I want to write a story, so tragically obsessed with the loss of his teeth that he makes them into denchers and kills himself

I miss you already
i miss your knocks on my door and the way you speak
i'm stoned
and all i wish is that you were here with me

and we all lived together 

in a wee little house,

touched by God. 

and we were all happy 

but more than any other thing

we were 

all the people I love are either dead or dying

these are my friends in a tent

rebuke the idol/idle

today I have a car, 

the car is my idol

for I am not idle. 

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
but we both have hands to hold and to choke
and wring what will not love us back.

a woman is a woman
but she was once made from man
a little bone he could do without
carved with the precision of a voodoo doll
with a nose and eyes and breasts
to love and to do without.

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
and they dream of houses and cigarettes,
of sex and blank-faced babies.

a man is a man
who dreads the morning crust
in the corners of her eyes
and the hollow breath caressing "good morning"
like she's never said it before.

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
and a woman is a woman
who knows she is without hope
and a man is a man.

al gore

How do you feel

I for one

For two

For three

Would like to harm you so gross

Make love to morose

And privy my thoughts to a ghost.

I purged the blood from my throat

And prayed not to choke

But the thought rang out like a toast

High and mighty my dear,

Assert to my fear

And vile so vile my truth

They think I’m sad

But I pray I’m just mad

Oh wouldn’t that be so uncouth?

My head is the maker,

lungs surely the breaker,

of what I can hear but not see

if I let it prolong, 

or end it so wrong,

then all of you voices be free 

but maybe not

fuck you

hello

I love you
won't you tell me your name

i keep dreaming of drowning
and drowning with a single thought all those whom I know as ghosts

lol

it's like losing ur virginity

to the lady dressed in white

things spring,
not hope--hope is no thing I know
beds spring, when voices rise
you to the door now to half light the hall
doors spring
and hold in place the small crack
you've framed
to muffle the giggles
lifting the bed.
sounds spill,
like achey cups in jittery hands.
you with your cocaine eyes
and sweaty pause
and me,
drunk on valentine wine, sizing up the hallway
alone in ambition.
but there's no fixing it,
the thing itself.
the thing that makes me safe,
fort made of rabbits' feet and graying pillows,
thing that makes me less only,
but ever more lonely.
Thing springing
and hoping to god I'll hear.
Sober sounds for drowning ears

momento mori, bitches

Last night I dreamt that Mary Casatt's fictitious husband gave me her teddy bear

a week ago today I cried myself to sleep

my optometrist told me my tear ducts have nearly dried up

a week from a week ago today I'll probably drink myself to sleep