a spell

you showed up
i had the flu

ginger ale
chicken noodle

you went to work
unloading freight
later that day

i hoped
you will
be okay

this is how
we start
to care

like braids
in hair


casting spells
with focused

care for me i
care for

Pop Girl Sap Song

His hands in his hair, he wished he could call her, she who fucked around behind his back, betrayed him with her bullshit hypocrisy, who he feared would plunge the needle to the vinyl vein,  to drown out her pain with some Pop Girl Sap Song. Very plastic of her. She listened to Courtney Love and Hole, and became a better victim. She smeared candy-colored lipstick on her face and tore her clothes in the right places. She thought she was tough. She drew candy-colored hearts by Maybelline all over the mirrors in her apartment, and dropped her knee and hip and lay her elbow down and blew kisses to herself all day long to a waterfall of sound. She did not have any trouble enjoying silence. She never gave herself the opportunity. She had him break the seal on the painted over window in her bathroom so she could hang her head out and scream for everyone to hear her. She was a scratch lottery winner and loser all in the same day. She was a brilliant mess. An idiot savant. A fool to cry. And no one cared to know why. She was the inspiration for many a vexation. The muse of the frustrated sigh.

Q and A with K

What makes you tick?
I don’t tick. I’m not a clock. If you take me apart, you won’t be able to put me back together and have me working again.

Can you expand upon that, K?
All I’m gonna say is Descartes was right about spirit. It’s non-mechanical and immaterial.

Are you spiritual?
We all are. So are cats. Spirit is that which is lacking when a life form is de/re constructed . That’s why Dr. Frankenstein needed electricity…cause without it he had only a lifeless blob, devoid of spirit.

Or a clock?
Or a clock. Yes.

So Frankenstein’s monster was a clock is what you are saying?
No, you said it. Why are you asking me questions only Mary Shelley can answer?

So sorry, Madame K.
This interview is over!
Yes, ma’am. Can we talk again, after you’ve cooled those jets?
Talk to the hand!

the bees knees

you color my black
i know your combination
by heart
     and you

i forget myself around you
you suddenly
and tell me who i am?

i become


all my trauma


dissolved for a moment 

last night


i was watching a show 


the guy he looked



he acted the same




he was a drunk


i had not seen this


i was not prepared

to see what i saw





the guy got into an altercation

with her



she told him to fuck off


get off my property

if i see you again

i will shoot you



he staggered off 

accurately drunk

good actor


that’s my grandfather’s house


go ahead call the police



he was apparently friends

with the law 

a small town


quite the same


she was strong like me

blonde like me

maybe crazy like



but i could see the fear

behind her 



this is my house!

and everything in it

he was fucking her 

over the kitchen table





i kept watching cause

she was strong

i knew it would not be



it was almost midnight

valentine’s day

i started to cry a little

the violence




and all alone


all my trauma


for a moment


she was sitting on his chest

he was lying on the floor

she was stabbing 

into him


the knife was bloody

his blood

the floorboards quiet




the sweet 




my blood was pumping

my heart was racing

the tears fallen away



a clearing


i kept thinking 





she was strong





the wounded




18th b@tch i met -iv

Shes a mindless giant

A thoughtful fetish

An outdated pharmaceutical

A torn and shredded and trashed and set fire to fallen ash from the air, staining the clean pearl carpets the gods picked out to seamlessly pave the way to manna from heaven in an oceanic time capsule of words much struggled over and taken down by real compassionate lovers of life and liberty and literature

She’s ahistorical


The most common denominator

Hedged against the gold


That’s why they love and hate her


Drearily gambling all her family heirlooms




Lens taking lessons from eyes (18th b@tch -iii)

As we walk these streets, mine and yours, the streets are ours.

Like the dope beats that we produced.

The rhythms. The –

Stop. I made a mistake.

No editing over ok.

Let the mistake be seen here now.

Otherwise how will you know I am human?

This your personal captcha.

I gotta build your trust. I wanna.

At least today.

I want the relationship in our fantasy to be sorta real but not exactly.

I have only one chance to get to intrigue.

I am excited like a heart in oxygenated blood. Like a come on before an orgasm.

The lens taking lessons from the eyes.

The ones who keep trying after so many tries.

Cause who would I be to simply cast a darkness around myself with my thoughts?

Who would I be if I grasped only the egocentric mind?

Writing checks cannot be cashed.

The divinity so mined.

The one I emulate. My deep model.

Singing all the harmony right off the glass bottle.

Anytime or three am, any night.

I used to manifest her, and feel all right.

Its okay to just say that you don’t know yourself so perfect yet, either.

Truth is you never know.

Self is not one fixed thought or interval. No.

And this is my opinion.

You can love it to death and cook it in a broth of onions you pulled from the ground.

Feels good when you commit.

Have you done so lately?

This is not a demand or an opportunity to embarrass you taken.

It is ok if you think so.

Then tell me somehow. If you can.

My feelings are my feelings.


I ask only that you be as honest as you can.

Dear me.

Such a brief intersection, our lives.

I wanna know you.

Well enough to help you with a little something or other.

Take off some of your burden.

For I see that you are aching.

Cause I know this particular iradescent-type