[lost] in

i wish i had a studio apartment that was bare except for a stereo and a giant bed and a space heater. i'd adorn the walls with other people's words so that when i had a reason to stare at the wall for two hours, i'd be staring at something beautiful. my living room would be a mixtape interspersed with poetry and i would smoke cigarettes, blowing the spent spires toward the layer of overcast frosting on the january skyline, wrapped in a blanket and perfectly content to be alone until you got home to feed me and love me and keep me warm [wrapped up / tangled up / lost] in us.

Form Follows

function: n. an arithmetic expression used to describe how one number depends on another or to describe a quantity related to a curve. A specific input in a function is called an argument of the function.

Form Follows

the hands he carefully examined under the
dim light from a streetlamp now discover
and memorize the shallow parabola
of his spine. those hands are mine,
and they trace the curvature like
a first grader using fingerpaint
to depict jack-o-lanterns or
sunflowers. he just lies
on his stomach in my bed
absorbing, as I am, the scent
and feel of someone else’s line/ns.
he asks me what tomorrow’s plans are
while my fingertips find his shoulderblades
and I investigate the argument of the function

Bukowski (1)

I'm fucked up.
Right now I'm
fucked up. If
imitation is the
highest form of
flattery, then a
dead misogynist
is blushing.

But I don't
like his line
breaks.

street corner valhalla

This frat boy was leaning, trapping this girl he was with
against her car, pleading with her
not to drive home but she pleads back,
she's straight, dude.
She's straight.
Dude, she's straight.
He says he wants to keep her safe
but I know the real reason:
He's seasoned her Pabst with liberal roofies, and
just before she turns onto Trenton she's going to take a nose-dive into the steering wheel and
her car
and the curb
are going to make the sound shopping carts make.
And when he hears the ambulance on Wilma Rudolph he'll think to himself,
Damn. I could've gotten laid tonight.

-

Have you ever been so relaxed that you

drop

your cigarette?

So convinced that you're sitting
in Valhalla
on a street corner
getting rained on