after our exchanges yesterday, i thought today would be the day i'd get to see you again. i've never felt lovesick before. i convinced myself not to go to your house last night and bang on your door till you kissed me. you need space and i can't trust my instincts anymore. i'm trying to be cool and everything tells me i love you. a consoling friend said to me that this will make good song fodder. i don't want to write songs. i want to wash your back. and for you to wash mine. and to see that pulsing circle again.

solid tude

my new age friends put crystals in their asses when they masturbate.
there are horses in a stable across the street.
in a multi-panelled mirror
with gold-emblazed floral brackets separating squares,
long-billed fish curled into the corner
they rub their slime on the wall
and ruby eggs slide through their docile mouths.

the water outside is covered.
the last of the snow is gathered at it's entrance.
under the tarp, a stolid punch of wetness. air for the bacteria party.
dead eyes for no remember food.

in an unnamed ritual we invoke our desperation plea
that leaves our wretches on the cherry tree
oh lustful in and as the sap.
every place a church of something