wh___At (sh/j)ells++the(SE)
shapes
______come in?
Dow____
____n in insid(e)
ack(B)
______to eathing(BR)
ick,ner’d
round
t___o
bell(ee)
shit,f in the (oy)eye
______hrst a ___________heart of it
quatered____in my______fun-
ction
staid, so __said____
ke(ep)ing ____this
bl(OO)d
bubbling._________
we keep our shells like shallots,
_______________________________________always sautéed
We
weeee
_
Two doors, five fingers, and a hand to shake when you’re lonely.
He spends dollars calling home to tell those he says he loves he loves them.
A principle point: I don’t miss you at all.
We’re falling all over ourselves so much, we’re bags of it, bound to boxes like something only to sell.
And we keep our doors open, just in case.
I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re bread.
Just remember, we’re mobile.
I remember a two-bit heart like a skid line across a road with other lines elsewhere but lines all the same.
We’re all made of lines and lines to lines and lines to lines to lines so much we’re lost we’re so many lines.
We’re only wanting to be bushes, brushed.
And curves, like distant mountain tops we call dad.
The pictures we paint in front of the front we can’t stand to see, we’re so tired of imagination being just in our minds and bleed our sounds in dreams like we were looking at them all the same, only dreaming and waking and waking and pissing along the remains of a last night together so we piss a mountain in place of a clouding in place of a place we only dream of being
only with the messages blanked out, we know them so well by now.
A light we only thought we knew.
A lesser splash, an abortion.
On rainy days I like to think that there are people who are swimming, in water bigger than mine.
And I like to think they do not drown.
Krptzik, ghnormal bihinmnal platzfux.
Jixz lampoph jurryik kin tzakel.
And a glass of milk, please.
This was the whale my mother warned me about.
With feet up I watch porn.
I watch fake fraternity boys do each other violently and uncross my legs enough to let my balls breathe enough for me to grab them, choke them to death.
I come on my t-shirt laid across my chest and lay there for ten minutes with my eyes closed, listening to more dirty talk from the fake boys.
There is nothing in the suitcase. Nothing at all.
I remember going to my grandparent’s house on the Oregon coast.
I remember driving by a place called “Little Black Sambo’s”.
They served pancakes.
I remember grandma reading me a book by the same name. The tigers in the story turned to butter, and they made pancakes, so pancakes made sense to me.
I remember going to my grandparent’s house on the Oregon coast.
I remember driving by a place called “Sambo’s”.
They served pancakes.
I remember my grandma reading me a book called “Little Black Sambo”. The tigers in the story turned to butter, and they made pancakes, so pancakes sort of made sense.
I remember going to my grandparent’s house on the Oregon coast.
I remember driving by a place called “Denny’s”.
They served pancakes.
(Click images to enlarge)
He told her he knew a place where there was a fountain where they could drink.
He told her he had a ring and a place where they could sign to make it bind.
He told her and held her and never let her see.
He told her he would never let her go, never let her go.
And she was blind and thirsty and held on with ringlets in her eyes.
A troubled affair, only briefer than most.
Two stalks talking. One says, “I haven’t anything left to say to you.”
The other one says nothing.
And they repeat this way, ad infinitum: the sun rising, the sun setting, the house staying the same.
“Sir, one more Word // and imma make you my Bitch: // tattoo my Face // on your Titty” – Boris Izsus
THE HEART TOO UNSTABLE TO DURESS ITSELF
So, The Decomposition carries
*this accrual
actually aches in
*this Body
going downhill as the Memories putter
in your Smile & Slum in one’s Gut
constricts
the thought: “I must be a Ghost”
or at least longing for an aggressive
form of Daily Wonder: bitchslapping
whatever the Fate of *this Body—[
—s] facing One Grim Principle:
“Drag up(on) Life”
with our Hearts being lead away
& looting all those homes of
ex—lovers
to fuck The Head is a Suture
but these days, I’m truly predisposed
to employ myself to fucking getting
more mymymy your Ass was never
so soft
in the Mind, I always fumble with
measurement: my own Flesh was
meant for abduction baffling about
in your Mouth, so bashful so:
what You is // is what You is //
or, isn’t is what You is // is
what You love, is but a fucking Ghost
brings another sad-sack Season a reason
to return to BOOBS do blossom
beneath Spring Snow
treasons Oh’
you fucking know, how Perverse
it is, being born so Handsome
in the grit of this Shit, I’ll pound
you down by the tail-end
of your Echo, underlying myself
upended your Dress: were the
thighs I wantonly adored & shook
in the Frame of Intimacy
was the Structure of Misery
is the Risk of never getting up
so The City is left to serve You:
a Visceral Objectivity
men who are
for men who
are poor men
who pour mean
meanings into
men and mean
what they forget
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their project
by not having
been by the
way-side west
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had been a
reason for
wanting the
morning, clogged
by a dream
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vomiting and
becoming motionless
again
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then opening
their eyes – apart from
coming apart with
this life
then
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having their sense
in stacks against
one another
- timely functions
and cool sloughs
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the downtown sight
up the Avenue
at night
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I am beaming
apart because
they ream
it out of me
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the men – uncombed –
remind me
of nouns I don’t
ever use
anymore
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myself a noun
proper in the
un-sense
and having had
the being
torn from the
lily of it
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to tell the
response, the
again of it – the
tossed off
public person
who dies
from being,
privately,
a person
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a heavy from
him, a depth,
a senseless point
having nothing
to do
in this place
having been here
many times before
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and from
here
you can see
what’s where
for miles
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