Friday, December 23, 2011

Last Letter

Pair of branches, who would dare cut them from you, who
would sin so great against nature itself as to pare you down,
who would belittle you, who would lessen your enormity,
who would blaspheme with a knife and a curse word, who
would seek to make you a nothing among an everything so
loud and so bright that would emerge a vacuum in your stead,
who hates himself so, to doom her, to doom us all and so
damn purity itself by a sickness that consumes every
breathing love, light, life,
left brain fool, left brain engineer,
killer fuck killer hungering engine who talks everything which
is a kind of gnawing on nothing as the teeth gnash and the tongue
seduces the ears of fools and dreamers and really the ocean is
not a force to be argued with and really this time is not a
force to be reasoned with and really space is space and
not a piece of paper to be folded and really you and your love
are non-negotiable and you some stupid rock of self that are
not my
unplacidly I
burn I
take this bat to drywall
and make holes of
everything and then
burn it all down
which will be my last
spoken word which
will be my last testament which will be
my last message my
last will my
last letter to you

And so I'll sleep so much more comfortably in
conceding that I did my best,
that I loved,
that I tried,
that I knew passion,
while you all will lament senseless
loss of some young potential,
yet none of you will
'get it'
fucking sad pathetic trolls
enjoy your aging and your


And then id murdered his
brothers and he ruled from
his throne
stomach and he forced himself on
every young lamb within
eyesight and penetrated their
gentle innocences with his
priapic enormous tumor
id was the saddest fucking
wretch you could behold but
you'd never feel sorry for him be-
cause he would have burned you

Confusion, or Why I Am Sick of "I Don't Know"

So who shall I speak to then?
This room, with a galaxy or more of
folded emptiness, lines of air bent back
on themselves lined and stacked and
grouped together, an infinity of
lonely particles that dance a
Shall I speak to the walls I see,
who limit my vision with their
stark frigidity, their goosebump
flesh a reminder that I have
nothing to hang, who speak
nothing but echos back and
back and back?
Shall I speak to my feet, as I
reclined in some fucking torpor, some
listless paralyzing overstimulation of
thought which has shred every muscle
in me
shall I speak to my feet and ask them
why they move me no longer?
Shall I speak to thee?
A joke
Shall I speak to three eighteen a.m
as if she were some full lipped teen,
a minute pregnant with physical
possibility, supple, anticipating,
salivating, ready
Who shall I speak to
Who will receive my fist
The fist between my legs
The fist that sleeps encased
within these ribs
The fist caged in these teeth
The fist within my fist
The fist in my finger
The fist that flows
on my blood
The fist that clouds in
cold air when I ex-
hale and
when I curse you
and your name
the female human
pussy and
myself and when I
curse Him, his
holiness who is some
father or
some cloud of pictures that
MY father has planted
like seeds
to fuck
me and me and me and
my understanding of a
vision of this true place

I've never seen his face for
true but I've dreamed it and
hated it for most of this dreaming
time and
what can I say or
who can I speak to?

Who can I speak to?

Not you

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Future

My favorite movies are the sad ones.
I like the happy ones well enough, but
I feel like I take those for granted, like
air or touch.
It's the sad ones
that for once tell the truth.
After so long feeling nothing,
the heartbreak is
pent up

Monday, December 5, 2011

The Sound of Living In The Blink of an Eye

I am paper
I am cotton
I am crumbling leaves,
so easily dispersed by whispers,
dispersed like particles of smoke
from the lungs of my god,
he spoke me,
spoke life into me,
and like an afterthought,
some years later
he unspoke me.

In its silence,
it was the
loudest thing you'd ever hear.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Waves and Cystic Ovary

Cabled kiss to lips to this like

little trysts that list to this my

sister lifts her little fist to

seizure his collapsing hits and

hollow pits deliver its inchoate

fits derived from wrists and

pissing on the cross I lied de

- liverance and holy pi and

three one four infinity is

not the truth it's not for me I

smell a son I smell a ghost I

smell a sweet fermenting roasting ba

-by on the way from him to

her within her belly burn I

taste an everlasting gaze I

blur within the hazy haze I

cry for my confusion dear I

hold onto my wreckage jaw my

ribs and ribs my ribs I saw I

held onto a manger straw a

baby born into a man a

cable truck a panel van a

canine coin a courting call a

wicked game a fire fall a

pasture passing pious pill pro

-methean priapic spill mis

-take and kill miss

take and kill and still who

celebrates their fill of

souls or people or

minds or imaginations or

personalities or

individuals or

smiles that are

illusions for something


Thursday, December 1, 2011

Beds x 3

In some emotional coma coming ten
thousand oceans of poisonous seed which
is just my greedy crude oil sickness, the
slickness of which leaves you stuck in
me and stuck in these sheets with my
knees at your temples as I sit on
your chest, tits deflated like some
abused waitress, some animal in
shock and I slap you and you
come back to me and my cock
rockets up and away but is held
earthbound or bodybound
tethered to me in between these
sick legs that throb like
Christ on his cross

Crucified I cried 'thank you
daddy' and I faded into a
-nother dream or a
-nother layer of waking and
I pissed myself at some point
and I
held the note that said the name
of the woman who knew my love and
that's all that happened ever