4pm Ellsion Elixer

I’ve swam the sea with invisible men and they still claim it ain’t bout the color of skin.
The isn’t nature, it’s the afterthought of destruction, a postpost world of desire in the lost of loving. Badder Badder backhand- they’re yelping at the battle royal and we are all blinded by footprints in the sand. Sandman slight of handiwork, fuckin sleep tight through the night. Dream of the beatdowns, jabbing pockets, gleaming knifetips, and glaring fork-tongued kids without a free lunch to go home with. This is the alcohol for the condition. The spare change newspaper jingle bullets leave your spine riddled- laugh track conceived if we can find someone that listens. A box full of bullets shear your ballot to shreds. I know men that could have climbed ashore, but they considered themselves dead.

Hiroshima Hero

Hiroshima hero headlight flash. I breakdown into myself every few months. I eat moths from the seams of my clothing; they turn into butterflies in my stomach when I walk the same paths we used to walk. Detoured and faltered into a thousand memorials for my former self. We can’t bicker away the serfdom of last week. Angels cluster on these corners as I am enveloped in my cloister. Rags woven from every gray hair plucked from my head. Lithium for tomorrow. Speedster fiend in the middle of the night, pacing myself to sleep. This glass is half full of booze and tears- the other empty space yearning for the touch of fresh lips- a new taste- a kiss from a predatory mouth that would eat your inner child from your climax. I wish he and she and them and everyone hadn’t left me that time again. Sanity is measured in the minutes of the day you dedicate to work, and somehow avoid play. This score was written in the blood of elephants, hours after the elections. I present it to you as an offering, as a meal, as an attempt to justify the fact that I can do everything and have chosen idleness. Hiroshima hero headlight deadbulb.

in response to my actions following the death...

i am i again, long before our liptouch. long after you made the accusation. daytime eats night or the other way around in any provicial state we are in now. you learn how to burn with me in the summer sunlit sanctity of pretend that it meant more that it did. i dont want to weigh your heart because i cant afford to break a snowscale on your behalf. and you cry in and around a rotting coarpse that smacked the childhood out of you way too early. blame me, i guess i am someone to blame. i will listen to you lisp and pretend its not a bumbling bee buzzing secrets around me. rather, ill make believe its the sound of a body begin tossed into an empty dumpster or one being dug from the bottom of the river. cyanide doesnt cost as much as you think and the hemlock gets more bareable with every drink. but the buts and no-no and the pretend isnt going to last forever. you think about fuckin me before you fall asleep and remember love when you are nowhere next to me. choke on guilty and call me next time you remember what it tastes like.
peace,
leoloser

To Paint Myself

A painting of myself looking at myself in a painting
A painting of myself looking at myself in a painting

Someone take these furry little spiders out from under my scalp/ they itch more than the winter-winding roads and poems that we thought we lost so long ago/ this is the best time to get outside/ lie down, lies down on the ground next to the corpse/ coarse overgrowth, underfed crops and dryrot on the porch/ norsemen legends, a tabernacle of confessions, hidden under the white linen of written/ and she hid the best fuck under a corset of freedom/ tits pushed tight against her upper chest/ like we’re all impressed/ embossed on the letters and letters that begged me to forget her along with the never happened/ stuck in the musty bar stink forcing myself to think suicide goblets, overpaid moms, grimey goblins who lost their lungs in moshpits coughing/ this is the most sticky stuff I’ve ever stepped in/ this is the closest she came to getting hit before she left him/ this is the furtherest we’ve walked from murder without a weapon/ this is the key in my stomach swallow, never let ‘em in

Another Nuon Chea

Another Nuon Chea/ another landmine dug out of the the ground/ another dried bone pile to be found/ sadness stays/ sprinkle dust along the spring/ pure, sweet water that feeds us/ freedom is banging around in the bottom of a oil drum/ being fed down our throat tubes til our insides our numb/ I’ve heard retirement will be beautiful, I’ll just take over the books and find another way to fund our war/ of manufactured goods/ till its all peace and good looks/ and we hardly remember the shivers in which we shook/ and the lies and lives and lines that we took

Another Nuon Chea/ another way to kill the chaos/ another worker being flung to the field to dig, dig, dig/ we live in the grit of our torn fingernails- and the most boorish portions of the pig/ we agree, we nod with the propaganda/ yes sir, caught in the midst of a common answer/ I’m more guilty than the knife that slit the jugular itself/ the tortures of a guilty loudmouth conscience and hell/ felt/ the blame game is an old man’s lack of confession in the stare of fading health/ talking lies in the mirror as he grooms himself

Another Nuon Chea/ another dam in the flow/ another mistake that I couldn’t take back once my machete was drawn from my knapsack/ another close call, another body drawn into the Rorschach/ gimme your surgeons mask/ let me hide the die to death/ in the amputee and quiver with whats left of our lips cleft/ and our hearts leapt out of our chests/ another lemonade stand on the side of the road where we wash down our regrets/ another soldiers march to the valley of yes/ to the promenade of kill/ to the point of our compass the read handgun on the windowsill/ angered voices from the back rooms of schools/ and children being punished for not knowing and failing to realize/ fed the serum of death from the pith of the vipers/ the nest of the suicide squadron til we are tired/ until we sleep in the bottom of a river/ our teeth are removed with the thickest pliers/ liars/ liars

Another Nuon Chea/ another name-drop for the honor guard/ another notch in our belts, another stamp on our cards/ another chance to win a all-expenses paid round-trip to the dark side/ martyrdom inherent with the soulscreams that we’ve sky-ed/ I don’t wanna hear the pleas and screams before your frame is melted into ice cream/ I never believed the demons that squawked praises of your first-born/ a dirtroad past masked by the must of the war torn/ I hope they leave the monks behind so they can pray for em/

Another Nuon Chea/ another day in the dense jungle/ another scream that was muffled/ another picture hung in a former torture prison as a rebuttal/ another knife slice to cut you/ a million more ways to say I love you

Another Nuon Chea/ old man in the shadow of a jungle, hidden in the northwest safe zone, given as a concession of a very very fragile piece, who lives humbly, who has killed so many and been given the peace of mind, in the form of ignorance, genuinely believing that he has done nothing wrong in his life/ known as brother number 2, as if to place some sort of trust in this man, as to imply that the deaths of these people were deserved, legitimated, and for the good of all

Another Nuon Chea

hi knife

hi knife like life. cut days dreams none. slit a cord from the last week sequence of events. eveningtime chop off the snooze snore. bleed the sleep fiend dry, dried out, shrivled. poke holes in the necessary tendons. i dont want to hold on again. stab my neck and rip across till my head is rolling on the floor staring up your skirt into you birthcanal. puncture a tiny hole in the vein that connects today with tomorrow, so all the air rushes out and the supposed sleeptime suffocates to death. jab into my promise, make me appear to be a liar to everyone else, a bleeding liar. drop your weapon and move slowly away from your urge to attack.

To Create Our Own Reality

Hell12212012
Reprise, invigorate- laughable notions of life breathe and exhale truth on the whisper of our lips that shudder in shame. We’ve only gotten as far as we were predicted to travel. Buildings that were drawn to cinematic conclusions in ciphers were also destroyed in battles. Our last fuck was just a fable, a napkin of scribble passed back and forth on the greasy bar table. The minutes moan in and out of mattering less. Hair matted down to a press. Nap mattress depressed. It appears that we are making more progress and sense with our eyes shut, writhing in the language of a forgotten time. I bleed ink, sweat memories, and devour onlookers with statements mistaken for antics. I’ve walked miles and feigned death in the night. Rip chunks of flesh with my sharpened teeth in a flash of fright. Blood is the life force that has kept us alive in this metropolis, against the backdrop of the monolith. Poison gas attacks versus our invisible masks. I’m the only mutant that can manipulate sound, creating a gush of air to pierce your cochlea. I am the only one outside trying to catch breath while everyone else is drinking themselves to death.
Heavenbask12212012


peacekill,
Albatroid