I am I Again

The agitation? The nerve of me? Do you believe in me still, of me, through me, on top of me as I sleep. As I am I again. The drain is clogged with your hair, your remains, your stay forevers. Is this what you were planning on telling me? Is this what you waited years to mutter nervously to me in a coy murmur. So so so so ssssssorrry? Moan your nonsense into my perked ears, into my daytime, into my sock drawer. I’ve got so many secrets that you thought you knew all along the song, but you just listen to the melody and my sharp voice stabbing again and again. I told you exactly what it was like to be killed and how it felt to be flung from a speeding train into a freezing cold river. I told you what it was like when my flesh was torn and my skin ripped violently as I crashed through the ice surface into the freezing cold stream. Then, I explained the pain of millions of pins and needles being jabbed again and again into my every inch as my head was yanked into the flood. I yelled to you from the brink- I yelped back at you waving from the rescue helicopter about how my nearly lifeless body banged and crash as the gush of the current ripped my spirit to shreds…all you did was nod your head. For that you are forgiven. But you didn’t even offer a blanket when I crawled out of the rapids miles from the pitfall…and for that, I wish you a cold, long winter.

A Sad Day for Soles

Soles squeaky today/ souls squeaky today/ speaking/ I’m cursed- forever fortinbras/ challenged to tell a story/ never part of the plot/ forever reveling/ what happened to all the beers/ peace to the stress forgotten/ because by Friday I’m fighting my problems into the middle of next week/ speak for yourself when you whine, whimper/ somehow this feels like a simpler time/ tied to the loading dock/ bundles dumped into you lap/ pull the boots off sopping wet, sultry sound, and missile toes spoke off shots in the magical darkness/ plum lust darkness/ knowledge form self on cliff ledge stress/ regardless of late night jumpoff potential/ and the hollowness of the cold night/ squelch the police cb/ peace be to the hoodstiff Squanto figurine, pointclick/ baby, the jury’s been sequestered/ death calls but I’ve got caller ID/ and volcanic ash that freezes my now-again so you can never really find me/ find me out/ and the rain is leaking into my socks again

Music is...

...kill, hate, frustration, obvious, wait, on, off, breathe, die, after, again, you and me, not us, noxious, complain, dagger, another, often, rainbow, skyline in Boston, animation, movement, firstkiss, calamity, confuse, proud, high, off topic, senseless, being, now, slow, rapture, sadeness, jury, noun, camping in the middle of nothingness, sorrow, idle, wait, sit, think, now and again, over and over and over, overt, surreal, just like you, sweaty hands, sweet holidays, gnostic, knowing, ambiance, cold, flood, save, safe, song, hero, honest, lonely, temperate, ache, longing, narrow, pointy, direction, walking on and on and on, unfiltered, unending, unkill, nervous, pretend, justice, hot, salivate, triumphant, loud, so so so soft that you can barely hear it, Me

toothache, leave

the pain in my mouth is the same as it was yesterday. since these teeth sprouted from their skin-covering and devoured their first death meal, i'll felt a pinch. an itch behind my gums that just won't quite scratch. the bite-down clamp aches my dreams of running away from those that want to take apart my body and ingest my soul. holes have been bored through the enamel, through the thinest protection. choas is spicy and burns the nerves that hold my forced smile together. pills dont relieve, but merely distract. the cold wind flicks the most sensative of mouth spots as I laugh in the cold. hot coffee burns my scowl during the neverending mourning train ride. sharp, piercing, knifing, scraping. chew these ropes with the last few shards of teeth that I have left. I will escape.

