There’s different types of species.
For instance, the ring-necked pollywog.
You can eat and spit up but after the first few umpteenth times it burns a bulging throb and it nestles inside you. It is fleshy and expands only. It cannot detract.
You’ve been getting migraines again. I notice it when you toss your neck up and rivet your eyes around real fast to catch all the stars, those big swimming schools held a moment in your eyes that aren’t there at all.
You see these things and though I pretend I feel them too. Coming off your body and your ears like hot rods. It’s not even dark yet, but that never mattered before.
Your eyes still skyward buried beneath the clarity of their own depths and impenetrable.
Aplomb in a half state sticky slicked and uneasy and you’re going away going far away again.
Deeper into the crags by the sea through the felled forest. You called it the valley of death even though we saw snow and only snow every year.
It gets noisy lonely from the quiet cause nothing lives here anymore.
It’s strange how the tides are the sole oxometer left.
Your eczema is flaring up again and your lips are dry. You haven’t been sleeping because you are moved by that which you must Do, but you don’t, searching for a prayer to parse between cracked and bloody lips amongst the thick smog.
It’s a factory town; only the few that are too decrepit to venture further than their front doorstep.
But you came back to see the factories. They wail and gnash and are the only bird-song in this godforsaken dump.
The trash pile glitters
A debasement monument that only builds on its burned scaffolding.
There are no strays, no children.
Just your voyeur.
--------------------------------------------------------------
WHAT KIND OF PRAYER
COULD YOU HANDLE?
FROM THIS SOVEREIGN TONGUE
THAT KNOWS MANY NAMES
BUT REMEMBERS FEW
DOWN ALONG THE RAILROAD
LINE
I LIE WAIT
FOR YOU TO COME FORWARD
BESEECHED BY
FETTERED ARMS
AND COILED
NOISES DEEP UNDER
THE WINDING SNOWWHERE YOU, NOR I,
LAY WAIT BEHIND
HIGH WIRES AND
TRAMPOLINES,
THE MELLOPHONE OF CIRCUS DREAMS
THEY RAISE NAY
RISE ABOVE THE CROWD
TO MURMUR AND
ENCANT OUTLOUD.
BUT THIS FOR YOU
IS JUST A DREAM,
A WHEELING FILMY
FOOLISH THING,
WHICH SWINGS FROM
HIGH ABOVE THE
BOUGHS,
AND INTO MADE UP WORDS
OUT LOUD,
TO SLEEP AT BAY
ANOTHER DAY
A PLOD BLOT
INK ANTEATER CRAWLS,
SILKIE DARK
BLACK CURTAIN CALL
--------------------------------------------------------------
In my house you must choose something to masturbate.
My mother chose her silence.
My father chose his sippy cup.
I chose confusion.
My little brother chose his own law.
You must fondle your choice.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Electrifying writhing muddy thing - earthworm casts litter the mire and half wrought.
Her mouth wells up from the whetstone and her nose gets blunted awful.
I've been loud again but it is something caught in reserves.
I dreamt of a great horned owl alight placid and waxen.
I like that she is curved to the left.
An impressioned, meaty down, that settles real nice pillowed and lapping on the tongue. It's a good one.
I don't know if it's reverence or salivation a dissolute dissolution.
I'd eat him just so he knows I can.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Five circle lights and a neat pink blouse
A looming factory. Gunshot wounds
In the boughs of eternal bondage big worm rotted tree
A throughway to the marketplace
A little girl went out to play.
A darkness followed her behind filmy glass.
It was fibrous and knotty.
I straddle
Need to pour everything out of my head
Red rubber dog balloon
Talulla-I’ll still write it down if it’s not true
Straddle canvas like a cello Write on the back things.
Where has Grace, our neighbor gone
It’s the same
wristwatch and a
junky glove
Trailer pylons
Take it outside,
out back.
Nothing, frilly
Where it’s not necessary
Oily feathers preened
She’s invisible!
And I don’t understand.
There’s
been a gross misunderstanding.
What if this is all dialogue?
