Every Night my Head Exploded

Five Poems

A recluse web

Strung

Intricate Snowflakes

Along my player

Piano

ribs

Stove smoke

Waspy gray

Pungent

On the taste of my tongue

When I speak

Under the sunshine

Mold spores

Gloss

Over my lips

 ***

Every night

my head

exploded.

Again, when my eyes shut black

vesuvius,

swollen helium balloon,

Enola Gay

Big Boy and Nagasaki

there on the pillow of sweat

my head burst

on the barren walls.

Began with fear, a buzz, a fizz

carbonated ear

drums, a fuse burning under my eyelids

a white hot cockroach

leaving a trail of spark

stomping, flailing

in kaleidoscopic black

***

 

It’s like a ball

a kick ball that never came your way

but everyone else is playing with it

there is spit and dirt and dog s**t

all over it, caked on it

but its okay, its fun

you think so, you wouldn’t mind holding it

kicking it

licking it

it smells like rubber

and someplace you’ll never

know again

when you get your hands on it

thats not enough

hold it

hug it

put it in your shirt

pretend its baby

remember how

much fun it can be

its like a kick ball

that thing

it never came your way

so you don’t really know

***

I was doing a move,

for a wonderful

black nurse.

Her garbage disposal

exploded

onto everything.

Leaked into the carpets.

On this day

I met a man.

He cleaned carpets

for a living,

had for thirty years

could probably

go

another thirty.

Though,

he’d seen the worst.

Worse

than the wonderful black nurse’s kitchen.

He was talking murder stains,

a man bludgeoned by the homeless.

Bloody palm prints in the fridge,

where they snacked, feeling rather peckish.

They crushed his face

with a metal troll

bar.

Suicides too,

blood sprayed out on the walls.

Bits of fractured skull

Brain matter

thrown and spread

A cleaner can break

the crime seal.

Vacuums skull dust

Washes red mist

for a living.

Pretty rude of them

I said

Don’t they know?

Someone else

cleans their mess.

No, no

He said

Some are very polite

there is such a thing

as suicidal

etiquette.

Duct tape and a sleeping bag

as a mask around the face

Before they shoot them self.

Sops up

a good portion.

Not as much splash

Just fine by me

He went off then

vacuum

In hand

Smiling

whistling

For his life’s work

 ***

Tap a flower

with a cane

and a happy meal

for a maine

flower

chop chop goes the boat

afloat on a river of salt

and frogs

high ho says the water bottle topped

with a cradle cradle

made of wood

ju ju

beads and candies and color and floss

happy and sad and f*****g egg toss

marry me yes

merry christmas

deploy the troops

arm them with lead and fire

a solo war on red cups

a cup for a king that one time

you dabbled with psychotropic

mermaids, green scales with coffee breath and hair made of black powder

back from hot climates

melt the ice and slit my throat.

 

 

Reviews

[Gaston Villanueva]

A solo war on red cups haha
I enjoyed the second poem the most but they were all great
Each one was so unique and enthralling

[Chadvonswan]

I was overwhelmed and impressed by this prosey, psychotropic pome. The first two stanzas were great, and then it descends into fragments of forgotten memories painted in prose. I loved this poem, Zachary, one of your finest and most hallucinatory (: