i heart l.a.nni've got what letters one would need to spell winternsafe in the belly of a white paperpinchni hurried foldingnnthis is exactly the sort of mood thatni cannot watch movies innnboys nerves all yelling arm into the blood brain barriernganging up on now inside the big bone holding up my face...nnmy father was born in the 40'snthey had just finished erecting the oakland apartmentni now live in...nsince then...ntwo single mothers and a man who cut his face have lived there.nnday after day...nthis is the day after desperatennmy room has filled withnday and nightnand night and daynsince then...nnmy father has called twice and left a messagenthe electricity is on...nthese are the least of my worriesnnthe moles on my penis remind me of skullsnand all the doctors who would quicklyncut them off and eat themnas they take down art in hotel hallwaysnnprobably to the tune of plain old heart failure on a rollawaynnthey hurt in the dullnat the hinge to both eyesnthe no place of an achenwhere you push and pull when trying to fall asleepnnsoon things kick in severly at the napenof my patiencenas the worm inside my spine contractsnni see me pouring cum out ofnthe corner of a dug up shoeboxnacross the hope lump of an old petnonto a large bundle of grainnni think what's wrong with the worldnhas to do with those who fell in love with new yorknor los angeles or paris and jerusalemnnand me of coursenflagged in modern sneakersnand perfume of my morgue mouth meat adore...nnif i could only travel back in time and kick my mother in the face afterna permanentnnthis would nothingnand feel better or worsenin the necessary softening of all my bonesnnthere is more to life than manicured vaginas and a saline solutionnnthe no place of an ache danglesnbody all around it.nni've got no new spelling of the word winternfor the me on the other end of this airplane.