Take it somewhere
else
Cutting through the wives
in the air
And exorbitant
It keeps going on
Winking little tears
into a tiddle cup
So I fucking shot him.
Hurt him dead.
Hello hello dolly
Quivering trembling chinlip
Marble peering
Teary-eyed
Do you think it’s going to
hurt you?
What device are we
given in?
In it thinning
lean and polished
Smelt dingy
--------------------------------------------------------------
Nestled on the edge of what used to be a broken man’s tooth lay a little Red Robin
Spitcup soft, I do everything analog
And you, my friend, are likened to a little licker splinter
--------------------------------------------------------------
One Day I tattoo my own words on my skin
Been eating so much fat it feels like I’m readying myself for an arctic winter. I’ve been eating meat again
--------------------------------------------------------------
Today the pig squeals
Shallow now
Swells under burnt belly
Tickle lisping
Now, all this goes for the brooding hen, the watchful dog.
Parking askew shatterglass
--------------------------------------------------------------
Kissy, kissy. Little Fishie
Carly chirped.
The halls bellowed in between marble mausoleum walls.
A small dog darted
Between Roman columns
The house was not meant
To be Roccocco.
It was sacrosanct.
--------------------------------------------------------------
And the worst part about it was, there's no understanding. I am so so delicate, but not the sweet purity sense, but precarious. Volatile. Everything seems iterated, regurgitated and the sick of the reproductions makes bile rise in my throat. From one unto another and yet I cling to the feeble hope that I can live here. In the ether between arbitrary and genuine. My own little sector of purgatory. But this will never be tolerated. I cry, weakened and desolate and clinging to those closest - and yet their proximity, their availability, is the nearest reaching point. Planned obsolescence is my craft in relationships, augmenting the finite. My world is so small.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I SHOULD BE RUNNING
THROUGH FIELDS IN DREAMS
I SHOULD BE RUNNING
THROUGH DREAMS IN FIELDS,
A HARVEST MOUSE CHIRPED
A GHOST HALF-FIGURE
AGAINST A DISAPPEARING BACKGROUND,
HALF SINGING,
IN WHORL TWILIGHT.
YOU CAN SING ANYTHING
SEND IT THROUGH
THE MACHINE.
WITH TIME THESE
THINGS GROW
SYMPATHETIC
I AM PREGNANT
WITH ACHE.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Today it is raining and the asphalt hisses when disturbed water churns under the treads.
Birds are real loud.
Last night I had a dream plein of colors and concrete.
Franklin Institute was a zoo.
It was real cold winter out and the stairs were hostile.
Slicked so's I couldn't climb up them.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Clip three clopped up the spiral stairs, and hives rang out in succession.
One up each arm, a steady algal bloom.
What then…? - perched at the way very top.
Teeth all yellowy too - the smirking mercenaries of once-dined boreal holes wept with the loss of their little ones.
One big wow.
Won big wow.
Gunned bow wow all the way down.
Flocked spittle banisters.
And her head still hurt.
United against folly, beasts leered in darkened corridors - Three shots rang out
Ra. Ra. Ra.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Suspended in gaffa. I think there was something intangible that I tried to articulate to Nora. So many ironies in today's wake. Well-rested after an awful, anxiety-ridden night. The delivery of the Snoopy snowglobe alongside the confirmations of my assumptions. My begrudged compromise giving way to apathy. I just wish someone understood. I think this is an impossible ask, though. I exist in dichotomies. My sense of self is anchored in ceaseless change. Not sustainable by any means!! My stomach has been churning, and I can feel bile rising and falling. I need to take out my viscera, let them steep in the morning light.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Well?
There’s a dog there’s a dog
There’s a dog prawn
Princess
Saran wrap gross smushed
Julia
I saw a pink girl amongst
the chartreuse.
The aquamarine.
It’s too cold to go swimming.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Today things are not so good again.
A real brittle glass feeling.
Today it feels much darker than it was in ages. But I know by no means this is the end-I just wish I could operate within myself. Like a sort of runty bird right now.
I need to remember to write down my dreams - something important happened last night and I can’t place what.
