the destroyer > text > Russ Woods & Carrie Lorig

YOU GIVE STONES A BLOOD NAME

we all go super)
birthed in cold forces)
if i put blood on a head)
would it a lamb's)
would it a person's driving)
if i held my driving would you
call me a good driver
would you spout out silvers
like a lion tire? hung
we all go boom boom boom
boom boom with red gums
in a small hill of us and others
swell me up for apple sizes
lower down the tree hung thing
is a notch of us. a notch of wolf
of us. push out the marigolds
for aqua plating we can stitch up
in in in in


a stone is a bone vase.
fuck you stone, that is
hard to read.
i can taste the crowd
pinning me to the
landstop. i can floodhouse
the crowd pining for codes
in my keyskin, in my
bad lemonade trying to
file me away under
“Umbrella”. you are never
going to request that I be
brought up. you hate
that I love your trying
face. If my name was a
flower made of 3,000 dead
bodies laying just over the
hill and not afraid to show
their depth, it would be
Three Bags of Personal
Anguish. It would be
Suzanne. It would be Wide-
Spread Transparency Clutching
Blinding                                                                                                           Leftovers.
This sad/good combo means
I’m already teaching the empty
room I am writing in.


i feel this mad sediment
stripped out my fine-toothed
windbreaker.


sometimes there are volcanos
just laying there. i am a drain case.
what if we wore the same clothes.