— April 23, 2014 —

if i had my 
way 
you would
keep
your beautiful
in a place
where you would
see it 

if things
were what 
they should
be
we could
lay 
the weight of this
world
down







« »

— April 21, 2014 —

i am inhaling
the center of a distance
i am light
i am human
i am molecule 

i am traveling at
exactly 83 miles 
per hour

i am moving
away from everything

i see yellow lines
double yellow lines
going on for almost
ever
and they do not 
touch







« »

— April 20, 2014 —

the city was covered in such
a dense fog you’d think
it was either ashamed or
in hiding
but the crows fought through that
they fought through the hazy curtain
some of them you could almost see circling
the smokestacks or gliding in 
between apartments and some
were pecking around in parking lots
hungry 
showing the sort of 
emotion you’d expect
from a crow
but most
perched themselves on power
lines and on cars and on the roofs of 
bus stops and houses or were
walking down the sidewalks
sharpening their taloned feet 
on the asphalt and even then
it still wasn’t that
strange
until we drove out 
past the fields
where there were so many it became
exhausting to distinguish 
neck from tail from head from wing
on the grey grass that at one point
had been green?
i slid down in the back seat trying
to escape all the eyes
because it was clear they were
watching
it was clear they 
noticed
they were looking at us
with names we could not
pronounce
they were
looking at us
like we were
creatures that
did not
belong







« »

and

— April 19, 2014 —

i still want
the you that
doesn’t think
straight

with
the cross-eyed 
typos and the 
wrong turns

i want the
mistakes and
the cleaning up

the virtue and
the sin

every single 
oh no
and all the
god
damn
s







« »

— April 18, 2014 —

we had cymbal lips
and trumpet lungs
golden arms
we broke to melt
down
into idols

we were cherubim 
and the seven-starred 
seraphim 

we were
milk and 
honey
and
shit







« »

— April 17, 2014 —

we came expecting 
to find god
in the naked
body of a
nonbeliever

hoping
hell 
might hoist a
white flag
in the face of
such raw
good







« »

— April 16, 2014 —

and somehow you
stay
even after you’ve
gone 
even in the times you
aren’t 
running
down the stairwell

in the middle of a
song i’m caught by you
somehow your smile
keeps with me 
as if 
you
carved out your
name in
cursive 
on the walls







« »

— April 15, 2014 —

bed floor bridge
all of these are things
you can crawl across 
all of these are things that
skinned my knees
all of these are figments 
of an overactive imagination

the bed connects to the floor
the floor connects to the bridge
the bridge connects to the
unknown and it’s important that
we don’t cross that bridge 
i don’t think we have enough money
for the 
tolls

but it’s all right:
the unknown swallows everything
it eats the tolls the bridge the floor
it eats the bed and the sleep
it eats the dream
it eats the way your eyes look when you’re
asleep and can’t
scream

i’d ask somebody about it
but i won’t i don’t like the word
no or how it looks when it’s crawling over your
teeth
i have one in my mouth too but she’s been
quiet for a while
yeah we think that
she’s sleeping but she might be dead

she might be rotting in between my
teeth

but the unknown ate my teeth starting with
the t and ee
and ending with 
tomorrow and the day after that
and the day after that and the
day after that

(the lights blew out in the
room and it became
unbearably dark)

(the lights blew out in my
head and it became
unbearably dark)







« »

— April 14, 2014 —

a dandelion
has walked its way to the
foot of the redbud
what
courage possessed by
this small
flower to 
to bloom 
one in 
the shadow of
five hundred 

isn’t it like life
to be so dully
inspired 
that regardless of
beginnings or ends its
removal would
never amount to
much more 
than the simple 
pulling
of a weed
from the garden







« »

— April 13, 2014 —

isn’t it a sadness 
to be stung by the 
familiar 
beasts you let into
your home
and made room for
in your bed







« »

— April 12, 2014 —

dig your fingernails into
her eyes and watch
as they come up
all covered in 
tar

her sitting cross-legged
blinking
at us like strangers
looking at us like
we broke something
important

just lower your eyes
and wash your hands and 
figure it’s shame
for thinking
with a big enough heart you
could change
somebody
and for
thinking there wasn’t
any harm in
trying

but understanding
is the pain
like a razor turned
on you
when you know
that it isn’t your
burden to carry

when you realize
it’s a
darkness even we
couldn’t
claw out







« »

— April 11, 2014 —

wounded animal crawls
in a mess of leaves
unsteady tracks through
wet mud
stumbles
falls upon a rock face
carved out
into a safe 
space quiet 
with the red stain
dripping but only so
tired 
ready to die
waiting to
rot







« »

— April 10, 2014 —

you were the sort of 
season that made
every inch of sunburn
worth it

you were
the kind of
muddy good
our parents 
made us keep
outside







« »

— April 10, 2014 —

american-promises:

well-travelled paths
following after 
the faded flags of
our fathers and 
the post-celebration
blues

born into the
generation of 
listless and
longing for a 
reason to be as 
wild as they once
came

those roads led
a man here asking
now how’d those
bloodstains scrub out 
so damn easy
all those deep lines
on his face mumbling

disaster
twisting the gut ways
it hasn’t been twisted
in a while

might be time to cross
that line
put some distance between
these dust spitters 
these restless
bowlegged squatters 
throwing rocks up at 
the sun

———
by american-promises and elephantsoutside







« »

— April 9, 2014 —

gravity 
still runs rivers
down the peeling
yellow body
of a hunchbacked
tree
no longer able 
to bear fruit

pity 
a sickness 
held by men led them
to leave it in
ground

they cast out such
a wide net
in hopes that it all stays
together

but cracks show 
a larger picture 

painted in such
broad strokes

the orchard’s
silence
justifies
the cobwebs

- - - - -

by elephantsoutside and american-promises







« »
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