Air rings with quacks. Not anything that is out of the ordinary but it feels sapped. Feeling voided and all I want is something to come home to.
Oxblood blooms out.
--------------------------------------------------------------
WHAT IS THE ANTIOCH OF THE DURRY GOOSE?
VISUAL CLUSTER & SKILLED POSITIONING
ODDEVENED RUNINS WITH THE GRIFTER OF BEAUTY AND LIGHT
YOU SAY IT’S LUCKY BUT RECENTLY I’VE BEEN DRESSING BETTER AND RECEIVING
FULL BODIED LEERS.
DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S IMPOLITE TO DROOL AT THAT?
SO LAZY.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Lying suspended between the bars of a glass cage, I am shaking. I am shaking as epithets pour out of their mouths and they look without seeing. My body has started to settle in itself. I am hesitant to call it aging because I know it's not that. And yet my eyes have sprawled from their lids and drawn out linesand creases - face pocked with the scars from my fingernails when I was just a girl.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Goddamn You Faygo!
Fred's fermata I’m thinking of.
What of a bestial creature
still lives here?
Julia makes me sink
down down down
a
That I'm not particularly inclined to chase.
This not, her, really. But it is oppressive and lurks.
We probably have to kill it,
or something
--------------------------------------------------------------
At this furloughed edge of dust and dream, I pad silently through the sticky-fingered palace; its name is derision.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Scent Assaults sense; Sweat swells pathogenic
It impregnates the psyche, and bulging parthenogenesis rapes me at the altar.
Lurching, limpid rag
And so she crushed a crane fly between her bare legs, writhing on satin through the night.
--------------------------------------------------------------
My mother is the loneliest one. And I am just now seeing the kaleidoscope of tremendous emotional weight, attenuate that form affixed crystalline structures.
My father is an oafish, impotent fool.
He is the pathetic eunuch, a parodied strongman. A farce of a father. He is a boy. Over 3 decades with his life partner, mother of their children, and he has never grown up.
He has debased my empathy, effusive unwieldy, nascent Thing, a baby just becoming.
My brother is Oedipus swaddled, entitled, driven, and brutish emotions. I worry he'll rape someone sooner than we'd think. I see it coming.
I am a sincere pervert - a voyeur. I am that little girl lost in the marketplace. As if half born. Caught between corridors in my mind. My empathy is perverted. It is bound by fear and hapless neurotics. I stimulate myself incessantly. I have avoided meditation even when my head aches and I know I must uncork it. Instead, I watch. I scroll on my phone eyes rolled back in my head, heavily fondling my vulva, stuck in place for hours at a time until, I feebly orgasm, raw, with friction burns, or I have to piss. I am weeping vulgarity decaying wrapped in filament of parroted refinement.
I still feel twelve years old.
Only now my hair is right.
No more traction alopecia.
It is a dour place living a nascent adult in near-identical childhood affixments. I am the most aware, astute, intelligent in that worldly sense - real life attunement.
I just get it all now.
And yet, I am the one behind in the tangible, banal world.
I need to do real things I can hold in my hands or I am going to go crazy.
This is shit.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Bigblownupbloatedbelly
Full of grief plain thickly
Bears fronded paws on
tickled shelf
The number nine
burns out
Questions? You say
Looking at me cockeyed
What’s the matter?
It’s all done now.
Coffee seared a starchy
mouth, rattled teeth.
What’s that? You say
Pawing at the fir
It’s all dripping wow
I hear birds
Can I lick the haiku?
You can stay here tonight.
Whets my tongue the communion water.
Hello, rubbled. What more
can I give you?
I walla make a wax horse
Hi pencil cedar
split drinks
Few things I find
as repellant such as
this.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Intoxicating and necseum
Julia and I took her scooter out.
I like how I understand and feel affection towards these machines.
They are simple to understand, everything is there and shown to be seen.
The Louis Armstrong Machine, a sweet gawky ostrich-beaked arm
--------------------------------------------------------------
MY PICKED SKIN RUBY GLITTER SCAB SITS THERE AND I DON’T GIVE A DAMN!!
