because it looks like a typewriter, that's why.
molten lava cake
"what"ing the camera
"what," man. insinuated.
he took the picture himself
we were plucked, evasive species
from backyard macbook reflections
we'll last
just one winter
spill under a moon
spoon our soons soon
a perilous pile of oops
mutually in trouble
terrible in thirst
upon exhale
nicotine as ifs
enablers exonerate
and drink to dehydrate
i hope i'm shaking around
like the few screaming
at weary's bottom
did i snuggle up inside
your holy nostalgia
some secret-do?
do i count?
a gustling
rustling none-
take this moment
eternal it a best.
dangle on branches
gaze-down puddles
and if you drop
it'll be some
wonderwake
miss myriad mechanics
mainly mysterious meanings
male - might mine magnified?
did you lie to me?
chapterhouse - i half smile
at the misery it puts me through
polynomials
proprietarily
block serotonin
perplexing plumb
a hard hat area
anxiety ambles
to the scene
big bully
a rule of thumb:
find something
fuzzy, numb
"what," man.
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disastress 
This.is.STUNNING. I hope you are pulling some pieces together and sending them out for publication, either individually or together. You are quite simply tremendously talented.
This stanza?:
“we’ll last
just one winter
spill under a moon
spoon our soons soon
a perilous pile of oops”
holy.cow. fantastic.
oh wow, thank you so much! i’m supposed to be doing that – that’s my plan – but i keep getting distracted… this is good encouragement, my friend. i really appreciate the props – sincerely, you have no idea… thank you, thank you.
Great comment, girlie. And you have a typo: I think you meant “holy cats.”
I didn’t have time to leave my real comment earlier because I had to go pick up my daughter at school. I was going to say that I really like all the possible interpretations of the title. It could be one man, one type of man, the collective “man” you have been involved with over the years, the male gender, or mankind.
I also love your first line and the new font it describes. I agree; it’s certainly visually appealing and reminiscent of “typewritten” text. This is how I wrote my first series of poems in high school—on a typewriter.
I really likes these sections:
“enablers exonerate / and drink to dehydrate”
“did you lie to me? / chapterhouse – i half smile / at the misery it puts me through / polynomials / proprietarily / block serotonin / perplexing plumb / a hard hat area / anxiety ambles / to the scene / big bully”
Anxiety is a big bully. Don’t let it beat you up.
I love what you do with the “clarity” lines. The way most of your poem seems sort of inaccessible or rambling, but then you throw in something simple and extremely clear, like “did you lie to me?” That’s one thing that defines your style. Your tiny breaks from surreality. Don’t get me wrong, it all makes sense when you think about it. But if you just read it without putting much thought into it, it seems pretty unclear. That’s my favorite format, of course.
inaccessibly accessible. i like that. i really do. i like you, too. a lot.
And that last line. “what,” man. (And: “What man?”)
I have been here, right smack dab in the middle of this poem. Perfectly spilled.
again, thanks!!!!! oxox
Lot’s of good stuff here. I especially like:
“we’ll last
just one winter
spill under a moon
spoon our soons soon
a perilous pile of oops”
and
“did i snuggle up inside
your holy nostalgia
some secret-do?
do i count?”