Hassayampa

“no one’s into me,”
cries the bolted door.
thru the land of mines
nurturing u pour.

starey
scary
open
frail
n flail.

those who shrink u
for thr merry
of the truth
shall ever ailing fail.

underground,
for the birds,
wow to wow
bouncin like a water cure.

upside down,
rained n drained,
thru the town,
dying in an aquacade.

i was such a silly girl
wen i wuz a naughty boy;
hook that dirtbag up to me
n i’ll fill her up with joy.

hassayampa
hassayampa

we shall return u
to wut u were
before we wanted more.

Red Woman’s Revenge

she climbs the ladder’s shadow
to a greener branch of man,
prepares him in her pueblo
then drops him on japan.

she is luv left in the lurch
so shared it’s barely there;
a burning animate church
says “enter me if u care.”

so doled into the runnel
of mussy implantation,
via his jugular funnel,
she owns insemination.

u may wish to sire
as music soothes the battled breast,
but weft of bygone shivers,
she gives no ravage rest.

she is the only natural source
of careful, carefree choice,
her stewardship a gentle force
that teaches points to moist.

engage her in yr stakings,
leave whim to her cognitions,
else she drag u, gaping,
down her wild preconditions.

wen ya gonna jump off that grouchy clown
n cell mate yr counterpart,
not just slump round the slouch pump
administrating a greed frown,
cartelling words like duty-free shut-eye
into the fuck-it bucket,
like whoever tries to pull
full from the well of ramify
just needs more death-knell zinfandel?

wow! such a large intestine!
wow! such reckless lacustration!
wow! such lame lamentation!
wow! such happy livestock chin-chin!

o dude, u make her drool
o how u make her drool
o dude, u make her drool
u make her drool u into the been pool

she soaks it up wen she’s washt away,
between the crests her smile beams,
yr frozen tongue’s her nesting dream,
swaddling u wer the elder sway.

let her be yr dirt-lord tonite,
she’ll ghost-rite yr bored hurt
into an undeveloped coast
wer u’ll wallow in the thinkhole
of her helpmeet hollow,
a sweet daddle-clad man vole
with the sad rattl in his showy slink,
as she winds u up
in wut the urth adorz,
floors n floorz of nethermind
worth whole wars, til u
strut like harlemite eels,
gnarled loose as the court of alleles,
fly as a trike mob, turnin
the burnin to lurnin bout
a first-hand throb on the offtrack,
cross-barred luvrs, cumback curst,
skies in the hard of yr land.

she’s all ears for eyes
that happen to be
she’s all ears for eyes
that happen to be
she’s all ears for eyes
that happen to be on hers.

o wut a beautiful mad.

not a turf but she weaves the seed,
upturns the pelf in her braidling prime,
restints to drupe luxurious chyme,
her coil’d swoon the follow we’d.

wut brunts the gloze her sward abasks,
on timrous edge she gulshes most,
her iric flung a roving host,
o freeing glean of heavy tasks.

to lift her lid
u gotta get amid,
shake navels with the
free-wrought genera,
scout watertable synonym lib,
betaking of in, outset
guarana squatter anon, the thole pone
breth is for, all about or,
to multirole zones
thrall-gyved,
the occult snout
hot on yr deth bok,
viz gone-taught,
so may u, splanish
as drip splat on
dark harp,
unravalanchian, ling’ring
like dew steam off
hark scarp,
in swish’s grip, fray fro,
be stanchion like calve has,

then shall her cliff dwelling
in know secrets canyon
render outlet-rich yr delving day.

ee be da bee bee da gobba da ba.

Thank U BB

thnk u bb
for rubbin out my bummer queen
thnk u bb
for the wildhood memories
thnk u bb
for all that rollin round on me
thnk u bb

thnk u bb
for teachin me to swim my heart
thnk u bb
for bein so substrate-of-the-art
thnk u bb
for gettin soft wen it gets hard
thnk u bb

for flyin me to ultimum
wer everything’s a go
for showin me that quarrelsome
is rippin wut u sew
for forcin yr curriculum
on my pinocchio
for squeezin my accordion
so so slow

thnk u bb
for synchin my grind to yr delite
thnk u bb
for the tender in the chide
thnk u bb
for bein my biosatellite
thnk u bb

i don’t need lite at the end of the tunnel
i just need u to be there wen it’s dun, girl.

thnk u bb
for lettin me camp out in yr shrine
thnk u bb
for never givin up yr prime
thnk u bb
for bein yrs wile bein mine
thnk u bb

i cdn’t have undone it without u, bb

Scattered

azhan wuz a blizzard
of alone in the snow.

she took to revision
like the wind to the blown.

her hed wuz deliverd
evry day from who noes.

t’hi-tail with her
wuz to fly wer yr flown.

