has clay on his hands.
he carries his camerabox like salvadordali’s panties.
this boy rides across town like the death of silence.
with clay on his hands past the migrant workers.
they stopped him and told him that he does chiva
because he caught the spider webs
in the corners of their eyes.
this boy stops pedestrian traffic
in polyester levis and still…
when the 30 something ladies
notice his legs pop
he pulls the cord. the bus stops.
emily gets up discretely.
he carries his camera box
like 30 lead shells.
on the way home
he eats flowers and chews the petals like bubblegum.
cute as hell
he wasnt even trying
its just that the flowers were that bitter.
this boy with clay on his hands
is that disgusting
blackberryvine gashes slit like
knuckleblushes on his heavy hands
emily will follow him home,
like raindrops on tulips
not even roses in oil look so wet
not even the ravens are so black
not even spider-drops are so fat
this boy is smearing cherry wax and nicotine
all over his lips
the meadowlark bawls out
like hot thrushes
throat-open in the morning light
he turns left on pine
like another dead lover
this boy with the elastics round his wrists
writes a list of many things to do in his mind.
#1 paint a matchbox green as this moss
#2 tattoo the toes of these chucktaylors pomegranite
#3 tuesday livingwench is not imaginary
so smile because nobody in the world
is uglier than you
she pulls a thread from her sleeve
she catches it on a violet flower
he tells himself
he’s gonna fall asleep in a hummingbird’s nest
and wipes his nose
on his hand
with her green eyes she stops for a moment.
bloodsugar running low.
she asks herself…
if this is the length of love,
then where is the end?
this boy smirks like smarch weather
and swares a silent k at the volvo p-1800
if this is the length of love then i’m not listening
i’ll drink oil and stand on my head
she blows her nose into her sleeve
and rolls her eyeballs round
the puddle on the street
if this is the length of love then i dont care
because even this earthworm is dead
she takes out her camera and says…
i should have gone dancing instead
if this is the length of love
ill draw a heart between my sleeves
and eight arms to hold you when you freeze
the stars all look like shit.
nobody ever gets it.
not even me.
this boy looks like spades
with clay on his hands
emily passed out later on around nine
she shot him black and white and wet
when the printer quit she was in her kitchen
drawing a tiny heart below her index knuckle
she cracked a rockstar 21 energy drink
metal heart on repeat in her apartment
not even orchids are so clean
she glares out the window
postcard number nine shakes
he is clutching his hair
she writes in tiny print,
all we ever do is die all the time.
she imagines tomorrow falling asleep on the couch
her voice ringing out clear as a bird
getting off the bus
the sound of her footsteps trailing behind
she will laugh out loud and say it
with dragons on her teeth
hello dirty boy
he will stop and turn around
probably sniff his runny nose and smile
and she will say
hello dirty boy, would you like a postcard?
except that’s the wrong thing
and nothing sounds like that bird
she corrects herself and slides #9 into place behind
the others. hello boy? hello? no. it’s not enough.
she will ask him for a cigarette. and he will stand
still for an instant. she will take a picture. and
take the cigarette. and he will light it for her.
and she will smile. and cough. she will slide her
camera back into her purse. and pull out the
postcards and hand them to him. and she wont say a
they will walk along.
he will pause on frame #4 where the petals are
screaming-pink all over the sidewalk.
and the hot thrush
will wring out
all the tears in her heart.
he will ask her where she lives.
she will say, oh, over there on ash street.
and he will take a drag on his cigarette
and in the
she will ask what he’s got in his camera box.
and he will laugh. and say,
oh nothing. just lots of paint
and art supplies and stuff like that.
wow, i love these photos. you’re really good.
so, what’s your name?
she will say
like the orbitz bubblegum girl.
and he will ask her if she
and she will say yes.
he will laugh at her a little
because she smokes
like a nine-year-old girl.
and she will fucking die.
up 3 hours later and takes
later she goes
to the record store to see if annie is
working. she wears lime green leg-warmers. she buys
an e.p. from the other
guy who works there. it’s a
dirty band she never heard of. the cover looks like
how she feels.
magic marker redemption
on her way home she decides to buy some
she walks them around the market for awhile.
buys a frozen pizza. the boy who rings her up is cute.
he even compliments her nails. but
he’s too tall. and he looks
like a pussy.
not at all
like the boy
with clay on his hands.
like vomit on his jeans,
and enough bracelets
to choke a horse.
out the door
there is nothing
so violent as her love
for this boy.