the inexplicability of popcorn.

we're pretending it's spring - these 40 degree days, roaring breezes, melty snow, chirping birds, and the smell of warmth in the air - but it's still too cold for true indecency, and we still have to layer up a bit more than we'd like to.

i'm wearing leggings under my jeans, and something was itching on the back of my thigh, just above my knee. i pull off my pants to change into my pajamas, and a burnt popcorn kernel falls out.

i don't eat popcorn. do we even have popcorn in the house? i've been wearing these clothes all day, but suddenly somehow i've started emitting popcorn.

it reminds me of one time when i was making out with someone who found a quarter stuck to the skin on my back.

strange things are afoot.

much depends on the weather.

laborious spines

i'm craving summertime so badly i can taste it in the back of my throat, stronger even than this retching self-doubt, or these lies i swallow to keep us pretending. these past few weeks i've licked up so much road-salt, my kisses must be like sea urchins, spiny and saline and self-defensive. the sodium deposits on my shoes glitter in reminders of reflective avoidance, and those tiny aching rips in the seat of my jeans are threatening to expand with a vengeance. such perilous incantations. write me a song about these afternoons when i fall into dozing dreams on my feet, swimming in yr tender skin and inhaling the scent of yr neck, opening my eyes to dim stairwells of flickering lights and sudden immediacy. don't bother with lyrics cuz the rhetoric is what binds us every time, shoving unwanted certainties into our dialogues of disposal. you've no reason to believe me.

frostbite

i'm out riding feverish in search of frostbite to chill my flushed cheeks & slow my racing pulse, blowing through red lights & falling forward one foot at a time spinning through these circles of uncertainty. insomniac headrushes & dizzy discomposure. the creeping of icy pinpricks into my bones, & the throbbing of battered earlobes. these meds that clear my sinuses & clog my brain, these insinuations of altercation and revenge -

just fill my lungs with shards of inertia, and maybe i'll find it in me to come home.


january critical mass:

inelasticity

this is what i have in my head when i close my eyes: the world spinning faster and faster, us lying stiller and stiller, the inevitability of losing yr gaze. catastrophic bodies in the back of our minds. the mythos of the vegetation deity, assaulting language itself with hardened candle wax sculptures and jack-in-the-box resolutions. i want white noise over everything so we can only speak with our tongues intertwined. i want granite affirmations, sanguine recompense.

...

because my tremorous appetite is my undoing everytime, but maybe last night i downed enough whiskey to keep the cold from cutting through to my fingers, to my heart. hypocritical blue skies and wind that bites my teeth; we open jaws on shoulder blades and wink down the fronts of dresses till the moment has passed. pull her out by the heels, fling her to the initiations of the howling skies. i could drown in these enfolding arms but i think i'll shuffle my feet and start to dance instead.



fuck your face party: