I'd like for you to imagine how I might scale a building like Spiderman yes me not you me this poem is all about you imagining what I could do What am I capable of inside your head? Can I tear a tree out of the ground with my bare hands? Can I turn dirt into cake crumbs and rocks into sheet metal? Or can I find you? Lying in your bed or sitting in a chair you don't like all that much reading this poem just so I can tell you how much I love you and how badly I want you to be okay?

wring out all the green words mix them with the lemons your boyfriend will never give back to you nightly water the tree that grows when you plant that mixture in a pile of blue earth wait until April call the people you love feed them under the night tree You can cook the fruit it bears, it's fine though you might not like how it tastes Either way, feed the people you love under the tree that you planted and hope however you do that that next year everyone will have their own tree.

Two guys pass one of them is on a scooter I only mention this because he was scooting SO much faster than i thought was possible anyway they scoot pass and one looks at me and says "she looks happy" and the other one looks and says "yeah she does look happy" then they're at the end of the platform before i can inhale and i know i should be mad about so many things but tonight i'm just warm and fuzzy knowing that once i looked so happy someone else felt that it was worth mentioning.

nigh draws the eked out yikes nike sighs naik pronounced like knife but with a hard c at the end instead of a soft f strong medium naik that one and dose em how much? a strong medium sounds good boss yeah yeah just get the job done

apple lymph nodes dragging your neck all the way down to the floor maybe you'll die tonight hopefully not who knows when they'll find you you literally can't think about that not metaphorically literally, literally, if you think about being dead you will full into a purple goo lake and this time you may drown in it breathe dammit beluga whales beluga lentils how badly you need to get back into therapy bluegrass your best friend it's entirely possible all things being equal there's nothing wrong i mean there's a lot wrong but nothing so wrong that your throat should close up like this remember trees roots particles oxygen if stupid gas giants can do it then you have nothing to worry about it was that fucking space travel story wasn't it goddammit I shouldn't be so allergic to ideas breathe breathe sister witch lunar apothecary we'll all go back eventually yes this is just the song i need right now thank god for fiddles maybe i'll self publish how can i travel when i'm allergic to the potential shortness of my own life and also to transit-free locations no no think of all those nice emails think maybe somewhere a collection of particles feel remembered because of your show and maybe one day you will be a collection of particles and someone will make a show about you and you'll feel that way too you better do some big writing tomorrow or you can tell you are going to fall straight down into that hole and you don't have time to be clambering out of any unneccsary traps right now you hear me good now drink some tea watch some television but not too much get some sleep do some yoga and call the therapist first thing in the morning and remember that if everyone has to die (it's either so terrible i can't even imagine how terrible it is and the terribleness will break my brain as it thinks its final thoughts or) it really can't be that bad.

I like the redwoods They talk to me the sky is bluer in the bottom of the valley where the ferns devour all their enemies why am i so happy here? everything around me is a pretty green killer disguised like a nature postcard the redwoods know that the forest is not pretty it is a place where everything knows it's gonna die just gotta figure out how to be the ones who die last stupid humans, say the trees why would you want to prolong your expiration date? You fill homes with rotten milk and liquefied vegetables you should have given back to us years ago and I say that's not very nice they're still people and the trees say yeah okay but you know that saying about how if a tree falls in a forest and there aren't humans around nobody will hear it? If I fall on you, right now, you'll die before you can hear that sound See? Even when you're here, nobody will hear it And by the time they find your body nobody will care whether I was quiet or not. And I say good point, Tree. Are you going to kill me? And all of the redwoods laugh and say not today, little ripe one not today.

my stomach is a black hole and the milky way is moving around it this diner guy is old school  man and that fridge was made in Florida i wonder how much of this town was built in Florida or Ronkonkoma All the trucks say the concrete and the steel and the beams and the timber and the lumber and the dirt It all comes from Ronkonkoma or Delaware or Jersey this choking sign is terrifying this entire place is yellow yellow lights booths more light the choking sign there's even a lemon wedge on the cashier's table i wonder if anyone's ever choked on a lemon wedge in here i wonder how long it will be before this place is replaced with a pret a manger even though there is already a pret a manager right around the corner and even though the food at pret a manger is nothing to write home about the food here is nothing to write home about either but at least it's honest this diner guy is old school man i look at him and i remember why back in the day i remember that people used to love this town and now they only tolerate it.

there is a tiny mustache on the lip of the man who cleans the vomit from the corners of the subway platforms it's a forlorn little mustache it ponders a great deal it has begun to paint beautiful portraits in its neat and hairy imagination using all the different colors of vomit that the face it lives on is usually looking at also, the colors of the walls of the rooms in the pornographic films its face tends to watch after work every morninng and every night the mustache tries to combine the different shades of vomit into the perfect color what is it? certainly it is white and sky blue around the edges (you would be amazed at what people put in themselves only to heave back up later) but the middle, the middle whenever it tries to think about the middle it remembers this station agent named Annabelle its face had looked at Annabelle quite a lot back in the day and the mustache was a real fan - she was peculiar, but cheering but she had gotten a better job everyone, the mustache thinks, gets a better job except my face my face is the worst face the mustache thinks unthoughtof and unloved what a sorry, vomit-soaked lot in life the mustache thinks little does it know that fifty stories up there is another little mustache on the well-tamed face of a reclusive alcoholic billionaire wondering the exact same thing but more importantly this mustache has found the center of the world's most perfect color (seen at a gastronomy benefit in a plate of flowers, parsnips, and broth) and prays every morning and every night that one day it will learn to see what goes around the edge