video vixens

they've got the finest flanks,
the most unique most cheekbone exotic
European breeds, and they place advertisements in front
because yes, this is the way you should go, this is the way
you should dress, and show yourself, and wobble
yourself silly after you scream your ass in every language
all across rack city -
look over your shoulder short hair you should go
natural and leave the faux everything at home.
Drake says you are wintertime cold and Cole
says you are summertime fine and you hope these measures
can achieve that longest distance but they can't.
get through frontin; we should do somethin
about those weepy weekends after the nights on all those
towns, you weighed them heavy, the most unique
dress and the most wobbly after a few shots,
don't let them know you're a lightweight.
in every language you are.
you are in every language.

imma just drop everything and write romance novels

He's a broken-hearted barista who works out every day to distract himself from the loneliness. She is a newcomer to the city, just moved from Seattle after a breakup from her boyfriend who cheated on her. She has dark brown hair and soulful, searching eyes. They met over a cup of chai, he giving, her receiving. But what happens when her father finds out she's interested in a lowly coffee shop employee? She is supposed to marry into money. This and other surprises look for in the new imaginary romance novel entitled "A Hot Cup of Joe".

Wedding toast for the boy who stopped calling

a corpse in the sand lifts a hand's you step near
graze a smear of the space round your face on my ear
oh the fear of the grace of your eyes you're my prize
you're my hell     what the hell
hell is well

what's to tell
he's marrying me for my money

HAhahahahmhmmhm

.... .. . ..  .. ..... 

no but really

he doesn't even like me

and he agreed to marry me

HHAahhahahaHJmmmm

...

seriously folks

what a guy

you're my everything

my beetle shell

 glass eye

my handkerchief on the clothesline

at dusk 

you're divine

To my lovely new husband! (glasses up)

HERE HERE!

tink tink

(psptsch....hspspssp that was sweet, sphscp

a little weird chsts..sccse csstphst..p

sp...psst..pck.tchesph)

collaborative poem by Jon H., Kristin P., Bethany P., Cynthia S., Chelsea T., and Jerrod J. at Art Bar

1.

hallway crazy. you know how to make a design

Always the haze is closing. Obscure line recedes.

distant point equals me sightless, or my hands made of tiny lines. I

the line equal, I the hand upon sightless distance,

Mercedes go vroom absolute decay but we wait

Amid the skeins of steel-born traffic, the hallways and the line.

and the Mercedes gliding across a stage in dream time, the mall attacking us in our sleep,

Sightless sleep, the nightmared rushing, the hand, the line, the night

the fiery wolf of my brain rushing towards a revelation, the light, the time

and the nightmare pointing demons toward the moon - "GO" and

tell the rays your tale of turning under their quiet fingers

like trees getting rid of their leaves. a divine self assembly,

garden of perfect symmetry.

Rippling needless symmetries til it feels

separate. and i called you kind? but we speak only w/

tongue sometimes.

2

to beer is fake but beautiful let's dance in sync

darling, what night is it? 1983?

cheeks splayed - a night of symmetries and dance

holding beer in steins with dancing dames!

those cheeks, night of shoes flapping, dancing symmetry

and we talk too long, is it 1983? babe please tell me

Whose cheeks these symmetries reveal, what cheeks and

dames, the beer so fake, what cheeks again and what year?

holding, "what you"s, hoping to search for "again, what"?

separate from darlings! Hoping for new darlings!

bold-cheeked and beautiful, pouring my bunny-hide

desires of soft nails...L. B. look him, watch

this son. Pour upon the softening skin, bold and

fake, cheeks splayed, the beer still fake, but less so,

somehow. Super chunk Alexander can't take Kant or never -

was a thing worth saying. Who is though?

bold dames who are worth a night of softening hope, again,

pour upon Alexander searches for text, I can't take

the skin splayed, somehow our desires goes on, like, way

way past 1983 or anything. Like holy cow, for a

minute. we were dancing. Like, for real. Beer.