pieces of a letter to be written later

simian dilute, crossbreed kill know-how. I live in the sewer muck of mistakes and take-overs, and take-downs, and the failure to lie well enough, as to inherently suppose the truth. but there's a shimmer of light the eeks through the filthy windows- bright enough so the dust floating in the ray reminds us of a gentle snowtime fall. I've seen her- she's a speckle in a starry-night daydream I had a while ago that somehow permeated through the horizon into my nightsleep. now it's merely a thought, but one of happiness. the surface chatter is warm and inviting. lingering on smiles, hinged on maybes. but to know is almost like losing your excitement, the what-if. fantasy is always little more attractive than reality. snowglobes in july. margaritas in december. I'm in love with the autumn air, letting me breathe in deep after a summer of wheeze and panic. the feelgood rise-and-shine, no-groan morning time. a train ride that is barely audible over tunes of broken love letters while I piece mine together.

good night dreams

sleeping pills sleep in my stomach. waiting for snooze and hoping for dreams. hell holds the fuse of the bright bulb in a freeze of power, and wires, and liars, and fiends, until my face buries into a pillow of doze-off and I choke to death on a wheeze.

the judgement of the liar-boy

the innner, the outside window look down dropped out, and bombs screeched past our ears and enveloped our souls in their neverending whine. nighttime siloliquist, respect the dinner wine. slurped until the care-not takes over and passion climax. gnostic until tragedy, ready until the happening. stained glass drips with angel wrist-slit blood and mary's menstration. a spot of filth on the cloak of pure. kneel. commoner exchange memories for a ravenous band of children starved for the truth. writhing from pleasure, bound and bloodvessels popped stinging the surface skin. recovery mode takes on the sponge rung out in the infant's bathtub. soapy death. quiet fucking. lavender sleep, purely coincidental considering the chapter hadn't been completed. more fun by yourself, masturbating your warpped mind to flashbacks of your guilt. the beachhead is just a pile of rocks ground fine by the constant onslaught of moonpull tidal waves. the wives and goodbyes cannot save you, soul-less creature creep. ascend the staircase slow as not to disturb the judge. the gavel gets heavier as the air turns colder.

motionless floodbath

reach, and overreach and stand and understand. combine my outs with your ins and make a plush flush of ear static. magick. excited for Ishtar and sip the succulent. permanent marks on the bottom of my feet from the marching. another elephant burialground of memories and no-ones. everybody is staying after school today. a selective collective memory of a flood that happened so long ago that we can't measure the damage. the crops whitewashed into picket fence dreams and last kisses in the mourningtime before work. sourheavy metal pieces. we hate because we sincerely imgined the puzzle to be alot smaller and less cumbersome. heave workloads of statue pieces into wheelbarrels from which we will construct our meager dwellings. I've dwelt on the change of tide courses and came to the conclusion that our homes will never be safe. we will never be immune. our movements will be tracked by the network, and our lives will be weighed against our plainly-painted feather hearts. our wings will erode off our backs from the labor. our children will be chernobyled. and our limbs will wither into urbanrose dreams- unless we stop, stand back, and breathe...deep...

motionless floodbath

reach, and overreach and stand and understand. combine my outs with your ins and make a plush flush of ear static. magick. excited for Ishtar and sip the succulent. permanent marks on the bottom of my feet from the marching. another elephant burialground of memories and no-ones. everybody is staying after school today. a selective collective memory of a flood that happened so long ago that we can't measure the damage. the crops whitewashed into picket fence dreams and last kisses in the mourningtime before work. sourheavy metal pieces. we hate because we sincerely imgined the puzzle to be alot smaller and less cumbersome. heave workloads of statue pieces into wheelbarrels from which we will construct our meager dwellings. I've dwelt on the change of tide courses and came to the conclusion that our homes will never be safe. we will never be immune. our movements will be tracked by the network, and our lives will be weighed against our plainly-painted feather hearts. our wings will erode off our backs from the labor. our children will be chernobyled. and our limbs will wither into urbanrose dreams- unless we stop, stand back, and breathe...deep...

To Those that Perestroika Killed

To Those that Perestroika Killed:

Change gain, liberalize, parallel universe of nowagain.
Western front push, pull ourselves out of caves.
Back to the breadline chants, break dance.
Blackmarket missle trade for crumbs, now they have the garbage nukes.
I forsee accidents.
Freedom costs lives, costs discipline.
A carving, the last outing- when we ate scraps of fowl in between bread.
Sliced. Bereavement leave- and the local boss.
Pockets-cold, ripped, empty, dwindle, candle outage.
The nerve endings.
The soviet Reganomics.
Playup, putoutdrown. Fork loosely held- eyes wild, wide, white.
Deteriorate. Detonate. Blow mindfolds back to expose the snarl.
Teeth unshealthed.
Unhealthy streets.
Plummet from the top of the statues.
We thaw Lenin from his case, just incase.
Inactivity in the wombs. Nailed to planks, hung like shoes around rummage spots.
Crackhouse, all outta ale. Louse riddled mattress, napping, sleeping, drift…
Into death.
Into now.
Into rebirth.
Into neveragain.
Remember me when my mother banishes me into the mountains-
And the starving animals fiend my flesh.

the starve hive

the starve, crumbs rummage, mingle with rodents as you pick through the refuse. eat the dead. smile at the empty plate and quell your pallate with a dash of salt, a hint of blood. mold is growing all over our provisions. we are stranded, calmed by the dead of winter. held in the bosom of treachery. obligated to our loneliness. this should have never happened. Food bank pillaged. Crosscountry refrigerated cargo pirated and sold at more than ten-times its' value. infested with fleas. finally we remember what sickness smells like, what rotting flesh tastes like. our water reeks of fuel runoff, we shower in car exhausted in the lowlands. too hopeful for you? well, we both the pages of this note and sip the soup. Instantly, it makes us vomit. Please, sir...

the scorched pheonix - part 1

snap decision- fatigued by twisted caps peel orange slice. I am officially duranged according to monitor cords wrapped tightly around throats. smoke blown tires. racing hearts, fists thrown through glasscoke tabletops. and he felt like a man behind the steel of his gun. felt like a lord the way it made the nothings run. rumble hardrocks down streetblocks. i wish a peaceful sleep to my enemies so we can settle debts in the mourning. in the coughing, in the cold, in the sneeze. snout sniff behind. who are we behind? who is in the neighborhood watch? watchticks. watch these stick burn underfoot. uproot the machines from the clawclutch into the hardened soil. as solid as workout and lean meat weight gain. does your muscle-riddled physique protect your chest from bullets? is your mind immune to the firstlast temptation? how do you hide so well in plain-view? this desert tastes like water belongs in the sand next to the mummified cat coarpses. the air tastes like Horus-droppings. Eggs fry on sidenotes, for the marginalized. Atonement forthcoming. Disintery in the flood. Purpose in the burial chambers if you can read it out, feel it through. Evidence of a beginning, a starting point, a fireflash. Sobriety in the moment of realization, in communicated pain, like we can all feel. Empathy versus apathy versus all the journeymen, all the soldiers, all the kings, and of course, your dirty secrets that you buried alongside priests. Animosity in the labor camps, directed at the sun for the burn. Fuck your Akhenaten hell. Welcome home pretty bird, time to roost, and gather, and feed your young.

Infected Cupid Spears

infect, infiltrate, infuriate. Is there anyone special in your life, in your loveline? Is there any chance that I could change to suite your exquisite tastes? Is there any way that we could redeem our gift certificate to starshoot heaven doordream? Is this the special shirk that magnifies all of our problems and issues until they explode? Can you begin to communicate with me? Arrows shot awry. Clothesline jones-ing again, tangled, dampened. Thump drum dump out bolder bangs until we can't figure out what we're supposed to write. Supposed to hold the door, hold breath, hands, on to. Splash puddle, now the rain water is dirty, filthy. Your wedding dress has been raped by the mud. It rain on graduation. Cleanse pours, skin, suck, smile, smell. Mites munch. Ticks dig, dredge into our bloodflow. Remember when we felt alive without a lie. Rats in the vents, cooked. Homeless dogs sniff the dumpster for foodscraps. Liars and cheats resigned. Blood libel in full effect. Famine eating crops. Vultures hover. Angels swoop with sachel full of rusted, tainted arrows. Almost hopeless. Dusted in a drought. But then again, Love...infected with or without.

