Faye Chevalier


darth boyfriend

for Kat Kuhl

un/afraid & lachrymose-like,
a far-flung & bone-eating
refuse-man(, this i)

—pent in, trying, bent out—

to be needed & feral-cute;
a given, an “all
claws”-type sitch, like

“yes, yes, i def need to
be strung together

(as a para-pointed
pre-requisite, i am folding
over our joined star-space,

sorry) thanks”—

& perched-kind, weightless,
such was when i was loved most;

a suicide-bound conspiracy board,
kindled right-ways into kneeling silence—

a callous fare for
our newly-tepid-bridge-

i am trying—

& we are brothers in “which house?”
i.e. brothers in avenge-ed

-ness i.e. brothers in ending-
flames (our “i have dreamt of

you or this
moment tell me they

overlap pls”
telemetrics) i.e. brothers
in tangent-collapse i.e.

in burial—

“think ‘my brain is a human body’ by AJJ but

mostly just the line, ‘my blood is worse than your blood’”



my father was a prospective outlaw    in the eyes of New York state tax

law & i was a too-grey copperhead,    sleeping under an upper-Hawk Mountain

precipice, a burden of nigh-headstones    all waiting-to-be-taken-like et al, not-

killing Boy Scouts breaking for water   & hurling apple cores into the woods below—


a calm fruit once, for the leering intendancies    living as an ache in my knuckles

care too much to be still,    & flood my proverbial city-veins; i write

“pain maps” on my bedroom mirror    & pray for the sun to tag it just so &

light my body up as well,    a new-bright snakebite geography, onerous & clean—

misreading the phrase “poetry set”

as “hate sex” & going “yea, same”

the sex bot as a laurel-nest of
non-home-seeking sparrows,       

trying all exo-like, into
a bright & error-generating act

of body-      having—

& it is morning,       & this i is full of
six-hour-old-      own-teeth-prints,

torn shirts(,)       & glassware,
projecting how       (my)

tired affectations relay health &
“the positive” thru      
an underlying premise of

“naturalness”      -preordained &—

the sex bot as born       
of a clear-y-eyed ectogenesis-dream

& this is where my writing on her
falls into the misleading;

a well-worn liberation-via-
preference-having end,
quiet in its white-like Human-making,      

carries her so,       
through an animal-ized infancy—

so sleep somewhere expensive now
pouring      thru the gaze-y floor

between//before production ever begins (anew)

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