Jackson

I get a beer and lean on the bar I can smell the pheromones He’s been sweating into that t-shirt all afternoon I want to touch but he doesn’t even smile I think he’d be intense in bed A really good hard fuck But he’s so serious He doesn’t flirt And I don’t know where… Read more

no words: my head your scket: want my words in your pcket: want my hand in your pcket? oh fck it—let’s just dance Read more

I’d like to write a poem. I’d like to write a poem. I’d like to write a poem. I think of ignoring my aesthetic and just fucking someone, anyone with a flat stomach and a half-nice face … but I feel sick. I’m not selling my soul again for my cunt, using someone I don’t… Read more

I’m fucking James Bond— the Roger Moore James, not the Sean Connery— the straightedge James, not the curved— and it’s nice to be fucking James for once But there’s not just me in my dream: there’s another me, ten years younger, five inches shorter, six semitones higher, with flick-shoulder curl-tipped platinum hair and narrow little… Read more

Talk to me,      brother moon. I cannot be another moon I am a tree and a forest of trees I am an oak; I have acorns and robins My twig-fingers, roots and limbs,      seedlings and saplings and sap-boned friends      generate their noisy green all day All day I am bedecked and bespangled by sister sun… Read more

he says when they were younger he had a crush   he loves her voice and her poet’s words her poet’s words   so I watch the clip she has long black hair a short black dress too much mascara for that industrial area   for those scrubby dunes   for all that sand   for anywhere in daylight, really she’s indie alright   she’s windblown and… Read more