this poem is called:

EVERYTHING MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME ABOUT BURY A BODY feat. Jess Rowan

i.

home   i was there 
to be buried
in a mile of buckets
of rain and storms

to me
the fissure    only sobbed mildly
cautiously 
like the flavor or church
or a bucket of break lights

in the heavy
we sank down to our 
shoes
we sank down to our
knees
we sank down to our
throats

Jess was there
drinking marbles & marbles
had lightning water with me

i won't 
fuck you up of for fun   we say
with our discounted pennies or 

the rain drum

ii.

this is heavy
this really big element
this is fucking heavy
i can't lift it 

it's too huge
too really really really really really really really really huge

mom took a plane in from the Hampsters (that's OUR joke)
but she couldn't carry it either

she told me to throw it away
into the big lake
with the big crescent 
with the fake smile 
like ours

but the water will hate it
i know
the air will shun it 
the fish will piss on it 
but release spite instead of piss

use your hands   she says
spread your lungs and drink
hold your lips and tell
the bay she has a nice smile 

i am quiet
i see stars then water then fish
they are happy to see me 
i have swallowed it 
they call me hero 
but i am still sinking 

i am scared 
i am impatient 
to die to sink to drown a fever
with my heavy element

i am impatient 
to have water 
breathe through me 
and fuck up my life 
for fun 

the new things i bought are probably better than the new things you have bought

books:

bryan and i went used book shopping in ashland yesterday. are people in used bookstores nicer than most people? it seems like it. they always want to suggest good books or just chat. i really like getting good deals on books. buying books shouldn't make me as happy as it does, like when i drink orange soda and eat pizza or get cheap unicorn decorations. it makes me feel bad though, like i'm embracing consumerism. i guess there are worse things i could spend my money on. and worse places i can spend it.

City Poet: The Life and Times of Frank O'Hara BRAD GOOCH
Machine Art & Other Writings EZRA POUND

also:

read bryan's post about the new michael moore movie SICKO.

question:

what have you guys been reading / writing / buying / listening to?

i need more mail because my mailbox is a giant mouth that is very hungry

i need more mail.

i'd like to feel more important.

people of the internets, send me things!

if you have a chapbook, book, piece of art, send it to me!

i will review it, and, since you were nice enough to send it to me, the review will probably be favorable.

hate mail is accepted; moreover, appreciated.

my address:

alex burford
117 Garfield st. #3
Ashland, OR 97520

probably what i wrote to jess earlier today in my underwear while listening to Albert Hammond Jr. who i don't like that much

i sat for while this morning. and wrote some chunks of stuff that were supposed to be poems. they are mostly shit. but i am bored. and outside is hot. i have a sunburn.

bryan smoke condoms
behind ice cream & bubble gum factories
---------------------------------------

is that frowny face in front of an ass :)((
--------------------------------------------

wanted:
female with mallable limbs
& a love of breakfast time
---------------------------

i put (not) everything on the wall
took it down
looked and squinted:
crooked
-----------------------------------


one in particular was about a robot.

I turned a robot into
my ass using Jesus Magic
I saw on mom's TV.
It nibbled my bark dust
and called me "saggy nips"
and "totally girlfriend"
like telling secrets.
Now he is my ass. I
sit more now and fart
to make sure he's learning.

i am knee deep in postcards and need ideas or else i'll drown in paper and that is no fun

jess rowan and i are writing each other a postcard a day while she is across the country, for the month. and i am behind. and need prompts or ideas or bear calls or potato guns or people to call me names. anything.

i will pay you in love and fresh blueberries.