Tuesday, January 12, 2010

powdered instance in plausable mischief
we are pictures pondered by,
you innocence wondered corpses to young
from backyards,
when i was just fourteen i saw a girl names Angel get shot in the face
you face it like wrm blankets
it's welcoming like trained intrinsic lust
and now i cant feel touch except when i touch myself
and i cant feel much unless youre the one feelin me
upon waking your hair is still braided
i braided it while you were sleeping
the grease and oil kept it together while you
dreamt of paris and monsters, police and whiskey.
delicate hairs twisted together like limbs contorted
after a three car pileup.
someone ran a stop light and my mouth yanked from
yours in a horrible way i've always imagined but
never thought would happen.

like applecores for homeless
breathless last breath
pennies in wellness
dropped down layered brick
with walls conjoined and thick
quick my mind to stummble
over words
like arrows shaped by telepathic birds
bath swam in swarms of words
my love can fill endless waterfalls
for you there is no end at all
never giving much thought to human skin,
scratching at your back, thinking about what makes it up.
cells upon cells.
they're stuck under my fingernails.
a part of you now someone who doesn't deserve.
i am not deserving of your skin on my fingers,
after only being used to bloody chunks of mine forcing
their way between nail and flesh.

dogs and bad breth
stuck to trees in timeof faithless
galaly in ancient scri pt tied to trees
and left to drop
into chalice or ground or to worldy crop
make water falls boil over ancient rock
my depth to keep you goes beyond
magic, or wood stilt or long hair that'd fall from
arch shaped windows in midevil lore
i hope to taste you through that through your front door
front door? front door to heaven? front door to hell?
you could end up being either one to me.
my personal heaven. my very own personal hell.
when i burn.
i will burn in either place.
will you burn next to me?
will i smell your skin as it peels away from your muscles?
will our skin melt together?
for eternity?
do you believe in eternity?
there is no quesiton.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

marcel duchamp

pickups sick of colored rain

lookin for blue cars covered in white stars.

no entrance to decayed fashioned casualties

loves burned into it deadened passion set so far

mate in former life, mate in flight, in mid wife.

dusty bars in foggy sunlight, particles dance in time.

so i though that...

your love was a bone buried by a hooded dog,

ten passed midnight through the floor boards in a synagogue

our differences aligned like misdemeanors to murder crimes

in ghetto white sneakers tied in the air

flea market set in rural, straight and formal like a coral, to score another pair

but they'll eventually all hang like urban mistletoe

they'll make love under statues of salt that line all of the roads.

so i thought...

christ i think if i could kill myself with the push of one button

it would be pushed about a thousand times until id wake up Prussian

the Baltic sea no it couldnt hold me like you can dear.

the jews, the christians, muslims and satanists would all abandon their piers

to all come marchin forth

to put and end to my flaming torch

my body like disease, would be hung up in the trees

my blood caught in a chalice underneath

im your boy and so what could you want more

than something so sure

a quarter to three i dreamed my mouth was buried in the basement of a synagogue

the streets across from cafe tables there's talkin outside coffee shops

i would die to be awoke somwhere i have been

only between your darkened skin and your melting grin.

sneakers tied up, so am i

for your latest show,

publicize how people die and we will all know then

how you take minds like mine and cut them all open.

so i thought...

where does that energy go?

when the sky explodes into different shapes like the ones we placed

in boxes in doctors waiting rooms,

when we still watched cartoons,

comin down like violent colored rain

but there's no ground anymore and no water to retain.

lookin for blue cars covered in white stars.

burned passion plainly like taming another crazy heart.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

from paris with disregard.

i guess the eiffel tower beckoned you. i guess the call was louder than my voice, louder than my hysterics. i held onto your sleeve and i begged you to stay. "three months. i'll be back in three months." you didn't ask me accompany you. you didnt ask me anything at all, except to let go of your shirt.


Thursday, January 7, 2010

i wish i could dig into and study pink matter inside my head.
dormant, what we all have. what not many pay attention to.
what i'd like to retrieve, and what i'd like to dispose of.
watching it decompose, i'm a puddle on the linoleum.