after hiding from my email for a day, i found out today that i got into the VONA writing workshops at Berkeley.

at this point, my greatest fear is

loosing someone once i have let them into my

body and they have been accepted and i circulate around them

 in ways i could not reach myself and then perhaps

they wonder why i speak so much, full and full of

too much want them, they wonder and it unsettles them

 in a way they have not associated lust with and so they are polite and

they leave and i mourn and i cling and i resurrect and i remember.  i teach them longing and reprieve. i dream of angular moments of

intentional mutual decline into one projection, intimacy

over me and over you and over. i require you to do justice to the heat in my face, vows that would be a continent.

vow
why seek to freeze the furthest visible
sunrise in a paragraph? this discharges
    through the color like a broth, alternately
overpopulates the plateau with light or
    traces in indiscernible curves reinserting
themselves into one another. it is careless and therapeutic,
    particles exercising themselves as birdshot,
adapting rebirth to a logic of shrapnel mosaics,
  rare metals lit better by flame than the sun.

restive
the sunset rattles before torture,
 a tame spokesman flowering under
      a barely enthused liniment. he is nothing
but fire head to toe and this duality
  is wearisome, surgical, salt
eating through skin until the tears
can’t get out.

breathe
your sunburning truculence
is a physics that stimulates the art,
a semantic rip that distributes grain.

hair-tooth
a believer worries against the future,
its amazing heel that herds
the physical tongue into grass poses
 of fantasy, a wide thin ribbon
between the scream and the editorial.

loss
the steer dances between resistance
 and causality, its bereaved flanks ere
pledged to a wolf which has deserted
 the stimulating coda underneath the fear
that  ensures this meditative clicking
of street on bone
in an airborne sea of red velvet.

mold
a gilded vertex, pinioned, dipsomaniac
identical tempers unfolding themselves
like chemist’s tobacco
before planting, fit for bandages,
the fire residing in the closing
mouth of an icon.

YES! i am still working on it. despite many distractions.  the rest of the set sent to me by ghostorballoons will queue up shortly and so shall hopefully most of the set sent to me by twitterpatedlyours. i have 2 more sets left, so if you feel like sending in more, do so!

staggering

a glamorous fluke,  the seasick

  palm laying open a pituitary

beacon ,the process of bigots

   speculating under it a chalk boundary

outlining the fall.