Buy whatever shines
It's one pocket full of trash
And one fully flat
Untitled 168
A long day at work
A single layer tells you
The smell of onions
Sin título 167
Sobre la orilla
las cartas a los muertos
llegan a tiempo
Capitalism 2022
We hush all noises
We crown all vices
We buy your voices
And sell you silence
Drown your eyes in our beer
Rush your heads to our walls
And when you're lost
You can howl in our forests
Heaven is a place that we own
Hell
If we must
Is all yours
a bus stop, 8 a.m. -the commute 4
the cold on my nose the biblical rock pouring the tissues drinking
the commute 3
heads at an angle
home miles ahead of the door
lovers on a train
spring, 1982
a clear fate awaits
the last kid at the party
silence or kindness
the commute 2
find a subway vent then find an armful of leaves not nine o'clock yet
the woods by the beach 2
let's count pine needles
measure the chill on our cheeks
our kind of pointless
Song of the Uncle
Shells in my pockets
I'm the hallowed treasure chest
Of your summer raids
pacific sunset 15
derecho a mis pies
el caminito de luz
las docas rojas
coda en 33° sur
pasó la lluvia
festival de pindales
con aromo en flor
old man about town
late morning errands rushing without your glasses better collect sounds
a restaurant terrace
scores and politics
the little shit that matters
all over our plates
Winter, 1983
Brown toast, cocoa milk The killing of a sidekick My living room thrills
The Survivalist
Get your boots
The last sunny bit
Crush leaves into flour
Winter stash
Insomnia 5
I face the window
I roll to hear you breathing
Sick of the ceiling
Job’s Commute
This LED sun
How and when did I wrong you?
Frost on my steel-toes
Old Flames
Since you want a bond
Be the one who remembers
I do the regrets
Metapoetry 8
I'm done with buzzwords They hollow out what you say A template of smoke
Anthropocene 24, an Epitaph
We were tiny gods
Engines our tokens of life
Not undertakers
Domingos de mayo
A falta de sol
Ven a pelar granadas
Siéntate cerca
Post Punk Escalator
Sure you bite no more
They play your songs at the mall
And I feel welcome
the commute
blind morning shapes are to be guessed fear them, fear headlights we're primal
Sin título 166
Trabajo
Después de meses
Ni sueldo ni horas
Pan duro
rincondeltraidor 