Back again
Post-exams I've been running around like a madwoman but now I have some time to my self to write some new things again, I hope that people like them 
Yamamba“But I like vanilla!” Vanilla, tendon, vanilla: your £ of flesh now 2lbs per $, this week, a sale on my meat next week: a sale on my words.Yamamba
“Come live with me, and be my love”, with a cut-throat contract on a velum scroll, barbed wire bed that sings me asleep + a picket fence collar – the ermine you sold.
“Come live with me, and be my love”, with a leather glove, in case I bite + hyperdermic honey for my woes, spade to spay me – “to have and to hold” – a coil of metal, a halo of gold. &n
SafeGreenSafe
is the word, the verb - we’re go - between teeth + tendons our quotidian gruel is bisque ambrosia: sweet, vicious, dope. Mitochondria bristle on damp skin.
The reflection I see in your eyes is not my own but that of
history books ripping + burning, vast musky tomes torn in half combust in your iris, chisel hewn stone splinters in my pupil, crumble ancient civilisations, evaporate heavy ages of religions, empty tombstone proclamations of gaseous thinkers resolve into dust.
DecemberSeatbelt signs blink on/off, a private constellation 30,000 feet up,December
ominous coda to an Ouroboros love song: every December
I travel on heat to some strange house, flushed violet.
Sometimes his house is near, sometimes an Ocean apart, but
every year it is
the same. Devouring
I wait to be
devoured, offering up smooth plump limbs. I think I can
control you, all of you, belted suitors.
That cut between the legs is weeping, will you be a
dressing
PenThis pen is a bandage, perilous poultice, stem the rapid-cycling flow,Pen
I’ve discharged pure energy, the uranium filled reactor, I’ve stared at borrowed time.
This is the pen you lent me, blue/red/green/black: changeable as your greasy smile.
Fickle pen, become my messenger, shape-shift water back to ice, violate death back to life.
softThe night comes on in a urine-soaked fit.soft
We kiss in half-sentences, and in between gasps of dryer-sheet air
I cut my hands on your crucifix and call you my shaky-handed mistress.
Oh.
It's a calm realization in your augustine sleep: Love is pink and furious,
thick-veined and sick all over the bed.
hannya sheet
--
let your emotions wash upon shore's of desire! That lead to roads of ambition.
~My Dad~
--
we don't want to be left
alone to dismantle
this ruined machine by ourselves
--
Take this sinking boat and point it home.
--
Macaroni is yes, curly, and straight, sometimes
"Bitch!"
"What did you just say?".
That's true
Hi from Chile
Bye
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