my skin convulses
what thinks you?
see, when you get down to hell, you have to make a change
like a change of clothes---
socks and underwear maybe---
or your soul
see, the trick is to walk like a bogey, a bugbear
don't let your full weight party favours
or polyethylene
not a dried worm
or a dead worm
super wet for something just uprooted
don't want no terrestrial pressures
what do i toast to?
let's drink to what
la petite mort
hello, room service?
no, two slaughtered children and a wife is not my plate of bacon and eggs? what does a guy have to do to get a proper breakfast in bed around here ;
yes i still look at you through the bathroom mirror through the silky dark through the dingy bedroom lamp light
you are burning me out
take your bloodied clothes and go
the air has crushed the linear beauty of trusting
bleached the gods of broken heroes
he wants blood -- i pour
his waxen grin the happy scalpel to sleepy flesh
all dissolves with twelve little oranges
divided
popped like clockwork
nothing swells saves my blasted tongue
ascorbic acid can down this much pain
a sting in the back of my neck
like moral oxidization
or a pulp pressed nectar flow
i am -- blooming to curses
the sap runneth to the ground
savoured and yet -- somehow spilled
he is the thwarted decanter
the harmonic hollow
how my lips -- do hunger
how his eyes -- do glow
come choreographed pulses
let me do the macarena to the humming of the dead
punctuated !
pomace in the grove
till death do us part we said
so i will oblige
i will hold your pale putrid head
i will scrub the unholy off of it with a kitchen sponge
and now i am
cooing at the devil
-- maybe the 12 tasks were not meant to be an apology
perhaps a suicide mission
.
