tires keep rolling,

creaky and slow like an elder.

quick stops—not quick enough to save anyone

just quick enough to try.

a parking lot of “trying our best.”

a sea of metal; blue black red

yellow? never yellow.

yellow isn’t cool, it’s happy and bright

but gold, oh gold,

gold is everything.

gold in the children’s teeth,

the grimiest of them

glimmering in the grey sky,

in the rainy sky,

dripping, hot, metallic.

it burns their skin

melting down to bone,

singing lonely hearts

that fills themselves with

yellow snap pics

pics of dicks

pics of chicks

picks to be saved for the apocalypse

they smile behind the

yellow barn in our

yellow flower state

to find their yellow car in

heaven. so let their

tires keep rolling.


It has become a village in here:

the bodies here bustle,

like fire ants at work—

working. Working on

something like art,

praying to their heaven that maybe,

just maybe, the world will finally chew it up

and spit it back out

onto the cracked sidewalk.

in the beginning, there was no god.

in the soundless chambers of time and space

it was born.

small and insignificant;

its face blotchy and fat with flesh—

a sputtering mess  on its own—

eyes glowing bright,

the stars illuminated in response to it,

their dust reflective and vain compared to its eyes.


Their tongue was made of moonshine

and dry with stardust.

They were in but the child of

oblivion, unknown and renowned,



it babbles softly in the fibers of space and time,

the universe crying mercilessly for answer.

Yet the child will only coo,

its heavenly body occupied with more timely affairs.

soft skin pulls me in.

soft skin that bends at my mercy.

unmarked, woven from the fibers

of your mother’s womb. fragile

like glass shards on beach sides;

deadly yet weak, the greatest paradox

to name. oh beauty, your face has dissolved

beneath mountains of fat, your cheeks rosy,

your glossy eyes shine with tears

once again.

hide in these covers, little one.

hide away from the cold of the world

and rest on your mother’s breast.

time will leave me.

Time is running.

I wonder if she ever grows tired

of her feet constantly ticking against the track,

her hair slapping her back like a pendulum:

long. dull. ever-flowing in the endless winds that guide her.


Time never leaves me.

She is a faithful companion:

doting and kind and loyal.

Still she is flawed

for she whispers blasphemies in my ear,

reminding me as I forget.


Time is so easily forgotten,

for if she’d only slow down

maybe then we would never have to leave each other.



the sky has been dull for days;

the air chilling your bones, the whites of your eyes.

i trapped myself,

hiding from it,



alone with my thoughts that travel

over to you.

and i hate you for it.

blood and boiling.

my heart is too warm.

it bubbles like hot water,

leaving ugly welts on my spirit.

and i wonder to myself,

“why is anger so viral?”

for my stomach hurts too bad

and I can’t eat and it’s in my blood

burning me,

keeping me awake and screaming,

traveling to my brain,

my stupid brain that eats the heat like cake.

there are boils forming now,

bursting in agony and leaving wounds I like to pick at,

and they scar so bad.