Coachuhhar

grip that                  carotid and
watch me cry.           like every
pulse off your fingers will kill
her with every second of  our
snap story. so when     we kiss
in the      art block store room
let   her   be  in  the periphery.
i think             she knows it
when she touches my hair   to
exclaim how     long it’s gotten
like  we  don’t  share the same
length.    and hold hands upon
graduation and leave with  no
thanks. we check it in at the
depository.                she spits it
back. i think i let it dry between
the fields of my cheeks so
it cracks and i leave it to
sew the gash . in my spineline
that you traced   when we fell
asleep in the safety of the
morning light,
at morningside.
when you steal the blood   the
oxygen from my brain   i hope
it stops it from running,
stop me from calling out her
name.

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I think we’re brightest when we’re swinging between the blue-pink.
/ when we left your house , there were new claw marks
we have heels turned   ,   we’re ready to sprint
I mouth the sound of our rebirth and spread firestorms whenever we
kiss.                              sure the flight’ll go smoothly but does turbulence
last    monthly?
Could we exist in transience,   baby?        With clock arms  jumping   .
have you ever known distance like this ,    and unfamiliarity but all
the time with nowhere to hide and total absorption and an expensive
way back
I still don’t think they’d like me.
but you know you know this is not needle insertion
what did he say? got sunshine in his veins?

i keep it in the two-column  with each labelled with the taste of odd numbers       .
think you’d like me better if i never started so i slice the middle with the sound of
(vvrrr)drive me to that place where you       let my ankles deteriorate with the
moisture of the swampland and grabbed the elastics of my socks    make the estuary
take        me            (please)                           before   your   dad    knows    you’re
spending a ridiculous amount of petrol money on shitty drives around the northside.
i divide black strands into halves and let it say its greetings with the clipper guard.
/
i keep it in the two-column with each labelled with the taste of–oh fucking stop.
he kisses me in darkness says his sorries to walk off for another beer from the garage
when it’s tables now, not diagrams              and i
compile timestamps into archives and feel the bottom half growing but it’s summer
soon. you think your dad could give me a discount, my tooth aches, it’s not too far
i could always get korean when i’m down there, so pick me up from school, you know,
he won’t know, i think it’s so cool that you drive and i’m only sixteen and the sound of
(vvrrr) /.
ikeepit in this is second column still labelled with the                                   odd numbers?
                                    clicked post and scrolled so         must’ve burnt a hole into this orbit
                                       like playing mahjong and hoping it’d match with   the blue    lines
                                            but i can’t be explicit anymore, it’s no fun, there’s no fun in not
                                  trying to figure out    using other people’s faces as a mirror for      ////
       you think your dad could                maybe                     my tooth aches      itsnot too far
   and kept the forest fires raging and let your greyhound out the house this is   excess
with too much written and too much sent and don’t drive up to my house and pay for
the morning after when we hatefucked each other god, god, ugh it tastes just like you

summer without you (part 2)

i.
maybe if he never blocked me and left me hanging with the
rush            of red and green                   this could be okay.
dropped me off  and spat the s word
(not slut)   wait why the fuck did you call me a socialist?

ii.
so…                             what kinda music festivals do you like
like, really not cool, like too tall, like,   megan fox’s not that hot
please stop calling me, i don’t care about mma

iii.
i think you’re the purest and you’re the only blonde-blue i never
wanted to strangle to death with         zipties
or leave you in the dark with the frame of the triangles in the
tiny patch of grass            thank god school’s over so
no one cares that we’re
super   fucking   gay

iv.
no comment

 

 

 

in autumn, in winter
that’s when they straighten backbones you know
that’s when the fingers slip
it’s the reoccurring switch
they trailed traces of splinters behind
and plucked off bits of grass.
rippled from the catamaran
the little blonde things and paleo bars
we still have skid marks to follow us
and alert eyes drifted off to the side
so do you remember how big they get, i
never knew how big they get
there’s been hundreds so far you just
haven’t noticed
i guess we take it and leave it running
because they built the estate round here real quick
and this little slip road is always flooding
nothing a town planner mom doesn’t know
but this is shared space
isn’t it, isn’t this
halfway?
isn’t this the milestone
left passionfruit flowers
on it’s own

Rasa

Speak it from the storm, now, son    And mouth it
Mahabhuta and our air and earth
We’re twinkling
we’re in spirals, we’re light feathers
So   Why       do you keep running?
you want to keep it from the clear claws
and keep it from the stone awash, the pus of the pop
its milky vomit
Think it’s been inside you all along
Apa-Dhatu
net covers from the summer sun
and the buzz of the hum and emerald stone
Do you really think you can have us
Think you can keep us displayed, windows
Think we’re only meant to be hung from second floors
Think it’s only real when you’re down at splendour
but we’re elementary
and you need to stop stealing
I think we’re the sand of the sea
breathing through skin and
cleansing