why do i keep falling for things as they fall dying?

480px-skardu_roaddd

Please don’t hurt

yourself::us

Two stars so far they might be whole

Just fill out the little half sheet.

A bureau dropped from a tower onto a passing

spine needs a caution sign like stricken black deer,/

beware of humps,/

careful on shoulder (or you’ll spin off the toothy ice and plunge as a dessert spoon into concrete)

versus abstract

art of anhedonia

and avolition, singing

atonal alone

under running water slipping, rupturing, smashing

where is Neverland? And why is the sun

always gone?

You don’t remind me of

my father said to me once, At some point you’re an adult. You notice that you feel disappointed and you start to ask yourself, is this it? And you realize

this is 

it seems a part of me,

but I am just the roots, I strain

spaghetti offal fingers amidst the blind ground dwellers,

staring at the flat dirt tout autour de moi through tuber eyes, egg-white as brain

cancer. your snow-flower, opening

with maximum force, overswells itself

for the sun and bursts,

littering spent bladder and lungs like water balloons on a post-party sidewalk:

July’s remainder decimal-pocked, en forme

de drowned confetti. Please don’t read

Plath and other dead things

<<les phrases en toi qu’on aime

peuvent entraîner le noyade.>>

i meant to cavern moi aussi moi aussi moi aussi

 

i never meant to be in this place where all the people sparkle

instead of me

a good girl laughs, cries swallows

shoot over electric lines, lose track of contrails.

would you pierce one in the gut

pour en épuiser a velvet brown coin purse just for me? I don’t want it. 

is this

A paisley curtain

cold scrambled unborn chicken-children

a clock-face stuck at 39-and-a-half hours;

love letters tearing the flesh of napkins easy as

the way you laugh when you talk about

scars that singe from running too fast past

flat affected dirt. stop

please don’t hurt

yourself::us

even if you sigh open your picnic basket at the presque-sommet of the mountain

and feed yourself hearts cut out of peanut butter

&you know the rest

I will m’accrocher beside you, beneath your tender heart’s pizzicato waters

one dandelion kiss

can be the death of

it

was always never nothing.

My father said to me once

there was a princess in the moon

but they changed her to a man

and melted down her crown to churn out more Douglas bombers.

Comment se dit

<<don’t starve yourself::me>>

Comment dit-on

je t’aime

en language of mountaintops, where our butterfly kisses shimmer

beneath the white clouds and their sea-like spray of streptococcal mucus?

P.S. You can still read Plath if 

it isn’t all

you believe.

640px-kocis_korea_yeondeunghoe_20130511_03_8733836277

Image credits in order of appearance:

Par Yasiracca1st — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51180251

By Korea.net / Korean Culture and Information Service (Photographer name), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31712608

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