--------------------------------------------------------------
At the nexus of madness and adoration, leaches onyx treacle.
When you stand at the tawny soft tabbied adoration you will feel its muscles wake. Now, aways lay a limbless stripped carcass in the snow.
A pathetic creature with no lids to close on saucer set eyes, no limbs to stir it to rouse. It is petrified and yet its heart still beats. In the snow it still thinks himself a bucking fawn.
There's nowhere else but lower. There's a hole in the water. Left by the wailing roe.-
The middled is glassy. It leaves something to be desired.
If you kneel, yourself halved dorsal torso, you shall find a pretty parted mouth glacial and opulent.
"Nothing doesn't have to be real,”
The twins purred,
At their sigh you are swallowed
tar baby.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Tremendous waves of nostalgia again today. Cried listening to Pretty Eyes again. Thinking about being a grown up. Haven't felt this way in a while because I have been busy oscillating between joy and terror so go figure.
--------------------------------------------------------------
It's the doldrums.
Sinusodal drainage
A ruler I hadn't used in ages - the one from the Bug fest appeared in my dreams last night. I had a sort of toolkit bundled up in my brown portfolio carrier. A little boy complimented it and later my body writhed in arousal after a familiar girl-body dancer - Sylvie, I think, sprawled above my crouched body. I could feel the specific points where her body touched mine, and I trembled lustily. I wanted her fingers in my mouth.
--------------------------------------------------------------
If only you knew how scared I am of being the one who harms. I will cry for the baby pigs I will tear apart, and the eye and brain of a frightened little lamb. Look inside yourself! I wish I wasn't raw and glistening with rich, red blood. I hold my heart out and it beats and you laugh. You just look at me and laugh. I mourn the little girl who sits in the cavern of my chest. Right there. Do you see her? I think she is frightened. I wish I could make you laugh by death. Plastered masks, gentile gait. I am prey. I have got to say, you have an excellent disguise. Foliera deux! You make me into the madman. Which is true, but I shed mock-turtle-tears. I would fill up a room and flood. But you wouldn't want that? What a pity. I just wish I wasn't sick all the time. Maybe I will start speaking in tongues. I lay here writing this, and my eyes are puffy and red but at least my hair is long and I am alive. I wish you could lick my wounds, but who am I to tell you?
--------------------------------------------------------------
On the cusp of rain all day.
Holding congested shoulders against vinyl seating. Real jitterbug beside me. Visual snow and it’s enviable the level of amphetamines curling that purple dried hair.
Sinnerman again. Knowing I should branch out to more of Simone’s discography but this song lasts me. Immutable rapturons.
I am thinking about my next painting now. Tomorrow Julia will come and we will cart the canvases and the easel and we will sprawl out drunkenly painting in the living room and I will finally paint my nightmare right this time. It’ll be hard but I want her to help me with it and I know she will.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Scrape me off the grill
of your car
Please I know
It’d be simpler this
way
--------------------------------------------------------------
“OOOH HONNIE, you Make me SICK!”
Momma’s in an iron lung!
Jimmy yelped too loud. Rang through the house, heaving and thrusting. Spoiled milk in sippy cup.
We didn't know when it all started, really.
This is the stuff of dreams.
My emotional ricocheting is a lot and it is a pageant of vulgarity
You understand, then.
--------------------------------------------------------------
But it did then.
And it ate me up.
And I ate other things all up.
My throat is all dry from Jack’s tobacco.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Batabillon in a dark car-
Snubsglint
Got him right through the berry
licking
What can you see in His face
moaning mass
You are dead, you are dead
The meat quivers
We scrubbed along the
black
--------------------------------------------------------------
I’VE ALL OUT REFUSED TO WORK ON ANYTHING AND I CAN FEEL MY HEAD SWELLING UP. I NEED SOME MAJOR SOMATIC AMPLITUDE BECAUSE I AM NOT WORKING OUT.
I REALLY OUGHT TO MEDITATE.
NEED SOME KIND OF DISTRESS TOLERANCE AND SHELVING.
FOR THE JAR EXERCISE A HUGE MASON JAR FILLED WITH GOO.