Receding gums have pushed to reveal the soft spot
((I suppose appropriately)) on the very day I first told someone
to go fuck herself, “default” became an active verb, the
social media headline just familiar & dream-shade footprints
dragged to board ships. ((He could only ever handle Away as a
permanent plan.)) But he pops up again, the instinct to tongue
the sting atop eye tooth, & audible discomfort accompanies
a smile. He’s welcome for Fountain of Youth-ing his face off
that August, granting audience to ((heart))string theory ‘til
the riddle worked itself out: The transition from friend to lover
wrenches the love right out of it.

                All of this is true.

What’s an original way to describe relocation, to explain exodus?
I feel like that guy in that movie, only not as good-looking &
with less hope of any clean resolution; Contrails or bladetrails.
I love that my favorite girl broke up with my favorite guy, & I
have Crowbar in my self-dictation. Tell me if you find any leads
on a decent junk guitar — If I’m gonna fail, I wanna fall
spectacularly, bad trips to swear off drugs, good boys to swear
off love. But. Wait. Those happened. I’ve yet to snap a string,
though, so there’s something to live for.

                Especially the lies.

When he said Mountains Would Miss Me, that the chairs lining
makeshift library were me-shaped, he over-specified; She’ll do
more to bring out the reds in the border his mulberry stained
fingers pressed into place with the first She he’d settle for
in want of honey highlights. But I’m not bitter — even the arms of
these lows drip with sticky sucrose: Hell, reduce the vinegar to
sweetness, it’s my way of teaching you out of your head.

                Even leaps of faith.

The pause of malfunction = textual stutter; The even-tempered
win love, which kind of defeats the purpose of war, or causes it.
A poet told me “You can’t watch your own image & also look
yourself in the eye,” or he sang it & I heard it, which is the same
thing. Let’s argue between stanzas, say the formula’s simple,
self-important paragraphs, & scoff. They all have Crohn’s &
inspiration anyway. Look on the bright side: You’ll prob’ly get
sick someday.

                (                                                                      )

Scratches & markings-through erase value, so can’t we claim
worthlessness without words if we brandish our scars for public
appeal? Conversations that don’t make linear sense are NOT
normal. But if the mouths spitting were ugly at any point, we’ll
buy it. No merit badges for small bladders, but there really
should be one for alcohol retention, if the claim is utility.

                Belief’s still its own economy.

I’m already over him ((again)). And I laughed in a sassy face because
bandanas are never necessary & serve only to inspire adjectives
offensive to me & mine — This isn’t fucking Williamsburg, & we
are not fucking; There is no desire in my cell system to submit
to colonization, despite the ends suggested when I turn
phrase to douche- or dick-ery. I feel like that chick in that movie,
only not as good-looking & with less hope of any bone-deep
fearlessness.

                History depends on the weather the day record is penned.

 

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