Faye Chevalier
darth boyfriend
for Kat Kuhl
un/afraid & lachrymose-like,
a far-flung & bone-eating
refuse-man(, this i)
—pent in, trying, bent out—
to be needed & feral-cute;
a given, an “all
claws”-type sitch, like
“yes, yes, i def need to
be strung together
(as a para-pointed
pre-requisite, i am folding
over our joined star-space,
sorry) thanks”—
& perched-kind, weightless,
such was when i was loved most;
a suicide-bound conspiracy board,
kindled right-ways into kneeling silence—
a callous fare for
our newly-tepid-bridge-
bodies—
i am trying—
& we are brothers in “which house?”
i.e. brothers in avenge-ed
-ness i.e. brothers in ending-
flames (our “i have dreamt of
you or this
moment tell me they
overlap pls”
telemetrics) i.e. brothers
in tangent-collapse i.e.
brothers
in burial—
“think ‘my brain is a human body’ by AJJ but
mostly just the line, ‘my blood is worse than your blood’”
[i]
my father was a prospective outlaw in the eyes of New York state tax
law & i was a too-grey copperhead, sleeping under an upper-Hawk Mountain
precipice, a burden of nigh-headstones all waiting-to-be-taken-like et al, not-
killing Boy Scouts breaking for water & hurling apple cores into the woods below—
[ii]
a calm fruit once, for the leering intendancies living as an ache in my knuckles
care too much to be still, & flood my proverbial city-veins; i write
“pain maps” on my bedroom mirror & pray for the sun to tag it just so &
light my body up as well, a new-bright snakebite geography, onerous & clean—
misreading the phrase “poetry set”
as “hate sex” & going “yea, same”
the sex bot as a laurel-nest of
non-home-seeking sparrows,
trying all exo-like, into
a bright & error-generating act
of body- having—
& it is morning, & this i is full of
six-hour-old- own-teeth-prints,
torn shirts(,) & glassware,
projecting how (my)
tired affectations relay health &
“the positive” thru
an underlying premise of
“naturalness” -preordained &—
the sex bot as born
of a clear-y-eyed ectogenesis-dream
& this is where my writing on her
falls into the misleading;
a well-worn liberation-via-
preference-having end,
quiet in its white-like Human-making,
carries her so,
through an animal-ized infancy—
so sleep somewhere expensive now
pouring thru the gaze-y floor
between//before production ever begins (anew)