(FLOWER ILLUSTRATION)

SUCK MA DICK

Well, I suppose

that wraps it up.

Get it together.

(Japanese translation)

to K

to K,

oh dear in this COFFEE SHOP here and just read your message from 70 miles away,

my oh my the world and where it's gone, we've developed

quickly but slowly and staring at my messyyyy apt i think of your encouragement

AND YES OF COURSE YOU CAN DO IT NO QUESTION IN YOUR EYES

because you don't question the cores of the ones you know only the emissions

and for good reason. half the TIME the light i USE is muddled from

another feeling. AND HOT DAMN THIS BARISTA

H A T E S her fuckin job and i just want to scream

WELL HAVENT YOU MET K BECAUSE ShE CAN BRIGHTEN THE PROSPECTS

but she keeps glowering at me. when you return: silly hugs, serious hugs,

YELLING and "where do you want to go next?"

-B

tok -
i have none
you've seen things
they stand as air and only dance coincidence
i am void of air
my lungs beg please!
my mind begs
 more!
distaste!
distrust!
what is it all!
it is a play
and play with vigor and strife!
display agony on a sequined veil!!
spinning sorrow for the drooping bleeders
PRAISE THE BLOOD!
YOU SPILL IT FOR US!
they'll go home feeling
SATIATE!
-for the ride-
though in bed
alone again.
again
again
ready to wake again
to a morning
from a lovely dream
of a boy that could've loved them
-this century spills our blood the color and scent
the juice of rotted coriander

nottok.

i mean more
but these words prevail

Friends Long Enough

To Sekhmet,

when you're friends enough long-time enough with someone
,
right? , you sometimes forget why and how and for whaT?
                    and how the subtle somethings you share,
now share                 go missed like breaths under the sound of
waves.                 but then sometimes when you spend
the entire day staring at your mom's cat             you realize
that             YOU SCARE ME YOU ASK SO MUCH OF ME
YOUR EYES I CAN TELL KNOW WHEN I AM
LYING TO MYSELF      AND YOU KNOW MY SHIVERING
MY BACK OF MY HEAD      MY BLANKET SOFTNESS
IN COMPARISON        AND THAT OF COURSE I BELIEVE
IN THINGS LIKE a "nation" AND SOULMATES
IT IS JUST RIGHT NOW, FOR A BRIEF YEAR,
                 I AM A KID THROWING A FIT.
and i really do like that sometimes I catch myself flubbering,
stammering, flowing, holing, and sweeping a little closer to
how you do it.             (and when we yell together, it's fun.)

-Selene

"i am going to take my degree and design checks for a living"

the cadence of patience is not for CALMING!      It doesn't sound like a pacing
grandfather, soft breathing, outside                     his grand daughter's bastard child birth,
that boy gone and knocked her up.      it doesn't feel like a pat on the back, new best friend
soothing drunken sobs over rejection letter & rejection letter and notice of rejection.
                It mostly doesn't remind me of searching through hours of archival
interviews to find any usable line that doesn't have the "n word" in it.  It can't stomach
the seering "I fucking hate you" from  your son who you named after the only righteous man
in the Bible                           because of your hopes that someday he'd be the one man to
treat you              right.             Listen, patience isn't a hammock rocking.  Nor is it
a lullaby everyone in a 3,000 mile radius, in a 30 year age range knows.  It isn't the memories
of movie marathons with chocolates pretzels and chili bean dip.                  It is your face using
your entire body to break the fall, take the momentum, channel buddha so nobody
has any clue of just how hard is it to                                        wait.  It is the swedish heavy metal.
It is the holocaust scream.                                                        You are an animal.  You are
going to flip tables.      Shoot up the school.  Quit.  Quit.  Flee.  But you won't.  And nobody will know you're thinking about anything.

consolation

rain shattering the smell of apples
changing the ground into a bed for the shining day and the loss of light
the embossed sky, carrying the black night clouds knows nothing of the Mirrors
that lie on the grass and reflect radiant emotion between them

they catch the sunlight and hide behind the glass.

