this is going to look stupid in twelve point times new roman

when you don’t have the fl u anymore,

when you feel better,

i would like to tie you up.

maybe.

if that’s a thing.

sure, i’d like that.

i mean, you could do it now.

if you want?

but, you’re not well, right?

sick?

should i wait?

should i tie your hands together with silk scarves?

hermes would be nice,

but i prefer rope.

sex rope?

a diff erent time in my life

asleep on couches

fully clothed

longing for nothing in particular

reached absolute devoid of dreaming

but you weren’t fully asleep

desire,

the word “trembling,”

“the author, right?”

in such marvellous weather,

it’s a pity to leave

1. walk

2. lay in the grass

3. eat something healthy

4.

5.

6.

7.

8. something warm

9.

10.

the fi ner things in life:

- strawberries

- teal

- that which is indescribably sweet

- whatever is happening here, this

a list of words:

- livre

- my loneliness

- is killing me

- and i

* here one is

** one doesn’t know how

*** one doesn’t know why

**** and suddenly one doesn’t know where one is or who or what

one is either

things about you:

- asleep when i get home

-

concerned with your body alone

hips very narrow today

i wonder what you feel like right now

with your glasses off

wink emoji

you will always be younger than me

more pretty

sweet

we both agree on this

charge your hitachi wand

i’ll be home in fi ve hours

and i thought of something new

an infi nite amount of platforms used to mount your opinion

freestyle rap

oral sex

performance

observations in a pizza pizza (the last great canadian poem)

the solo cheese slice

looks sad

that’s all i wanted, fuck

i’ll get a veggie and pick the

tomato off

they’re god awful

and i love tomato

but these

probably come in a can

i would guess

it’s hard to tell

roma tomato, they tell me

now this is a good time to catch up

on news

cp24

good source of local news

lol, sure

i didn’t realize nerds still existed

it must be hard for them

it must be hard to be young

i mean, it always is

probably

there is a young child, maybe three

holding a ginger ale

crying

moving closer to me and i move

further away

instinctively

my child will never cry in a pizza pizza

i promise you

i hate carrying a backpack

i look stupid and i feel stupid

however utilitarian

holding

2 books by karlos rene ayala

3 notebooks of varying sizes

5 zines for @smallhoax

macbook pro + charger

a handful of red pens

i forgot my headphones

i feel stupid and i look stupid

it’s mother’s day for everyone

but me

normal people have mom’s and dad’s

i’m not sour,

i’m just stating facts

vague, but facts

but obviously don’t ask

what i mean

normal people do normal shit

imaginary men love imaginary women

i understand you in a jacket

drinking coff ee

i understand your butt

and it’s role in my universe

a woman and a woman enter the terrace on the south east corner.

woman a holds a newspaper, woman b holds a tupperware

container. the 4x4x3 container. fi lled to the top with white rice

and perhaps zucchini, maybe cucumber, probably not cucumber

that doesn’t make sense, let’s just say zucchini, sets on the chair to

my left for approximately six minutes. the waiter asks if they want

anything, woman a states “we’re ok for now.” woman b removes a

plastic fork from her chest jacket pocket and starts in on the white

rice and zucchini, which looks more bland now that it sees the full

sun. woman a, her friend, explains to her the concept of

culpable responsibility. woman b nods in agreement, as rice pellets

fall between the skewers of the fork. a sparrow enters the terrace

from above and heads towards the rice. she decides it is not what

she wants. the waiter informs them that they need to order

something if they would like to remain seated on their property.

woman a removes her bootleg rayban sunglasses and reveals that

she is crying. the waiter leaves, not to return. woman b fi nishes the

container of rice in silence. they exit, seventeen minutes later.

the guy from hellraiser looks like cassavettes.

the guy.

the doctor.

hellraiser 2: hellbound.

a thought on jealousy:

there is obviously something happening there is always something

happening which means that i’m stupid. i’m always stupid

regardless of the outcome. i don’t even know what i’m talking

about. your insecure is showing. what am i talking about when

i talk about my...self ? i’m talking about myself in the pejorative

sense. i laugh about myself constantly. the older i get, the older i

get. i am not myself in public. what? the jealousy over nothing. i am

ashamed of my brain. my understanding of things. ??? wow. this is

going to look stupid in twelve point times new roman. better set

it to caslon. nothing is happening and it is hard to accept being

loved. i’m fucking stupid.

my life in simple terms

when i was younger

and more annoying

i walked every street in brooklyn

most of lower manhattan

according to google maps

yes, i went to all the gentrifi ed bars

and a lot of them knew my order

tecate and tequila

i was younger

and more annoying

no, you can’t hear cats fi ghting at nighttime on the 20th fl oor. well,

19th. there is no 13th fl oor. you showed me yesterday the missing

elevator button between 12 and 14. some kids were talking about it

and you observed, correctly.

you can’t hear raccoons, either.

trying to lose weight. do i wake up one day and look like john

cassavettes? not, like, end of his life alcholic cassy. what? i’m talking

about the mirror. maybe perfect marketing. a strip of art galleries,

cosmetic stores. it’s right there, and it’s been there for years - it

might still be there. i noticed the thing - the thing you did. i saw it.

your search history. alternative medicine.

“more pale,” the clean eater explaining. “you shouldn’t eat sugar.”

the salt of sugar. that kind-of person advocating for fl avor, understood.

honey. your words.

one extra shake in your ass before you go

i can be silent and reticent of feelings

that suicide poem is always my last

the last the last the last but not like that

a lot of those old words have been published

but i feel they aren’t reflective of me as a person

defeatist

then i write it again

someday this closet of size nine nikes

will not be mine

i never get the words right