The sun and its numbness fester atop a placid horizon. THE SUN IN NUMBERS DELETES PALE SHADES TRAILING ON THE FIELDS. Some of the light strained through blinds wades through streetcorners of young men drinking; can she feel the grip of their eyes graze across her legs? She can reel open doors screaming rust powders as hulls between teeth of night. On campus lit windows snowing brittle voices filter in busted turns the student foot traffic. Right here is where i was picked up. Dusk dragging slick turquoise spellcheck was also noted sewn flush again the rind of the day. i have something beautiful boiled to bury in your woods near that rusting tractor. With the purr of traffic solving itself against the clouds. Thick noted tree twrling slo-mo stuck on aged glare of streetlights in strings with each step taken follows her. Or a living rooms green pulse. A SLENDER RIDER OUT OF NOWHERE RATTLES PAST. Help me i am on temple street scared dirty under justbudding treehands.

Sad because vast becomes savage while you drag
your ass off to bed—everything money has
in common with phantom pain plaits sticky breathing
fevers or velvet lemmings melded via socket
across the pith of your rind, it moans—aloof
among a groggy plastic flowers, along for lengths

forgetting integral data attained interleft mints for mining
A hint, wrapped in soliloquy blankets but still falling

A springtime frost softens networks rowboat out
wordy as the teeth as the ethics in mournful tenths
Lindsay’s thesis occludes a numbness of concave wrists

on robots dot text with an unusually snowing
In any storm mortuaries cloy and snap as much as
Our fathers lie aloud along whole tables without snoring

A morning you’ll happily roam drilled wild by Lindsay’s body
licking her thought rowdy by sullen accumulation strokes
Your dialect can impasto succinct cusps taking your day away

for Lindsay

She beauties achefully, burning my thoughts
She honors that loon loneliness I too tune into
She blings like a parade, the masculine of clouds
She dreams a debt to the uncovered of loving me

I fold my wound around a scotch mixtape
because I got banged up a lot as a kid
I age well-fucked but drained of every interesting
because my cuts all drizzle sugar across her bed

Sweet sweet empathy but I cry for Frances Farmer
Sweet sweet elegy she drenched for Henry Darger
I unfurl around the lick of her moist palms consoling
She teas my hands out of clean nails of dreams

We wake above deep valley and scolded lakes
We who flicker in this world we who flame