But you can see me under this green mesh by Renée Francoeur

No YOU CAN'T COME with me, loverboy; they’d know then. I’ll tell the truth but offer no explanation: I’m going to Yellowknife for surgery. I won’t tell them that I will die if I don’t go. Perhaps they’ll think it’s a lump in my ovary or polyps popping up in my forearm—and I’m transforming into a teeth-baring, sardine-scaled sea creature.
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Breadcrumbs in Muswell Hill, 2014
For Ben, Ruben, Victoria and Schmatterling Girl.
The pigeon chested boy and the girl with the invisible pigtails are coming home to dinner with you.

What dawn of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
dreamy meditation
arcane thoughts
hot kisses
pure innocence gifts

the subterranean undertow of a hope jar
glowed like mimeographed atoms pressing
upward the carbon sky, in darkness, you
dressed less than what disrobed you, lips
drank all poison from methanol-filled cup,
fingers plucked shoal neurons from winter
freeze—here, where the mouth of flesh had
already congealed by the sudden snowfall

Tears of a robot
[do discombobulate?] hegemony
strewn across the metallica of this some kind of sentience.
Raped by a robot
[Godzilla Complex?] change
your mind Universally streaming the tin foil water
that burns the eyes as it tends to burn the eyes
and ignites when flames dance upon the water