tapping my fingers at your stopwatch

voided smiles, no validation in a candlelight. as rotten as hot sweaty apathy in the simmer of summer. twist and turns carved up the wood and the road went unnoticed. muttering in the silence that somehow I became my favorite capricorn, stargaze. as plastic as the last time you checked. ribcage celebration- erect a fortress around my heart. ford the Rubicon. face the timelingers and frantic realizations that it will probably happen soon. and for now, I am just waiting...

cry more, solve less

free penniless propaganda. walk off the cliff and catch a limb. lost survivor with no-one left to listen to those stories. now alone has become a face in the crowd, and I'm more of a coward cowering that towering over disease. unease. you're welcome used to be easy. it used to just slide into place without much push-pull, no effort. exact location gps from spaceshot burned in the cylander of a bic pen. nip bottle shot fastened tight. ingite free nightly. the first time they tried to make everything right, the screen went out of focus for less than a second, long enough for our eyes to notice. brood in a boiled dinner pot. steam turns to sweat. our suicide stomachs teem with emotion. i lost my self esteem during my closet hideaways when the schoolbell rang. all the kiddies bobbled the lunchpails and we didnt have a nail to munch on. a home to pick apart. a bone from which to scrape meat. to gnaw on, pass the time. clocks dont remind me of my grandparents livingroom anymore. the ticktock blurred out and buried by the rumbling train tracks. if you can't measure, how do you know exactly how much of anything, at any given time. sleep in an excuse on your part, on your parrotsquawk pick apart. mumbling that which was spoken. reading into all these weekend flicks, all these bare-shoulder lovelust possibilities. please stop, pause for a moment, and listen to yourself bitch. it annoys me and the walls so much the paint behind the posters is peeling. peel eardrums. we all have problems and promises of playwrights that claimed they could solve them. solvent. solve less.

Sinkwater

facescrath oxycoton syndrome, sinkwater for breakfast. the sounds of backfire car motor spit makes me jump and dunk for cover. cloudcover. the sky is so fucking dead, I am almost feeling good about tonite. I am almost as big as I appear under your microscope. bedbugs ate all my dreams last time I slept in your bed and I go a good-night snooze for the first time in years. I'll do another trick on my bicycle and wrote circles around your journals. I'll compose the longest and most complicated piece of music you have ever heard. It'll probably remind you of the first time you got fucked. I'll make you a salad that you wouldn't be able to eat in a week- until it's wilted. no wash, no santitary. no sanitarium for the sickness. no fear of flys on the fruitbowls, the walls, trapped- stuck on the fly paper. No more homework to take back in your knapsac. Sunday is reserved, sorry I'll see you next week, or the next, or the next. Bring your stories as I have more than a few to share myself. Go home and remember everything you tried to memorize before we met.

consequence of the predictable factioning

find you, lookout, and look for...memories are sourpatch kids running around our tongue touch. lemony hell. holding on too long to be good for either the me or the we. freedom trail reduced to a path through the overgrowth. raze the barn, raise our swords, slit ties like throats. i am the only thing that is stopping trains and derailing atonement. astonished. sunscreen shield, sunglass gung-ho syndrome. i am the maverick. easily detached with pressure. tape that peels the paint off walls and leaves the entire apartment scarred. non-stick frypan smack! bang! promise of the clogged toilet because it's tough to flush guts. frames chopped to hell. cunts fucked into next week. trainstare next to me, read the same book over my shoulder. smolder. the mold of our past nexus. incoherent babble and you're glorious towers of achievement feel into the sea. for some odd reason, you blame me.

