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  You could have a big dipper   

morning three nights morning by William Cadoret

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




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.

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