Art is something you can’t have you can’t save:

the feelings of plants, suns shadow geometry on water, Lamborghinis.

A photograph of the emotional hole in the market

a sculpture of empathy as political statement

some New Age pornography.

I saw you electronically smoking at the opening

immobilized under the mango tree

beautiful caramel queer hurricane.


There is dignity in emerging from the gym, curved from glass, ripe
in the valet wait, all of us, together, breaking under the super moon,
mid-career Drake on the satellite radio, all of us, listening, leather,
fake leather, whatever. There is dignity in the way the wind moves
through the palms like a venetian shade in a rented room.

They’re tracking our eye movements, commodifying the pause,
diamond dealers entering the void, why not go where the weather
suits your clothes.

Powerless against the sky, the sea, and the sand, powerless and

We’re going to let ourselves drown, the coolest shit we can do,
contemporary design forums and everything: heartbreak and hexile,
sirens and saxophones, poetry and pleasure.

Multiple publics in the neon in the clubs, bodies buoying this erosion
we share; the devil is a lie; an honor to grieve. So wavering between
our dreams nightmares sunglasses cruising down Collins with the red
motor rising liquidly in liquid lingerings.


Take off your clothes,
be lobster bisque

but slowly, evenly
like a bubble bath

with your spirit avatar:
normal love, resistance nude.

Wet from this champagne rain
in the infinity pools in the future

the future exists in autonetic fantasy.

Sleep through the storm,
new horizon non existence

or get off the party bus.

It’s not the spectacle that makes me lazy,
it’s all the post-production lightning weed.

Just relaxing in the hot tub
laid down by the blues

and darker blues,
the blacks.