Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Her pancreas came apart like pangea
drifting outward and careening into half-buried tires
like children on their first go-kart go.
It took her a million years and a day to die.

She turned yellow and curled in on herself
a rewound flower, bowing, dreaming of seed
as some misnamed fuck stuck its hand in her skull,
made the mandible mouth sounds alien to her mind.

Each week he knelt till his kneecaps flattened
and cracked closed the thin silver smile
that separated out the finger-rind.

It isn't your eyes on them.
It isn't the rapid piling under of uck.
I hate that they grow. I hate that they grow.

Monday, July 20, 2009

The helicopter beam breaks in the window,
slides down the drain and illuminates the sewer;
stage lights for the cockroach vaudevillians
as they juggle one another for rat-nickles.

A body dredged from under the worm belly,
sheepish and bleached blue by his muckover;
the fish and the ooze played pinochle for his fingertips,
so he goes where no one goes because he's No One.

Sweet Sister Asphalt swept up your BLEH
when you didn't want to be a bother;
lapped up your pee when STARBUCK turned you out.

It's ok. It's all ok. Because when the air turns over
the green will come flickering on to full and
it will all be covered over with brunch.
I wish'd I'd have crumpled you up into a ball,
stuffed the paper in my mouth
and hid you from the future.
I should spew up in your face
till I'm heaving air
yeah yeah yeah
You stoopid cunt of a brain
ticking thoughts in time
steady as a spreadsheet.

Ted: The Mouse in my House

The mouse in my house
scatters goat bones beneath the bed,
reads the future in how they lay,
pokes his nose out his Tom and Jerry hole
when the lights go out.

We came to agreement last week:
I'm going to stop giving him goat bones.
In exchange he gets to live on,
find a nice new Tom and Jerry hole
someplace green.
And I don't have to hear him screaming at the glue trap.