lofi mag

Nothing tidy, give me the mess of it, bad
stuff yes--I’m good
with bottles on the floor, no need
to clean for me, I know 
what it’s like, baby sit
back so I can wrap myself
here and there,
sweet sweat;
record highs;
I will kiss 
every last inch,
keep the box fan blowing;

yesterday your best friend died
but we get to live in ignorance 
another few hours. 

If I am bad
then I am bad, 
so when time comes
for funerals, when it is our turn,
burn our bodies and say,
they knew desire, like Americans.

These two knew how to want.

Monday Morning Worship

I just like the heat 
on my skin, to stand
in the moment before
it starts to burn. Life’s

laid out blank
slate and here I am, no
paint, no charcoals, no god, 
never have been good 

at ritual.
The only time that ever feels
holy
is when it is in sin

I am not some important thing, 
no, not now, 
will not compare myself to some 
forest, some
city, something you want. Used to write
confessionally
until I ran out of things to confess. Used to write 
love poems 
until I fell in love. 

Anyway. 
Today was hot.
The clouds blew by. 
I sprayed vinegar on the weeds, another harmless 
act of mine that surely 
has one million consequences I will never see.