n she go’d

i taste a different time in evry sapid dimpl of the honeycomb.
n i gotta chase my eyes thru all the hyalescence in the drizzlebow.
but y such a bitter rind round my fructifyin wen they call me so
scatterd, scatterd, scatterd.

the rain run for cover
down the bak of shaloom.

his brain wuz the butter
from the churn of the moon.

he stuk to wutever
got him slosht in the swoon.

to thiks he was twinner
than the ruff to the hewn.

n he go’d

i can’t man my hands til i burrow to the hollow of the hitherto,
cuz i hear how i began wen i wander wayward thru the overgrew.
but y’s my tail fake a stand for its rite to rattle wen they call me too
scatterd, scatterd, scatterd.

they met at the clutter
of bad off n too bad.

it took but a stutter
for thr tongues to be had.

they sukt from the flooder
til thr feelers unsnaggd.

then thr hands off the rudder
they went down with the jam.

n they go’d

we jumpin off the sprawl into the be-for-all of the better never known.
n we slug our werwithal from the waterfall in the riches unbestowed.
cuz free r the so enthralled they absorb the squall til they soak into the cozy mother stone,
scatterd, scatterd, scatterd.

Shoulders In

if i get my shoulders in
will you teach my instrument to play?

yr my healthy option in
a broken menu of gourmet mistakes.

far is not terminal
less yr back from wer yr bound.

we’re a lot to haul,
so y put u down for bein down
a deeper lake?

i’m in yr room agen, hey hey.
i’m gonna move my men yr way.

if i run yr dancer ded,
can i have a week to make yr day?

won’t u join me in givin hed
to the god of no shared vertebrae?
i hear she pays.

there’s no old feeling
worth its weight in lost desire.

i’m up for kneeling
to set yr thigh-high house on fire
so i can throw myself on yr femoral pyre.

the sea’s lockt its legs around my face.
this balmy peopled soup is all my base.
i’m gonna swim yr street-filled aches
til my eternally postponed pregnancy escapes.

i’m in luv, n luv’s away.

Man of the Morning

“u’ll try again in the morning,
u can’t win the year in a day,
yr story gets lost in the storming,
y trade the pack for a stray?”

i met the man of the morning
as i rolled another nurse for a vial of shine
n tho smeared with the smut i’d been sporing
i cd see thru the crack in my spine

he was clean as a graphic image warning
n as fed as a fire on the summer pine
n wen i askt for the source of his hoarding
he sed, “i have no mind

to carry mortar to the rubble of my grave
so i can drape my eyes with the tongues i mighta saved,”
but ‘fore he’d given me more wear’some reveilles
i gave him mine,

“nothin can wait til the mornin,
the tower shall be taken shd we down,
all thru the nite i’ll be warrin
to gain more ground,”

then in his rising my reluctant luv appeared,
lookin fresher than the wasting i so feared,
yet as i braced myself to face her kimantsis
she brought me round

“u’ll try again in the morning,
u can’t win the year in a day,
yr story gets lost in the storming,
y trade the pack for a stray?”

then silent we walkt thru the warming
til i sed wut i nue wuz to say,
“i’ll sleep wen i noe yr a sure thing,”
n she lookt his way.

Bull Milk Blues

you have smutted luv with worry,
serving napkins for dinner.
if u want me off yr plate, just eat me.

my sacral flurry
now awkwardly fibrillates
in yr obstetrical stables
like a droopy belated menhir,
its flirty word reservoir
reduced to an abstract
on the recursive carcasses
of yr trap-impersonating mousy act.

O once relaxing frenzy woman,
stop goldpanning the cinnamon.

u pinch the party into yr burrowed brow,
flake on the bakbone extract vow,
like flowin with the O’s a disturbance mechanism
that vomits creepy parvituded kanipshon
all over yr free-range tunnel to collapse,
but y rethink a relapse to synapse?
u got more frets than a cheap trick guitar.
yr teeth smell like yr nuklz on memoir.
chill, u wait bloomer mill, my cok can swim,
so throw open yr utopian penitentiary
n let its only inmate retrofit sed sumptuary
into a rudimentary adaptable rendering
of yr unpredictable ideal
swingin that sweet devotional hymn:

O mi dulce circo pequeno,
es el momento de mi bobo.

i don’t wanna shoo yr litigative immunity,
i just wanna brew yr nutripative lagunity.
word’s there’s a ruse rose deep in yr clutch of whimzy,
so kiss me on the precipice, n let’s out that inzy.

how have we not left the accounting cathedral already?
who seeks imbalance? my load pressure
has reacht barometrical unsteady.
set yr haystack off skeleton
n turn that sway back on my rekless slobber gun.

a fine match is now a sad fire,
but it’d flare agen if u’d blow yr airhed
on its coals of desire steada
puffin yrself up to seem
all scary to the darkness it once flooded
for the good of all peaches n cream.

