To that, I thought, I can’t make anything of my Hunger, Consumptions, the basis of which are endless layers, folds, folding upon Folds, Fold. It’s true, that sometimes I’m left alone, staring out the EL Train windows, embarrassed for months, because of all my Eating. This notion leaves me, lovingly beaten again, Down. Fumbling in my Pocket I rub against Leftover, slyly slip to Lips. Ground transportation.
My Voice is a problem for someone else’s translation------------------------àI just go with it where it may.
So lets’us just Somersault right into’its
Between our Burgeoning harmonies, there begins a growth of a new Hunger—of a chill in my voice that shudders my Foundation. The replacement of my Weight for Indifference. Between every Harmony of my Building I Voice, there is a Hunkering of Old Hungers, hanging in the Air, on my Lips, within empty Boxes of Letters in the Drawer & a repletion of each Note from Bach, backed against Face, Black Blackened Back, sounding out the Values of it all, in the Room, with the Drawn Blinds, unwound the clusters & clusters so many Clusters of Black Birds mustering their Strength upon my Back I am now.
~~~~~~~~~
Some days, it’s so strange, this seemingly boundless Fullness of space & depth in relation to my own Body, which is my Enclosure. Growling in inordinate levels, my facial features, from day to day are profoundly different, shifting since Sleep the sleuth of my agonizer. But my Hunger is unwavering in Constant. That Barking Bitch of a Hand, that creases along the shitty features of ill-defined bodies, which for me, have lost their usefulness. Long & palpable I leach towards, to consume this Tension, equally to all. A dance of Deletion of Distribution, my Mouth. Unquenchable, I support the stretching of skin, so as to Evoke an overlapping & moving a sway in the Arm of the Other, invasion, spore. It was in the City where I spent my miserable Youth. My smell is that of a Senile Body. Swaddling on the floor, on all fours—lark, wire, I’ve tired. I’m tired & I’ve forgotten in the first place, everything, everything but my Hunger.
In the House of the Bones, heat entering like an Intruder, falling my Way. I open my eyes & you’re in a contorted Pile, by the door, sleeping.
Like a soothing slow transition, in the Valley of the Broke of the Glass we Chew.
Or your mouth as it cleanses my Stones.
~~~~~~~~~
I shall consider my disappearance in your Frame, as an incidental effect: an affair that does not need to open itself to a more detailed description. After the patience of your aggression, I’ll slip away, dismembering that Body, systematically Branding on Face, gloomed & dying out. Place [me] then here, in my Mouth, the gravity of my own Subject & the grotesque litany which’ll be my Suctioning depiction.
I’m presented again to you, within this consistent fear of my own Repetition.
~~~~~~~~~
But these shall Shift, Differently:
1. On the Oiled Loins of Idiots, it appears, I gather.
2. I’m mentioned somewhere along the lips of women in Uptown.
3. I’ll vanish upon a Swallowing, packing in my hands & arms, from tip to elbow, back into the Grub.
4. Tonight there will be fucking blood on my mind.
5. On three sides of my Body, I’m going to dream tonight, everywhere.
6. A parched thirst for Skirt, my nose in groin, as she wants it, phosphorus, swallowing each yelped consonant, swallowing my fattening tongue, swallowing my throat, swallowing my entire Face in Belly
7. & when I Awake: I’ll treat each one of you with an intense curiosity
~~~~~~~~~~
It all Falls in a Decay. Even talking about it, is a form of declining. Rotting street Bins. Unshakeable skeletons of the palmpast. A certain barrier between my Mouth & what is buzzing by the abundant Wind. Space between the
Always, The fucking Black Birds, huh?
It’s clumsy to Describe anything, better to just take it all in, ingest & when it’s a shitstorm within, then to start fingering it through.
There was something about the way she ate that made my Skin crawl. But I would never look away. The immense limit of sincere intentions. The Dissolution of the
What is disappearing belongs to me. In dizziness I want to swim in the Summer Months. Riding the EL in the Heat, singing my way Home.
Perhaps I’m just a contemplation of inverted reflections. The Ghostly Procession of Solace. To become everything up to the Hollow Point of it all.
Which was as follows as was to Stuffing:
To be in someone’s Mouth. I was Full. What detached itself from your Mouth, into my Mouth, stayed in my Mouth, Full. The Sounds warbling against me, stayed Full. The Sun, Flashes, Sweat, Desire, my Hunger stayed Full. I was Full. Everyone surrounding me was Full. Because I was Full. The obstacle was in fleshing it out, Full. The extremity of being Full. The fear of being Full. The Full Work of Sweating it out Full. The very Product of being Full, stayed Full. The persistence of these bodies, Full. Their shifting ambiance & the scuttering sound of their movements, Full. The mutations towards or asunder, Full. All these, graced in my Vision, Full. The god damn glorious monstrosities of it all So Full. My god I was fucking Full.
Being Full was what I assumed had been Grasped. But my being Full in Hunger, is what only Fully continued on.
~~~~~~~~~~
My steps are always a little bit Manic. No seduction in Slow. I am Hungry as it is. Going down & I’m just trying to get up. Each step piles itself upon another, as I’m found obsessively counting each one, in my Head, into nothing. Just a means towards a further accumulation. Ultimately it’s not about how many steps I count. It’s just a means to know I’m moving, somewhere, anywhere, I’m forward. So as not to dilly-dally myself in the Mud.
I’m Cold I’m Hungry I’m the Stain of Battered years, Butter Cup. Humming to myself with my Caved-in, I’m only in Mouth suffocating from the Fight.
In step I generally find an overwhelming Desire to wrap my arms around a Stranger. However, today, I find my Desire, exhaustively, leans towards a Propensity of Wanton Cruelty. But let it be known, I did not Sleep, well.
I’m Breathing badly now. Not because there are all these words. But because I’m having trouble breathing these days lunging forth in Lung. Tiny tiny Lungs. I compensate by using my Inhaler 200% times more than is recommended these Days. Which explains these Heart Palpitations. Which explains how I’m allowed to continue puffing. Which means it’s only a matter of time, shortening, until it goes breaking all on, Down.
Which explains why you might as well push the motherfucker until the motherfucker pushes back.
& then push even harder because I will not be fucking Pushed by no Body no
