A KIND SEIZURE
I’m vast,
Riding in a car into a telephone pole.
I call the nothing all.
A winter weed is a dick tree.
Scattered winters see the lights that eat
The mean.
A pleasure half full of private deathbeds
Rides over pickled cellphone trees.
I’m desperate to turn around.
PEOPLE DIE
Tiny insides of the dawn
Materialize and I love
The veins of all seagulls.
And then there’s my neighbor’s refurbished kitchen floor
With patterns of all the seagulls I’ve ever seen.
The master of the kitchen floor
Has left me to decay.
TRUE LOVE
I need money because I can’t feel
The body that doesn’t need it.
I feel money because I need
The body that doesn’t need it.
I feel money and I don’t feel
The body that needs it.
My body needs money because
It doesn’t need it.
Money needs money because
It can’t feel it.