Someone spoke through my rare silence,
"an apple the size of the world would have atoms the size of apple"

it brings a feeling to mind
a feeling as blue as the orb on which we stand; that Earth, it cares for Nothing else.
Looking outside.  The clouds suddenly carry the threats and daggers.
Faster than light and sound, cascading you with a statement

Unknowing is:

Wonder in a blue, pixel texture
see a world dash beneath the surface of a rippling soul, chasing itself back over your
tracks; you

stay in the pain of solitude

It is suffering at the place where the desert knows only mirrors and apples
And the idea it planted percolates into your mind.  Being, feeling:

"like an empty apple"


Approaching you like a subject of death, it bears a question


Who spreads raindrops on chairs and tables for feasts?
The men and women who enjoy each other's company
Have no loss at absence.  Instead they drink the captured and discarded liquid of golden
rays and saving grace.

The head of the party.  A pensive elephant.  She threads her needle with the grass from the meadow of the living


She spreads the green, soft color with the moon peeking through the shadows of her ears.

You can see the fumbled tears fall from her eyes.
And the charred folds of skin rest on the hillside.


Look farther on.  Take heart at the changing color and spinning day
What cool green now becomes purple over black
On the sides of falling light, these colors make a circle.
The tunnel traverses miles and light spreads across the caverns between you

Between you and the elephant,

Between you and the soft thread

Stretching between that clear embroidery upon which space floats

And hearts dance and break like the depths of death following the mountains of life. The tunnel broken evenly between them.

The waves are flowing gently over them…

Beating heart, I feel thy blood flow through my very elbow, my creaking back and nodding head.

The atoms in an apple. The particles of fear and taste and electric desire…

I shrink my mind to fit on the head of a pin. In between two molecules, I hide my soul. I struggle to pack my memories behind an atom.

To escape. To answer. All the questions you hear. You don’t need to pay for postage.

You already know the return address.

A single molecule,

An atom

A quark

A spark of blackness and a twinge from a crinkle of an eyebrow

There I find consolation. There, I choose not to go.

Turning my back

Consciousness;
Escapes me at once

-Cruz Morales

its just what we have to do

this isn't me but it has to be somewhat like it.
feeling the pressure. it's finna be power april
not flower april. was it ever flower april?
it's hard to tell when the heart grows back.
just create until you can't anymore.
and walk like you've been shot.

the body will keep goading you until you recognize it.

caramel june

all good catching
joys in children-fetching.      unnerved by tempted limps
over river-jumping, jumpers and rompers in a summer
we can't give again.          calling your name, you chose your name
how lucky for you.  And undeserving.           My fingers don't taste like caramel

and neither do yours.

I wince
peer through the dust
searchingly. there is a world and it is bright.
 paint by numbers
and plastic razors
 turning to dust for
my eyes
to peer through
my eyes to dust for eyes to despise
the futureur's eyes
they hope to find a hip glare
a fresh razor of cruelty a new whipping hue
something to make hatred funny
will they cry for their oblivion
like I'm doing now
there's no purpose no blocks shaven to fit snugly
no answer
no finding the cozy nook that fate clutches in it's breast
 swaying left to right and left
rocking up to her toes and back on heels back up on toes
glancing over at the sea
her bangs blow over face
turns at the neck back to the treeline
shoulders then back at the sea.
she is dust. skiddering fast and far
epilepticly wobbling over holes in the ruin
she seems so lovely
dust is dreaming and she is the dream
and she never dies
she holds the treasure tight
wants to step gently down the sand
and keep her feet with the floor
I'm watching from 10 meters
I have to go with her. I love her more tonight
 than i've loved anything
and finally peace billows up in warm arms
a new hue