tomorrow is what garfield / hates most of all

There’s a police helicopter in the rainbow!

I’m so happy for Greta Gerwig and all she’s done for gender!

The price is so low when you buy 100 units of Botox at a time!

A psychic told my

Ninety percent of the time 
there are two women.

That thought, that wish,
that plan: your girl.

hello Camel cigarettes, popcorn, and thorns, wires, barbs.

you said you hated me three times

you bit me a hundred and one times

He finally died in midsummer 
when it was hot as hell.

it's time I take me and my broken heart to some other country where girls would kill for me

miserable, swimming laps, aghast with vacancy

may the little coffee cup 
be blown over 
a cheap china pattern 
blue bulbs 

blooms on white 

a single cereal bowl 
from this set disperses 

and appears 
in apartment cabinets 
all over

Moloch Eternal [1969 version}

we see an instant reply
of brains blasted at arm’s length

we gawk in color amazement
at monks posing as scarecrows
dressed in silken robes of flame

we turn

mew mew

All the way up Highland isn’t Burbank, it’s heaven!

Lorena told Sofia to put a drop of her own pee
in her man’s beer
if she wanted him to love her
so she did 
and by God it worked.

“Have you tried hookers?
Church? God? Your dead
mother? Pills? Coke? Crack?”

She began imagining what it might have been like to be Agatha, crying and disheveled with both pale breasts exposed.

In time, the questions become increasingly diffuse, numbers jumble and disappear, the symbolic order smears.

I’m softest when I remember he was gone
from her too.

I begin to write a eulogy for
a guy who doesn't exist.

Summer of Veal

It was the summer of veal,
and I tried to reach for my rifle
but bullets melted like ice in heat.

Glaring, shine on my head.
Always seconds from passing out, 
passing

When i stopped remote viewing my wife / we stopped being married

Today I saw a goose stare down an suv and thought of you.
it got to the other side of the road and tore a few feathers out
following me from a table outside the coffee shop to my car.
I think it

there is breathing
which is automatic
and there is loving you
and one is easier

Can't spoil what's ahead but suffice to say I may attempt to falsely accuse a fellow indie writer of war crimes in a psychotic bid for even more attention

The homing pigeon / of misery / is my baby mama's / text message.