pray modern primalist

sit silence, I AM EATING YOUR BEACHES i mumble to the lavender
Im down a rugged basin
am chainlength fense

“I saw that the animals will rise up from the corpses of men and stone.”

 she is brave she is not as brave as the fire lonely my legs are
(im just sayin)
Sore like warm plants
(you can do better)
Warm plants in headlights up over dew
(smthn like that)

happy birthday to a stranger happy
Birthday to a stranger we are feeling very cool in a car with noises combatting the wind around us

rut gardendirt,
revelation sweet Juniper

See thought creak plastic
laces knot over not carpet backpacks black

can we stop calling thm scandals and call them crime
experiens all types pink lines arranged as a cloud
to rain chalk on our ivory shoulders
in dusk

Crow I love and Crow I would embrace you in the sand storm magnolia
my tibia a gift…

vigil candles.
We are oriented in an outward facing circle

This is not a motion. this is a movement
but now there is stillness and I consider spraying blood into the air_ prayer desperate for wind


Seraphim walk out of the janitorial closet
carrying spears and Allan wrenches, utility
is rubber on dusty card bread

From those we despise we traveler
Hair of the victim tribe
Response is nearly circum
Calcic worth: Sarajevo grass brought to the alpine fingertips of a deer

No data
Carabine along tire treads big clips I like the bumpy flat translucent covers they put over the ceiling lights here
We murdered each other and then we murdered the earth so I will write this down on paper
in case the computers forget in the coming generations
[forget the coming gender iterations]


here I know for certain they will circumcise me with force with love but without reverence I
have no choice but to run to the wolves where they will tear my foreskin from me

laughing at the pain
feeling it and laughing
he is sane
and they are the ones to blame
for breaking the fragile house

you had better take your shoes off right now
there are no better floors than these.

I am learning in the walls of old painters a different craft,
Breathing coming through the cracks in dusty windows,
a harmony with the thrum of metal

I see your archaic ley lines traced underhand. I found the sun on top of the hill slick with fallen pine needles and.
there are no better floors than these.

slapping bare feet in a meditative trance ancient ancestor beating the same heels into the skull of
a Germanic tribesman somewhere over different hills and muddled grey sky

didn’t know what else to do so I kissed the arrowhead and rose from under this pool to meet my captors