the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

recorded 15.5.18

These lines no longer

Suffice. Drawings are dead to

Me. My mind and hand


Reject their nature

Representation for me

Is a pointless act.


I’ll write dripping words.

Vinegar or honey to

Lick from my fingers.


I’ll breastfeed you thoughts.

Paint my anguish and pleasure

Without your colors.


Spoon feed you baby,

So you can feel each morsel

Of sugar dissolve


On that moist tongue of

Yours, salivating for my



I’ll make you wet and

Hard and so full you will cry,

Pleading me for more.


You invite me in,

To your mind, stomach, and chest,

And there we learn trust.


Because I enter

Only with consent, I ask

If you will read me.

recorded 26.4.18

recorded 11.5.18