Thursday, April 18, 2013

SUCCESS

don't show me history.
give it my whole heart.
everything i do is because
mastics and oaks are different to cut through.

i had to fight someone with an axe.
i had to aim for places that would kill me.

what's a maid for. i don't know yet.
she grabbed the basket.
she packed a machete.
what will i have to do?

i love my country. i live here every night.
my country wants one thing from me:
the meat slack in the mouth of my decap.
now get out of my garden.

maybe i'll get to crush him with my foot
maybe i'll get to feel him screaming through the blade
without being indifferent to his language.

my mother wants me to fall in love
but it's my job to do this beheading.

yews and cloves are different thicknesses.
the truth might let me die
but it won't kill me.

i could run away yesterday.
for many years i'm a curiosity
striding dressed up at night to the camp.

"what's in the basket?"
when i get there it's full of sexy
expectations but there's actually nothing.

it's for your head.  it's so
i don't have to leave my fingers
in your hair
after i'm done cutting through your bones.

my country doesn't believe anything else
i do. my country might make me marry my rapist.
it puts in thumbscrews.

my dad showed me how to paint
but no one cares for like 400 years.

it's my beheading.
it's my beheading.

give me the knife i want my beheading
to take home with me. 

Friday, April 12, 2013

NO! I WANNA RIP IT ON SATURDAY WITH EVERYBODY ELSE!

he's in a mood. some worker put a rebar through a tire and it's over. he has a signal to us all: when he sits down to the piano we scatter at his pounding and never getting it right. i'm prepared to use my hoodlum tools to smart myself out of that racket. oh boy it smarts. i did raise kids with a clean mouth and straght hair. before that there was a different palette and yes sir i used it. i'll tell you i used it. i don't mind saying so, it helped me pay off my loans.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

THE FLOCK LEAVER


are you my mother still
when i feed you 
when i say "this is why i'd be a bad parent! (all poems no promises)"
i'd be a good parent
except in the evolutionary sense.
my offspring will be equipped 
to be banish├ęd.
fake babys of the mind.
this is why i can't have a dog
i forget or a cat i forget
what suffer means
came from songs.
i got jilted once and now
the middle of my tree is jiltwood.
you will never convince me
that i'm not a puke bucket.
make me a jenga tower
put away the heir there.
this me doesn't need it soft or nice
this me needs it to durate 
least that's what my boots say.
i've fallen from standing height
i've jumped from tall walls
and pretended to be dead
to the horror of my sister.
if i die now before i make a person
it's her who will keep me best.

PRESSURE SENSOR OVERLOAD


show me light ringing the bell in that building
the ticking beerheart inside his little boy body
i've never thralled in a thunderstorm??
if i did i was too young??
i'll tell you now and i sure mean it
there's only my innie
between me and my drowning 
in the sin of silly whispers. 

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

MARK MY HIDE WORD


my vision opens up.
i've been in the electrocited for 
over a year and it's now. 

if the sky messes over anything
if a kick comes out of the sky
i hope it smashes your penis, 
Nebraska.

i'm finally home.
i finally have home
where i've been wading.

318 MEANS "DEATH"

i poisoned myself and gushed
lifeliquids all the livelong twilight.
only a little was saline.
my writing plugged.
i kept moving.
i brought in a green creature
and unpeeled an orange fetus.
two am by nature scavenging
in the pestilence bowls
after they've been poured over
the acned earth. i'm staring.
the room includes my arm.
the cat anchor.
the flat everything else.
the final warning.
is my face as runnelled as yours is?
let me see?
did she know that she took your thunder out?
where is your head
and are you breathing
or have you begun to
live off of the speed to create
by dumping the boosters
by flotsamming the sadness.
a surface of voice is glazing my face
making mud in my throat
bake into bricks.
love tax
friends tax
taxing situations.
i can still prevail
i can still say yes and be a comfort
because i happen to have love
people who find the mud
baked everywhere over even
minor interactions of commerce
are my people from where i'm.
my skittering
has slammed me on
pinball bumpers to beat me
into 2 million points + an extra ball
on the terminator 2 table
in the red room.
and when someone wants to know
"can the back of the room hear?"
i will walk to it and feel so tenseless.
now my brothers are several.
i slept between them,
a weird nougat surrounded by
something close enough
stereoed together.

GETTING OUT OF TIME WILL BE GOOD

he plans to beautify
the boulevard
where no skin
neither is there
a tooth or bone
an organ
in the least
instead of tass mess
friss hesit
i say yes and to that
i say no harder
a deposit
a slot arready
pass my dad
through my mind
as someone who
desperately needs
the liking of people
who don't give
any shits about him
i'm sorry
i couldn't raise you
or talk with your mom then
i somehow knew
that she was dying or dead
i just fainted away in the calendar
i don't give any shits
about anyone
sometimes but
if the sounds are right
and i feel
no suspicious pains
i can love
fastened enough
to creep you out
but my knee hurts
my back hurts
my ovary hurts
if i even know
where that is
little pinches
have been crowding me
and if i say it
they riot

Friday, April 5, 2013

WHAT'S A DISCO BALL USED FOR




deliberation.
one side does something
and you can guess the rest
if you want, but nothing changes,
spins or even falls apart,
but the changes are facial only.
in the shower it became suddenly clear,
oh yes, on hypocrites
he was correct: the majority is
a forgivable mistake.
someone like me off my track
should have known on my own.