CW: Suicide
Of first note: a penchant for plosives,
the crackle of shields going down to
the slow blade piercing pleasantries, tin
hearts / rooves / raining icepicks, rusty
cages in misty field - Shaka! when the walls
fell, dawn's rosy fingers ripped off my eyelids
and our twin suns burnt out my mind. Look,
my soul is trapped in a stock car's headlights
sticking the turn for an nth time, but a flick
of the wrist sends this bespoken carriage of
bones into / over margin border barrier I
might be bold, brazen, incredibly stupid
but I've got to be something I've got to be
more than tall self-conscious clay the way
our words are more than constricted airflow
-ing, a land once new, over sore hills dotted
in graves like white stubble - should I shave?
Should I call you? When's too late? This is
where I discover how much I miss the wide sky
& wandering & rambling & what I know when
sliding into bed sober & alone - plenty human
& hopeful, the field bathed in a mostly tired light.
°
Pink Hudson: leaves as dark as looming night,
the building's anti-shadow stretching out onto
the water silenced by distance, you speak proximity
shifting your shoulder away, staring off, asking if
I might have some misogyny in me like you don't
really want my respect, like how you won't answer
anything about your ex that you saw last night. I'm
an idiot I should've kissed you, eight arms and all
folded up, angled in, like you like me but like may
-be you'll fuck him instead in Verdun and St-Denis
and -OM- say again you're just figuring things out.
Indecision a bamboo blade to the stomach - Ma! -
and the most love felt is for the ronin & scotsman,
blackguard son of the brightraven - buy another
round / katana / trash can to pour naivety until
I remember a time I felt pretty. Perishable soul, I
hate the dream of heaven cause I don't want to go
be an alien I don't want to hurt you I don't want
to hurt I don't want to do anything but walk fast
and not take a single picture and just pretend this
never happened cause perishable soul is fifty-fifty:
I never wanna see you again, &, I'm fucking dying
at the thought that I coulda been better at least
held your hand instead I felt silent and stared at
pink Hudson and heard you wonder how many
bodies were in the water how many boys' hearts
are under your skin how have I never seen a firefly
before tonight I thought I couldn't care but lesson
learnt I'm collapsing in the absence of your eyes.
°
Strike a pose I can mimic & master neurotic yoga
cause science says intelligence, emotional compete
-nce don't even matter for your first animalistic
impression. I could love you, in time, with clarity,
if one fish's heart is enough to dispel a d&d demon
- look at dumb & dumber, two toys Seung keeps in
orbit, unabashed and inexcusable, imperial blazé or
Olympian sociopathy equally worthy of envy, even
now everyone looking at a woman so as to desire her
makes prey of themselves. Tie a rope around me
mistaking soju bars for the holiest of holies, the sea
of copper an unavailable fig-a-tini, fire oblation a
ronin's cigarette GIVE ME RICE OR I'LL KILL
my self-consumption a speck of spittle, this city
Cereberus' fivefold slobber digesting the air, con
-crete, an island laid out in straight lines opposed
as alien to the world as sea lions in Central Park
content to be caged, twisting in a faux-rock's shade
like love ain't more than whatever you're given, so
try to touch the pigeons cause if you want it oo-OO
-oo you can have it oo-OO-oo but you got to learn to
reach out like a bonobo, a red-crested macaque, car
-pe deez nuts car le ciel nous tombent sur la tête Car
-lin everything Bo Burnham will never be: doom &
deliverance. Liberté, fraternité, fuck me alreadé.
°
i want to kill myself in Roosevelt Park
i wanna touch the pigeons and dream of falcons
ill spot 1k for france so you can get some paris baguette
france france france i wanna meet my friend's ex
mr le fable never had to wonder if he hates women
if we touch the walls we're gonna fuckin rococo
so full of Culture with a capital C like vitamin
you unnourished self-hating fuck i wanna france
i wanna cover you in a white flag, feel that navy
and i'll take the top bunk. Call me Alexander
cause im double fuckin protector. remind me
that being a gentleman pays off sometimes
so long as the chick is already half-naked
and i'll cut it there cause i'm not Bukowski yet
even though i'm a trash can drinking itself like
the fuck is in Baltimore, babe? a cranberry pool
of ABG like twenty bucks and fifteen bars like
sometimes i think about work or longevity or
was that just beef in my mouth? fuck me. like
fuck me like an octopus. like where is your
misogyny or are you a Ken doll? smooth smooth
smooth like i shaved to get my drinks paid -
krishna twink hare rama twink - you thought
you hustled me but youre the one with fuckin
paint on your face. i know the chapter, i know
the field, i know the worth of bros and dollar
menus like we could wander any street and still
find love. cause we aint Bukowski yet, bitch -
carpe deez nuts and witness pink Hudson lose
its colour again like another ronin's cigarette
sudokued on the sidewalk, prime pussy repel
-lant like this is my Ethos. like save me i'm in
the wrong bathroom like i'm missing my belt
like i'm in the wrong century like sick shirt bro
i'm from DC, respect my spiked collar, Virginia
for lovers laissez les bons temps rouler like I
wanna live like a seal in Central Park all slick
and stupid and the center of attention.
°
The valley spoke of absence, or was it opportunity
sharing costs / chats / spirits / tartare / souls cause
we had a great time without a great time despite
ourselves. Even the taxi driver says i'm a nice guy says
the hand & mouth are saying something else says
one hundred dolla hahaha like shabum life is a dream
very pointless & bursting with meaning & a single photo
-graph our peregrine plunge, believing in a bird
she
is
thriving
in this place. even the streets are exhaling, trying
to draw in new breath, to get a clear head, to -OM-
oppa krishna oppa one more one more one more one
more just pour just oppa hare rama hustle don't think
cause what if she wants a shifting ochre cliff but what she got
was passable passing on moving on moving out
-side I swap my shades for another pair of shades &
see the valley was never empty cause you/she/we/me
being such shitty Buddhists, so much of ourselves
but this is livin' and sometimes the best we get is an even break.
You're beautiful.
& i'm terrified to say it, cause
reasons only cheapen this
& if there is a god it must look like math
& i know there's love because i'm stone-cold sober
boiling my brain trying to figure out your arithmetic
maybe people aren't truthful, but we should live trying to be
so i'll say what i mean, believe your word
& hope
William Cadoret (he/him) kills harmless greenery for profit & apologizes in six languages.