Spires of Ryan

soap shoes

under flaps of denim

winged beast, I am

in this stripper light


vape stick
romantic flatbill
Arabic selfie
payday kōan

Κύριε Ἰησοῦ Χριστέ, Υἱὲ τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἐλέησόν με τὸν ἁμαρτωλόν

VEDIC SEXTS
MOORISH CREST STRIPS
FRIGHTENED IN THE STRATUS

"THIS IS THE FONT OF PLEASURE"
IT IS NOT IN THE SOCIAL DEMOCRATIC PONZI

A BLINK OF THE HISTORICAL EYE
//THE WILD BLOOD OF CHRIST\\

sati, salos

widened eyes

the entire party stopped
we shuffled out into the Indian summer
streets of Mountain Brook

Lexus leather
strongly odoriferous,
the waft toward my nostrils
is slow and solar

"That wasn't me back there."

I'm supposed to nod.

we watched the smoke rise from our phones

in Pythagorean horror
our eyes danced from point to point
in the never-grasped present

the wild bones of saints
press against the garments wrent

if Christ is God
this world is split

Delivery for Mr. Heartbreaker

part my locks

foakleys on (check)

Super Sayian on that ass

snowshoe hesher

I'm an expeditionary

I'm Mowgli of Antioch

I leer at the skyscrapers

"You aren't the only thing"

I'm satisfactory at work

my doorknob is Evel Knievel's

likeness

my doorbell is a subwoofer

welcome to my thunder castle

welcome to my gas mask party

it's a freaky conversion

try my digital cake

It's totally divi

prance on the wild side

Presbyterian Wind

eyes closed
against the Presbyterian wind
in Oak Hill

standing in the way of a horse

I witness a swing set self-flagellation

a swift kick to the moldy basketball
and
the trees explode in temporal flair
oranges and reds and browns

that Kia Sportage (over there)
is an opiate buoy
in a sea of coloration

the white bovine tongues
wagging against the fence

brain fruit on the ground

I hold your hoodied hand

Umbros swish
against my growing

a cedar fire is nice
for this boy

now
on
to
your
Memphis Group sofa
in the sunroom

your hook-up line gaze
is deeper than Welch's Concord Grape

motion to me in some way
I can understand


I wear one backpack strap for you
I pretend I have no parents for you
That is not my mother summoning me
in a silver Previa
I am feral
I am the Mad Max of these undeveloped woods
I am handy with a hard edge ruler,
with a mechanical pencil syringe,
and with excuses

tact

Moses taught us to drown the enemy out. Like moles in the spring. We never knew how bold we could be. When the summer sun set the drummer done sweat! Does the moon come every night? I thought about getting a tattoo of a row of parking spots. They'd be vacant, and the heart of em would be stained with oil and gum and everything else you associate with a parking spot. But then I thought wow how symbolic, right? It's almost nauseating how dissimilar we were. It's almost nauseating that you wore that visor to your aunt's 15th sobriety party. I remember you played with the swimming pool butterflies.

west nashville

I sat in circles in early life
on the other side of town
sat my chubby-cheeked wife

we touched toes and recited rhymes
our multiplication was sublime

predecessors in the ground
a fine tooth comb on the ground
the playground dust swirled around the ground

like phat phantom dirvishes
West End nighting
gale

my tempest brake
was Radnor Lake

in the hereafter I hope to soar