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Old friends

Take off that language like the day's clothes, he said
And talk to me
You must be tired, the accent was off
At some point, you're going to want to feel human
Relax into our common speech
Our common past
You're like our sister you know that
Your tense alien dreams
Of being some other crowd's stranger
You can let them go
Oh and my wife sends love
Do you remember Jack that clown
It wasn't the same after he left
Sister, she repeated
And thought
Foreign splendour that's me
That hair those hips my bright black dress clinging
She smiled warmly and took a long swallow of wine


death-radar sacrifice accomplishment

It’s what we’re paid to do that makes us
so effective when it comes time to

step away from the worksite.

Sleep in the deep after the house

caves in. Nice to see that you’re continuing
when everyone else has given up.



to her beauty I was a saint



Fishy algebra

a really big fish
in my house —

joinery threatens every mashed parable, many under the mossy substance
lacks first hirsute benign happens: you
can frère knight the boulogne butterings of apples retained
fixedly on mock terraces freely overtake
the boundary of green first things

don’t back up and look. the night is descending
a beam, here through rocks, jerks
and calls, something heathery, knowing and beseeching
for some
yountville hayrick


Upon cheap paper,

a single, black line,
a positive emotion can

fuck you
up forever.

Tentacled Animated GIF

Just made this animated GIF for an erotic art tumblr project. Thought I’d share. Feel free to post on your tumblr site, or wherever you see fit. -- Jennifer Linton

the Geology of Hidden Messages

The Geology of Hidden Messages

20 years removed from altered postcard, received at dawn of friendship. All that and everything. Fingers with angry eye tips. Benjamin firmly holding the kite string jolt. Hair tossed. Pole-dancing woman with head of dog. Subtly lost? X-ray of man carrying his 2nd amendment militia rights, blue screaming face behind cool shades. Meaning in a 6 foot pit, buried.

Only later would the messages surface, from air pockets deep underground. Postcards as foreplay, foreplay as prologue, prologue as hindsight. Red dress wedding I would not attend. No final words, no ginger regrets. The science of understanding in layers of sedimentary rock near the earth’s molten core, churning. Collaged metaphors trapped beneath clear tape. Cancelled Love stamp, 32 cents.



a man

a man scratched at that
where the clouds return, and burn
the catastrophe of small mind
failing, like the winding pavement
and grey at the edges
the present tense colludes :
frying on the sidewalk, those brains
under hills with thyme
a heat loss, a brake failure
only with footnotes
after sixty to seventy years


Against the Stew of Aims

Los awash
in pupusa sauce

No kidding!
Contr contra edio
cara mia Wow!

Peg bunt a head
long packsaddle

Din a dun and Anne

Man as pin prick

after summiting
his scarecrow

None gun but go
lose sounds awash

Naked I am and plan
to leave among
a young syndicate
of likeminded,
disabused Pinyin



1st full day of rain
i'd forgotten the feeling of damp socks
cold hands crisp air
there is no god
there is no there here
only the sensation i had
walking home in the dark
attentive to traffic
and the lights of the city come to life
how could i forget