finite as it is complicit
in the naming of the event
