EMILY HAS A CRUSH

this boy

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.

ultraviolent 180

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 
she knows 
he knows 
she’s there, 
and
still…

he eats flowers and chews the petals like bubblegum.

cute as hell
he coughs
he wasnt even trying
its just that the flowers were that bitter.

VioletLMNOPixie 011

this boy with clay on his hands 
is that disgusting 
and pretty,

blackberryvine gashes slit like 
knuckleblushes on his heavy hands 
and still…

emily will follow him home,

like raindrops on tulips

not even roses in oil look so wet

her lashes

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

ultraviolent 097

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 
and leaves

ultraviolent 027

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
at armslenght

he is clutching his hair
in relief

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

ultraviolent 157

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

word.

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.

VioletXyz 1619

she will say, oh, over there on ash street.

and he will take a drag on his cigarette

and in the
silence.

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

emily

like the orbitz bubblegum girl.

and he will ask her if she
drinks coffee.

and she will say yes.

he will laugh at her a little

to himself

because she smokes

like a nine-year-old girl.

and she will fucking die.

she wakes

up 3 hours later and takes

a shower.

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.

chore

magic marker redemption

chore

on her way home she decides to buy some

violet pansies

for

her

windowbox.

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.

IMG_1314

not at all 

like the boy

with clay on his hands.

he

draws paisleys

like vomit on his jeans,

and enough bracelets 

to choke a horse.

she walks

out the door

and spits. 

american man 1

there is nothing

so violent as her love

for this boy.

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