Sunday, October 31, 2010

Would You Dance With Me?

Wishes beget construction of atomic weaponry beneath the dance ball. Glass slippers tapped patterns of withdrawal on a plutonium floor. The song was forgotten decades ago but I love the sentimentality. Some star is mummified in the urinal and Sergei Yesenin is perched above on a clogged pipe. A group of girls showed me the view from Hell on a white line between numbers. I saw my mom there for a split second. They drug me to the disco ball that flickered along with my aphrodisiac yearning. We danced until I passed out next to a poster that read “Reach for the stars!” The morning reminded me of poverty and a thousand regrets. There's no women here, no euphoria. Just glass shards scraping a bomb like some feline scratching a pole of nails.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Misanthropy As A Defense Mechanism

Soak the air in thermite

Light a glass pipe

Conflagration shields

Broken phone lines

Four letter liaisons

Condensed rejection

New age Salem

Outcast's tears glitch

Weightless stones resting

A jury of sun skin

They claim venom

I'm a goat

Not a snake

Jagged lines in fur

Grazing 180 degree plains

Desperation falls on apathy

Reinstate the immortal

Holidays of solitude

It's all self defense

All psychology

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Sidewalks of our old neighborhood detached themselves from distorted roads. The concrete serpent constricts me from time to time. It's the only embrace that's really true. A woman with red skin avoiding the sun like her emotions. Used to nothing other than death. Every want I had was punished with a trip to the prison you constructed in your yelling. Condemned to feel sympathy for things I didn't understand. There were middle schoolers writing my condemnations in the hallways and beautiful women trying to burn me from their minds. My nylon fantasies boiled worry in that heart you occasionally put in the refrigerator. Our home was my shanty asylum where the armed villagers could never find me. Contact is cancer. Today everything is gone. The safe home whittled away with your immune system. Society grows on my conscious like malignant cells. Touch me, embrace me like I never did. Bring back the days of the first diagnosis. I'm holding on to a stone body with your name etched in it. And years...

Monday, October 25, 2010


I can't admit to meeting Luck. Never saw her face in the flood of damsels. Black, blond, purple hair skipping across a city of aquatic graves. I'm dry but still soaked to the yearning bone. My hands stained from scavenging in troughs filled with atria and ventricles. They were out of key to the symphony of an ashen psyche. Every beat is stuck to me like filth. The flower voices, galaxy eyes, jaguar bodies. The peaceful yearnings that project home movies on storm clouds. I've placed them all next to me in bed where dozens of attempts have slept and slipped through my arms. I am lucky.

Night Recess

Gang members in stained jackets march down forgotten avenues. Electric vines are vomited from the cracks in the cement, gnawing at the numb cattle like starving cobras. Some boy asks a girl” “Want to dance in Dusk's caress?” when the moon burnt out centuries ago. One can still catch a glance of a star in martial law. The police adorn themselves in white robes and brandish manufactured chemicals at us unruly. To protect and pacify. We're already imprisoned in forests of gray matter. Life is aborted over and over again to produce stem cells for the prison system. Solitude through socialization. Remember, butterflies always congregate but never speak. Love is revolution.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Tip Of My Pistol Is Smeared With Lipstick

The revolution was dead before you set foot out of suburbia. They manufactured suffering and you bought it with a forced frown. Flash binary tears for the audience of owls perched on fine wooden desks. They can't differentiate between punctured flesh and pirated witchcraft. You've written doctrines in butchered English and abbreviated feeling. I've flirted with dumpsters and shook hands with skeletons. Others have famished in the stomachs of cities and riddled family photographs with bullets. Wail about paternity while tainted babies sleep in abandoned forts. Sympathy has been drained from the world and placed in the pool outside your home. This whole malady is a fad. Kill yourself.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Dark Comedy

Wrap your spine around me. Squeeze tight so puss blasts through the pores. Take some pictures and make a collage entitled: “Society's Downfall” Please don't mind the mess. I've been cleaning it up for decades. The filth simply falls from my tongue and fingertips. In fact, this yellow and black mess is the most beautiful thing I've seen in a while. It'll be at home here if I don't scare it off first. Don't bother hiding that culpatory glance. You have the eyes of my mother, the lips of an ex. There's nothing that can please you here and I can't buy your respect. I can't even afford it for myself. Someday the aluminum floor beneath my toes will swallow me whole like a steer eating shit. They'll bury me in a tuxedo of rags and torn jeans if I don't beat them to it.

Sunday, October 17, 2010


Our courtship was denied at the Supreme level but we're viruses in this concrete bloodstream. There's a slow dance on a floor of corpses, knives binge on the beat. Does the twinkle in my eye match the neon light in your heart? Just look next door at the pet cemetery. They gassed the crows and put our names on the stones. The two of us are fugitives wanted at The Last Supper. White suits will spread wildfire to get us out of bed in the morning. But we're bad. We've sent oil rig engineers to an asteroid headed for Earth and bred zombies in civilian designated areas. Tomorrow they'll tie our entrails to a cross but tonight we'll be martyrs swinging blissfully from a broken pendulum.

Saturday, October 16, 2010


Stand back, don't get involved! This is between me and the little ones. They ignited a bomb at the school yard. Look at the skin all colored in diseased dreams. You've outdone yourselves this time. Hey, hands off! I said I can handle this. Go deal with the starving Ethiopian in our back yard. I hear they like radiation. Children, don't ever forget that life lays with big suits in a clouded palace. They don't want to start the flame in your heart. They only want to set the world on fire. When you were younger I said you would never amount to much but you've stood me up, corrected. Let's lay under an asbestos blanket and watch slow motion footage of cancer growing. It's the least we could do together. I'll tell the police you're risen beyond Saturn. Just tell your mother to whip up some more pox for dinner.

Friday, October 15, 2010


Nihl. America perched peacefully on a black oak on a moonless eve. I see nothing but a faint light in the darkness. Is it salvation or my digital clock? Is it weird I don't care? We quarrel in the canals knee deep in infection. Eighty three have died today. Ninety five died yesterday. Their bodies are now a dam we built a little ways up. I want to riddle this place with M-80s and place a few thousand sticks of dynamite in the oval office. A great show to play along to the ringing in my head. Serve up some pills and pass the syrup, baby, cause it's gonna be a long night!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Such A Pity

Like a kitten that has outgrown the thread, I tire from the sight of blood. Once crimson roses have whittled to drab and dreary abortions. I'm running out of places to hide my treasured mistakes. They dissolve acid but burn so delicately. I can never get the smoke out of my clothes. Every method has been done to so many deaths. The Statue of Liberty strangled with scissors embedded in her skull, guts spilled to the cement flooding the street in cyanide. Such a boring sight. I'd long for more but there's nothing left. The world is a bomb ready to detonate and freeze us all.


October breeze bristles the grass behind my face. This season resuscitates conflicting nostalgia and grief. So many have fallen from my grasp at the cliffs of Autumn. Some tripped into coffins while others stumbled into the arms of better lovers. No matter. All love is predestined to plummet as cold rain on helpless leaves. On this clear night I sit in an inclined field and light a glass pipe. It's crackling harmonizes with the crickets to make a beautiful symphony. Laying on the grass, I stare at the sky in cliché fashion. So many stars. They should all disappear. Imagine this dying planet encased in black like a grieving widow! Riots would purge the continents into flame. Finally something we would could all see eye to eye on. I think of annihilation while the face of a beautiful girl gazes at me through dew drops on the grass. Serene, she sings gospel for a church of heathens. Life is beautiful, life is wonderful. Everyone is dead and the ashes claw at our bones.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Steve and John used to walk down to the reservoir and fuck behind the waterfall to hide their love. One day they saw Jesus, his leg trapped under a boulder. They used their limited strength to push it into the sea, sealing the waterfall forever. Our Savior gave them each a kiss and promised the star-struck lovers entrance into Heaven. A few weeks later some rednecks caught them making love and hung their dainty bodies from an oak tree overlooking the reservoir. Three months passed and a tornado ravished the inbreds' trailer park; ripping their obese, snuff spit-drenched bodies to bits. Now Steve and John sip wine coolers with God while the heathens get sodomized in Hell.

Saturday, October 9, 2010


Dissecting this database of pornography at my fingertips, I ponder the fickleness of fate. Do lovers fall together or fall from dreams? The latest one rests as I drag her body across stones and thorns. A crimson snake follows us on this path, as if to say “Life is cancer.” She lays at peace in her decorative soil coffin. This makeshift graveyard is beautiful with the leaves falling like corpses from rotted nooses. It's so easy to envy the beautiful and their ignorance to the world. I sometimes wish for the privilege of sleeping next to them sometimes. To feel warm next to their frost as the leukemia swallows us all.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

That Mirror In Your Pocket Would Look Better On My Bedroom Floor

Hey baby, do you come here often? Why lean against that bar when you can be leaning on me instead? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the Alpha Male weaned on the devil's breast. Don't bother speaking. Your mouth is only useful for giving me a merciful drought. I can tell you're an Epsilon Female. Jesus, you're not even blonde. Let's call a cab and we can go to my place. Shed that revealing skin, girl! Show me your assets and we can discuss a business merger in the waking hours. Dating? No way. That “love” thing is worthless when we have flesh. Let's make MTV proud. You can pay for the morning after. Not my problem. Never call me. I can't hear you when you're so far down on the knees. It must have hurt when you fell from Heaven but it will hurt more when I kick that tight ass out my door.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

A Random Song By Billie Holiday

Maybe you'll find me tied to some train tracks in a black and white town. Cut the ropes and guide me to rainbow screens. Those eyes shine but with which color I have no idea and it doesn't matter. I just want to get lost in something other than my own devices. It's too foggy and cold in this labyrinth. Speak and I'll listen forever. Prove that you're not all the same. I'd set myself on fire for the knowledge. For you, my diamond, the rain drops would be rose petals and the desert an oasis. Every grain of sand would have your name written on it ten times over. Let us bring the world down to worship us and our pure love. Let us slow dance in the middle of forever before I realize I'm holding onto nothing but a ghost.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Happy Time Harry

This is beautiful, no question. A dust garden in full bloom under a wooden sky. Dance with me where wingless butterflies flutter on linoleum beaches. They're claustrophobic and the walls are embracing like lovers. The sun is always shining here. It's placed in a glass pane above the cotton gurney. Want to watch it set with me? It'll only take a second. The patient needs a hand to heal. Infections spread fast when they start beneath the skull. You should see the pills they gave me. They're the color of a girl's eyes I used to court. Disjointed little things manufactured in some blackened dream with a taste of forbidden fruit. I swallow them with a bottle of arsenic and pray for life.