17 and 23

if I stomp on my glasses

the world

goes away 

but I can still 

imagine your body 

rumor has it 

every disposable camera 

is blank is open   

you carry one 

in whatever purse 

your sister hasn’t absorbed 

there is a shade thrown 

across the mossy yard 

and a swimming pool 

full of black leaves 

I’m a visitor here 

from dirt road Mars 

me, myself, I’m 

getting fucked up 

in a blue knit hammock 

swaying back and forth 

to the rhythm

of nothing 


never mind 

your sexy skull

is no one’s


just diet-death-cola 



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