Monday, March 30, 2009

ALL ALNE I KEEP THE WOLVES AT BAY THER IS ONLY ONE THIGN THAT I CN SAY

ALL THOS LONELYLONLY TIMES

ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE DANCER? ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE DANCER? ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE DANCER? ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE DANCER? ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE DAN

poem of the #6

I DON'T ALWAYS SHOOT BLANKS

Sometimes I leave the galaxy, mid-quail.
All my gravy covered in handsome goo.

Sometimes it's like, "Where are you?"
and I'm like, "Nowhere, but not here."

My trellis dotted with clown flowers
piffling water like schmucks,

spotting grease stains on planets, but
too stuck acting funny to point them out.

"Weirdhelmschlamdong."
"Kookymafoogabutthonk."

These are the cries of my heart
in its prison of nightwalks and groceries.

One time I smacked a ho satellite
and blanked the whole sadistic plumber

under me and the stupid things I do.
The stupidest thing I've ever done

continues like a world, this one, this shotput
God did by accident in his sleep, I think.

poem of the #5

GOD LEFT HIS LINENS IN MY PURSE

So I settled for masturbation and mouth wash
and channeling the spirits of dead mice.

Call me the sister with the hop chop,
the shiny shoes with the stampede sole.

Tonight, we're totally an acid reflux hoodie
bumping the head out the hands stuffed.

"Don't call it a comeback," said the lifer
to the guard. "I'll be gone one way."

Sometimes your head looks like this: { }
which frightens me. No, it excites me.

My wig burns. My dick frisks itself.
It looks like this: 8====:(((((((

because you are not there.