RSP cipher (for James Bottiglio, RIP)

its a place where we drank. we were tried not to litter our bottles, barrelbound, and we toss rhymes-echo off the side of buildings. we were those cats that didn't sleep until everyone was tired and tried. its just funny what you forget and what makes you remember. its a soft somber mood, but then again the killswitch. they left him out in the motherfuckin cold for hours to die slow. but then again he lives in these lines. he wasnt a best friend. but then, he was a lil homie, a drinking partner, sometimes someone to talk to when the bottle was hollow or not deep enough to swim. he was that laugh-out-loud and stumble step. wrong place, wrong time, wrong be, wrong is, wrong people, wrong situ. but what about what we heard before the storm, before the frigid night when they left him to leak. he was trying to disprove what people already thought...like we all tried to do. just like me and you. and it could've been us, no different. college, intervention, or a bid doesnt prepare you to come home to it all. battlescars forgotten, latenight breaklights forgotten, bench ciphers forgotten, makeout sessions forgotten because we dimiss our past as trivial. but that was real. you and i were both real. and now I reel from the tension; and leaving the past cant prepare you for that. I pack just like he packed. And I'd show and shove just like he did if need be- wishing I could have been a better man through it all. And I- is home, and J- is home, and hours are getting faster and the air gets colder every night. But, I am feeling better, brighter, and more enlightened. We were raised like this, left to the cares of beatboxes and e and j bottles and dimesacs, crushed pills, armor, memories, breakfast sandwiches, disses, drunk spraypaint on the side of the projects, and knives. fuck the motherfuckin knives, fuck all the violence, fuck tryna be a man, fuck staying around, and fuck running away. Live life now for those that cant. peace always to my little homie. peace to those memories, and peace to the godz still living.

ships in a glass bottle

forage for food. crack shells with back teeth and suckdry the sweet. a lawn of details, trust in the driver until the train derails. and i could keep saying that it's not my fault. but there are fault lines that crack the crust and force answers up from hell. she and he wanted to prove how much they had each other, so the teased and bathed in butter, and dripped dry in the sun until we inhaled nothing but char-scent. i think maybe sometimes you find it difficult to just rhyme with, to just go-with-it, to be free-apathy and nevermind-in-it. I don't really feel like being your example. I don't feel like crawling from the petrie dish in the middle of you experiment. I don't feel like coming on your great voyage across the sea, away from everything that used to be me. You to be used, like you. I'm not really into scouring the pans clean and lapping up the soapy leftover scum. I don't do windows and I try to avoid mirrors. there are so many grains of sand on that beach where you fly away occasionally that I am absolutely sure you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them. I think you truly believe you love the wind, I mean it can blow you off course, it can blow away those lies you laid with in the open fields. go to motherfuckin' Castle Island if you want to sail off. I'm still afraid that your wind, your wind that you think about o-so-much could blow a fire across the field, into the trees, and throughout our buildings. Burn. It could just blow back home. Good thing my sails are covered by glass.

silent defeatist

the silence is only sweet if it nourishes, not if it kills, not if it makes you deaf everytime you hear it. not if it's resonating through your brain cavity and reminding you that you're merely stuck here doing nothing for no-one. silence is selfish because it will rape you over and over. silence as you sleep that you try to cover up with dreams and heavy breathing, but the silence is the beginning- when you finally calm yourself down enough to gurgle your last living breath for the day at hand. silence chew my headnods in between our favorite songs. silence as if we think something is wrong. intuitive ingestion suggestion. disgusting. revolt against the perpetual silence with fitting noise, with a loud fucking bang. how about the drip of blood of the edge of a sword after the swift slice of meat. butchered and beautiful. silence when we fuck because its easier to pretend that way. silence when we were supposed to have a talk, a discuss, when we were supposed to go over the ways we felt before, when we were supposed to figure out what was wrong. don't raise your hand in agony, the lecture is easier to accept in silence. silence as the air stopped seeping from the tires. and we are tired of trying to keep quiet. next time we have a prayer session- I am going to scream. i'm going to yell how I feel, not cringe in silence. it's so morbid to be so relaxed, like your on drugs, like you liked being owned. still acting like you never knew. silent defeatist!

