Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Chapter 9:

This is not a message of hope or reassurance. Tied to the floor, a ceiling of chicken wire drops the net. Beneath malignant signatures, the wounds roar like a lymph node chamber pit. Bound by the promise to bear witness to the others debasement, they slash their bellies to placate offal codes. Blood hangs briefly before the droplets pop. Swastika viscera worms from the slice, cupped in their hands and tossed like a child eroding in mid-air. Sky in pentagram tears. In the kaleidoscopic ever-flow of oil churns. Mondo requiems dismissed as salival chinned eunuchs brow hammering a marbled cattle husk.


Chapter 10:

Carved posture. Revisiting nausea. Revival culture only tapping mutation. A girl who ate skin out of a spray-painted bath tub. Visits cemeteries covered in welts. Vice drains chemistry. Tented fingers aching everyday. Every time we meet at the same indigestion pool. Every time i hope this will be where i drown. Where the puke frames my screaming face. Where my body dissolves in stomach acid. Where you reach for what's left, touching me for the first time. Where i'm brought to your mouth, reflux strings webbing me to your lips. Bang my head on rotting slanted rafters. An animal coughing like hell. Entrail house overrun with snapping vermin. Scissors spark bone paper, cooking moldy skin. You just stood there, listening to the hiss of weeds.


Chapter 11:

Smoking bruises. Polar struggle marks. Tack statues overlooking the gangway. Chopping ten pounds of chicken. Took big swallows. Consumed obsession. I felt her dislodge. A nurse slathered in soft glass, light-drying off bathing tonic. Secret plans screened onto pins. Daydream of cold saunas. Sleeveless hustlers mummified in different colors of saran wrap. A half-pack of us at any real important parts sprinkled with thick powder from the sidewalk. All these great identities. Fetish gender killers born screaming out of my skull, pushing a blue milk crate full of cigarettes. Human furniture jam a giant stick into piles of garbage bags. A blur of flesh spiraled in limitless descent, usually until it dripped off the sides. Pulled back into one-sided infatuation. She smiled at the idea.


Chapter 12:

Encouraged by rejection. Mildew influx concentrated into one indecipherable mass churning the lagoon in my stomach. Fiber glass cuts up our insides. Shingles pervade landscape. Sentient condition. A machine in every possible way. Grey brain becomes illuminated; splashes wax through the screens. Vines wove themselves through the skin. Budding dolls hung from moss covered rocking horses bellowdown toward blue ground. Saturated to the window with massive puppets tossed into giant shredders, leisurely meandering through our eventual demise.


Chapter 13:

Ripe silent throat. Spay cult medic gasping for air. Stalking his catatonic mother, absorbed with her chalk paintings. Sweeping valley of rayon mess. Long shadows converged with low fields, dual movements slow and choreographed. A pregnant crow lay white-furious in hot concrete. Neuter search parties of slashed nymphs firewalk on a kitchen table, slopping cruel injury. I want the child inside of you to suffer. Watch the tiny black body be thrown against a tree. Womb blossomed industrial pastel, beautiful young violence poking through the wrinkled spawning.