if I can't be punk, I'm gonna let it kill me

tatter my ears, starve my body, those frequencies

sad limp wrists, carpal tunnel

(when I say punk, I'm also saying modernist)

your sister stared at me, very funny

'adobe', 'abode', 'bonafide'

(when I say modernist, I mean primary colors)

you're single, I'm single; great, never shall we mingle

"in your head"

very good now,

"in your head"

now try it --

(what happens when everything is red?)

the danger in waiting is not the onset but the heightened appraisal, crashing down on weak bones

(fastidious mess)

(a durable dance)

-- above ground

I'm getting better, slowly, it's coming apart

I can hear you, imagining such ships, but I struggle from a mere shoddy porch

"...and what, pray tell, does your haircut do?"

puts you forward, puts you on, you're upside-down, my reflection has won me over

(you should see more because you spent so much time looking into nothing)