Remember the ravenous, the Failed

click typeboard, kill a sentence...consume the time. I want to sleep sugarcones and gumdrops instead of genocidal gunshots. bayonettes for our enemies. we also have posts on which to prop their thoughtbox after decapitation. bloodboil baths down to tempers and revenge. I bet I'll forgive 'em in a cold night when I realize how warm the light of life could be. When my fingers were frozen I first flipped through the comic book. I saw your fuckin name written everywhere in those bubbleboxes. Boston is one big drainage ditch for the duranged run-off. Rampage. Rage. Remember. Ravenous. Rejuvenated by the time we are diagnosed. I'm looking for a reason to change the season. Agree with your peers about the choice of beers and spit slime for you boys about the last of the years. The end is as close as a comet-tail, as bright as a nuke burn, and as loud as a picturetube of a broke television being dropped from the roof. It's swelling up, eyewater welling up, hell enough for sketelons. Wither away like boozebottles dropped on flower patches. We've chosen failure from our long, long, long list of options. We ate everything in sight, drank every last cup of pure splash, and burned down the forests so you could get a clearer view. Do you see what I've been talking about now?

directions

the wind blows stronger and the air is colder when you are walking across the bridge...

behind those doors

you have unopened doors? I have bottomless pits in the middle of my floors. Floors made of reflective glass- sympathy for the girls with the skirts. I've got a bowl of piping hot popcorn for movies with the loose, with the losers, with the lovers- kissing in the final 2 rows, for the kids that just can't calm down and watch the glaring white subtitles. the movie doesn't have a theme, it doesn't even have a title, but we all laugh at the cast...because we are mere castaways, toss on my glass floor. toss off the side of the sinking raft. I toss my beerbottle of the side of the idle boat. now thats something to call you're friends about. wirecoathangers in case we have to get back into the car in the middle of the night, in case we dont have anywhere to sleep. in the rare occasion that we do meet in the minimart, let's just pretend we don't know each other and confuse everyone we are with. let's create a make believe world behind those unopened doors you talk about all the time. the doors that you told me we could hide behind, where you keep those boxes full of this-that do-dads, and forget-me-nots. But I want to forget a few things, so I guess your motherfucking doors don't work to well during the trainride home when the music can't get any louder and the words in my book can't get any longer, and the beauty sitting in front me can't drip with anymore of that oil that came from her canvas. I have these floors- you should really see them sometime- the are all glass, not one streak or handprint. I promise not to push you into the pits, or knock you on your knees so the glass crack and the shards tear your shin skin. I never lied before. But then again, you never told me what was behind those doors...

wishing for a nap in the afternoon

free man, freeform and free from...to long to explain, but believe me. bruised on the arms because we bite them in our sleep. we sleep slow, slowly. we dream heavy. I want to write down all of our dreams but I can't because they are forgotten in the morning. sulking is over. clucking is over. you're tripping over your own feet. your own feat. feathers. fly. this is for the emancipated and loving. loathe breadmaking. yeast rise. fist infect face with bonecrushing intensity. but that is the past. all this is the past. the new is now and bright. future like new furniture smells fresh. no cat piss. no what-ifs. saintlike in my disengaging face, in my nevermind look, in my whispers. no redemption. no give-me-back-what-I-gave-you. no favors, no friends. just me and my radio...

