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there's a dead man in my closet
wearing a pallid suit
of wrinkled human flesh
his eyes are wanton black; unplugged
and I want to touch them
bu..
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mixed nuts, shaved fish
on the prowl, red-blue
brimstone beat. yells
the kids "F**K OFF!
police-maan".
tells the cop he aint
wanted, t..
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f
u c
k
s
p
e
l
l
s:
me.
and toto knows, in full
(honesty) that
we aren't in Kanzass anymore.
and I have pitched myself..
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I drop the quotation marks on the floor
simply pin this page down with ink,
fleece it of innocence;
break its back with words.
And of wild swans..
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Its not your fault
I would be jealous of me too.
The way I write myself into legs
and run, while you dawdle
on the point of sacrifice.
The to..
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..on music
|
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He makes a wish
no more daddy
on the image of a c**k,
upright, burning.
too young to be so lost
-innocence is ash,
the others cheer
and dig i..
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Lovepoem is facile, is
love is cliche is
the tired dirt being trampled
on by armies of moonhead
sycophants. Priests of Shakes-
Order of the Casa..
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it's the poor art delirium
of being too fucked to care
too skull-fucked & jizz worn.
seeping, copious fluid bleeding
from your eyes; of f**k-l..
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abstraction bleeds like little girls
tripping into womanhood, and I
write this with knowledge of dynamite,
and touch words like strings,
bending ..
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