lake longing longs for its lengthening,
my lickable longshanks du llama.
no more idling at the last chance turn off.
we shall drive uninsurable rhododenrons
to coordinates “mayhem n guava.”
how hard is that? only as hard as u make it,
cuz u had it, u gave it to me, n now u can’t take it?

wut’s a man to do wen all he wants to do it to
don’t wanna do it too but check himself into the petting zoo?
i can’t last three bad days less yr twinkle toe ragout,
so drop the hotty plato, n beat razlin to my montague.

is u at yr worst the best u got?
how u supposed to throw me for a brag loop
if yr always catching yr breath
on a get-me-not?
just cuz yr mom spooks u
don’t mean I gotta belch her ghost.
so look my estranged crockery
in the grit n suck like lady luck
wut yr shibboleth squandered to no jocose.

i can’t get ur head outta my song.
y u still lookin for wut yr lookin from?
since wen were u born tomoro in a morgue?
defaulting on the free fall leaves a lot to be explored.
wen kids buy things, things buy kids;
that y u non-stop shopping for self-refrigeration pyramids?
i’nt sure how to say this without showing that u told me to,
but yr all i want, bb, so be it, or we thru.

What’s For It In Me?

down the road livd the luvly choralee
in a home as bad as she was good to see.
round we rode with the apples and the bees
n now and then we’d kiss n i was free.
n tho i sense i nue that she was doomed
to win the hell whence she was being groomed
all i thot was wut’s in it for me?

maribel wuz as maimed as she wuz mean
but her mouth wuz such a pretty, fierce trapeze.
out we’d go in her licorice limousine
wrong rompin as a mattress on the sea.
n tho her eyes were drying with the grime
that she wuz sure wd get her hi this time
all i thot wuz wut’s in it for me?

say “i do,” my puzzling genevieve,
n she did, n we wur wed like kennedys.
n midst the kids n the games of make me leave,
we’d often lie in bed n feel at peace.
n tho she wuz such a gorgeous, crazy girl,
she wuz just one in a gorgeous, crazy world,
n all i thot wuz wut’s in it for me?

n then, i dunno wut happened.
maybe i had a syntagmatic hormone intervention.
maybe i pulled a muscle n found the pass/fail gene.
maybe i met someone bigger than me.
maybe the damage i’d done became the patch i grazed.
maybe i drank enuf to save a mockingbird.
maybe i wuz rite all along n it wuz time to change.
cuz now i see y the words “my love” refer
to both the need n wut the need is for
n all i ask is wut’s for it in me?

n if u don’t believe me, just try it once,
n u’ll see how getting off ain’t all that
if u land on wut u were trying to get off.
like u’ve never felt anything so verdurous
as feeling like someone else who’s feelin verdurous.
cuz sure as u can’t chop down a tree
without it falling on u first,
the pleasure around is the pleasure within.
i’ll say it again so you can give one to a friend:
the pleasure around is the pleasure within.
it’s all good, it’s just not all that good at it.

Gone Too Soon

look at u
yesterday u were so new
o it was such a huge debut
but it wasn’t very long
into yr little song
before u…

how i clutcht
that something else u roused in us
o it was such a wowzy rush
to feel u everywer
but that was then and ther
before u…

all my life
i wanted to be recognized
as someone at least half allright,
to swell inside yr luv
was, well, o hell, it wuz
before u

died on me
at first i cried “don’t hide from me”
then “ally ally all come free”
but u just held yr ground,
no, u werent playin round,
cuz u’d dun…

wen we met
i’d never noen such ravishment,
my fugal rage, my lavish net,
my bolted, secret chest,
u utterly transgresst
and then u…

every day
u blew my heavy cares away
i suddenly had things to say
cuz u so thrilled to hear,
u freed me from my fears,
and then u…

such a blast,
in we dove and wut a splash,
so certain it wd always last
cuz we were ment to be,
like, well, like u n me
and then u

died on me,
n wen i found u, so supreme-
ly feigning inhumanity,
i lost my better hed,
“do not do that again!
i thot u’d…”

come on back to yr luvr, now.
reach yr arms to yr luvr, now.
give yr luv to yr luvr, now.

time can scream
but never will yr like be seen
there’s u n u n deth between
so loving everything
just means remembering
u haven’t…

who’s to blame?
there’s no returning in a name.
safe and sound, we’re sliced and slain,
so who am i to think
that every time i blink
u haven’t…

i’m not mad.
i’m glad for all the times we had
but i’d be just a tad less sad
if u wd send me word
so i cd rest assured
u haven’t…

died on me
n as u lay there, so serene,
so mortified i’d been so mean
to one who’d been so kind,
so giving, so all mine,
i toucht yr…

maybe i shd…
maybe we cd…
maybe u wd…
where
u
where
u
where
u
where