Flexed and Flawed

flex flaw. bend: arm, knee, river, road, steel, pipe-seep. bent out of shape from all the adjusting, the readjusting, the remembering, the forgery, the machinery, the work, the poor sleep habits. bent the back to crack. bent all the way into a box with no top so we can see there is a way out. you're really testing my calm, bending my nerves. one more word and you'll get bent over the knee. the small of her back had such a lucious bend that it almost made me forget about the cursive words I bend with pen. I bend at the knee for reverence. Don't come any closer to the mountain or the belief with struck you down with a vengence. snake poison, jaws flex open and snatch him by the face. the venom bends through his bloodlife to kill. but the antispit was sitting in a hospital right around the bend. twist, bend, contort what you think you remember when you're bent, when you're drunk, when you're spent...nothing left. I feel so right this time. tango-twist-dip bend her at the waist. my metal heart isn't malleable anymore. you can shape it with your hands and fancy blowtorches. I say hit the pipe with that. It will make a funny noise when the soundwaves bend and bounce and touch and curse one another. Bend this light through a prism so we can understand that everything has pieces, even that we have considered whole. Everything succombs. Everything pretense. Everything wet from rain drops and bends and shifts in doppler. If you look close, you'lll notice that the propeller is slightly bent too. We move, we shift, we adjust, we turn. Leaves burn and turncoats. Point out subtleties until your fingers can't bend. Until you can't just the direction of the wind to estimate where you have been.

the cherished tradition

fight until you have nothing left. brawl away the feeling to your knuckles are black and blue with birthmarks. bite the only handheld you've ever know. scratch you way to another love line across your back. a lifeline, wireless, left in a cab. throatslash till that temptress gurgles to death on her own pretend. shatter the mirror from seven years ago again and again. fight down that last drop of liquor quicker than she could accuse you of being waterlogged. separate yourself like your parents did. beat the wall like your father bruised open your mother's grill. sigh at the sai side of the kill syndrome. you worthless, excuseless, tasteless, faceless...excution time. fight the light like eyes in the sunshine. dig a trench and have men run to the next through poison smoke. cough up your pitiful lungs. learn how to spot a terrorist by the book in his hand. burn all the books. handcuffs, 50-50 parachute cord, and zipties to get by. get drunk. violent fucks. shave down slugs. obey the command to fire when you see them blink. wounds don't heal right in real life. barroom bullyfoot with pool sticks. crack joints. decimate entire armies and eat their munitions. we admired great solutions to complex problems. probate court ain't shit. swing fists like you observed when you were younger. pull razors and oxes. pull police batons and knightsticks. make an example out of the next nobody that stomps across your Pumas. end him before you end yourself.

feeding

and a tv did the worst deed. she saw heaps of bodies after the latest iraqi carbomb. but commericials are comical. the ok. OKAY. friends and fried foods, nevermind you. fridays. a sitcom. the polaroid flicker shake. obtuse angle, duck down. seeing the sights. she reminds me of a moviestar- the way she sleeps, the way she never eats, the way she pretends to be. eat courage in a bowl for breakfast...and necks break so fast when I walk by. I eat. eaten to cores, and rinds, and spines. the spineless get slurped up like steamers. stammer through hallways. she ate the floor during a temper tantrum. this whole nightly news thing is so make-believe. i dont eat pumpkin pie- too seasonal. no poppy seeds or asparagus if you want dome. eaten to the point of excess. thinner. her one and only dream was to be as thin as the latest anorexic superstar. but the straws at fastfood spots are getting fatter. and the facts are getting skimp. skip stones and stones sacs on the muscus of asthma attacks. eat the lung lining. eaten eyeloads- but eyes bigger than stomach budgets. and belts don't budge. the buldge. regurgetate everything you've been force fed. and eat the bugs that crawl from your dreams and sleep inside your bed. instead.

The frigid air in my lungs

delerious...morning sunshine as cold as hands to hold hearts...EMO FUCKS!!! sorry excuse for a call-out, so I walk into the icecube tray. wheeze. if they take advantage of my breath one more time. toll rung out towel hand soap- I am clean. brillance in the glare off the skyscrapers. my friends are gargolyes- stone- fly- as real as your imagination can be today. blew off for the last time. blew again. blew my chances in the back nine. if you're not on my 'fuck-you' list, you will be soon enough. the bargain basement extravaganza. exist in the exit ramp/ My popular rhetoric partition in guilt. Cool to college kids like Che shirts. We are slimey today. Tomorrow will be driftwood in my rutters. Eat seaweed and see me, frozen under a lake of ice fisherman. snag the hook, wait for the ending...and stay cold, ice cold!