"Can I Trust You?"

As though I'm standing on a shady street
with Liberators and cartoon characters
of the soul equally.
Doctors. I mutter it even to food.

"Can I trust you?"

This is human existence mostly.

This is even while walking somebody.



"CAN I TRUST YOU?"

The ill and dying are run the other direction
when they ask: "Can I trust you?"
which can be said so many other ways

there should be a patronizing Museum built

to explain it to busloads of schoolchildren.






TRUST

Think tombstones.




TRUST

I laughed at my lover who was not
and I smeared cum on his face.

"But can we be promiscuous,
more promiscuous than any reader?"

It was I who spread their legs
and imagine they give birth...their legs...

and they seem to have a little more when I pushed my hands
down into it, I can't trust.




TRUST: A MARRIAGE


"I guess I like
not trusting you?"

So much I married the company.

*

I say to rebirth, death, rebirth.

*

How a fractal-loving crowd is not on my side.

But that's okay
because starlings just fuck anyway.





TRUST


"Can I trust you?" I whisper to winter which approaches.
To the stranger on the other side of myself darkly
and unconvincingly. That I am like
unto that old lady delivered over to the public transportation
of the bus, transportation
of the Bible? Public transportation
is filled with parables and backpacks.

Imagine a schoolbus filled with angels
all trying to kill the bus driver.

That's pretty much the situation.

Think of the Bible as the movie SPEED.

Keanu comes back to life halfway through.




TRUST


Or turn in the sky all at once,
and trust each other
as you weave in and out over that river
which will soon be ice.





TRUST


"Can I trust you?"

I mutter to myself often. corner.

Considering a deal.




TRUST


Dead lovers already way decided.
Famous dead lovers who were dealers. And brothers.
Dead poets. Wormlike lovers
that dreams bisect.

And both halves wriggle away.

Giggle.

I ask food its forgiveness.




TRUST


This endless mantra is the battery
of walking down the street,
watching a movie or intensely fucking those who have dead batteries
or will soon. We trust you?"

HELL NAWL. YOU A DYING BITCH!




TRUST


"Can I be one of those rhetorical questions
people used to carve on my lover
while he was standing on a cliff?

I stupidly asked the earth, "Which earth are you?"

It was my lover.

I was so high

and that's how it ended.




TRUST

(Writers are usually men too.)

Sometimes they are women
who have actually spread credibility.




TRUST


Today the soil in the backyard
felt darkly vaginal thinking about a man.
yes it's always a man
that is you, because I married you.

Happy Anniversary!




TRUST


"Can I trust starlings to all turn at once in the sky,
the way it has to be.

I trust sky over the crosstown buses
that grows an eerie green at dinnertime
as of this poem

it soon becomes apparent I matter as a crosstown bus.

Nightapple green I call your gay horniness.

You fucking crosstown bus.





TRUST


the public and Biblical shit like that.

Prophets with shopping bags patiently as first graders in the seats.

And Lucifer, are you one of those asshole fractal starlings?

We know how you are in the Bible...

that giant ball of you, a clusterfuck, pretending
you are the gardens, and the girders of the bridge
dead people built you. you stare not very deeply

into the bridgework

we trust and need

more than you,


Your Majesty of fucked up starlings