Saturday, July 2, 2011

"250,000 miles on a clear night in June / and I'm aiming right at you"

locked in apology. a filp book of my impotence. curtains flap across plastic cases. the sound puts crackling bodies in my head. skeletons weighted by a soft jelly whose bulk has been cooked and eaten. suck the air from outside the wall through your nose and blow it back. repeat until we both turn blue. keep going until blood comes out and hangs still as bog vapors. until your flesh clings tight and rips like a grocery bag and all the vegetation tumbles to the floor, the splatter icing over in the liquid nitrogen that is your recirculated breath. i don't care how this looks.

caring for you was like impregnating a baby killer. screwed thumbs quake with a tenacity reserved for the held climax of a crime. pins are blown to keep the wounds from sealing shut. only when ego shapes a reinforcing glad-hand are my words valued. only when they are wind and silence are my thoughts treasured. only in hollow allegory or gruesome parable do my dreams mean a thing. it hurts to be figured out.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

commiting suicide by pulling out your guts through your ass

millennial pinned to your breast when you know they will wilt. scope beslimed in scumhole resin. tamps and pads the blue veins forking at my knuckles. willed to a cough undermining the hiss of syndromes. they were where i am when we were born. a genital-amputee hiding in masturbation. whirl-pooling mold rings a three fingered fist. spared only the remorse of my annihilation's wake, house-broken ash on cradles of infant hands, pocking their wood-chip skeletons.

piggy-backing off the leech nurse. a justifiable-if-sudden cruelty. real pain is feigning tolerance that shields you of your blight on me. affected competitions... a scarab of malignancy. teeth of a wrench down over rib, shaved to a razor bone. held to heart like a sewing needle held to your throat.
the rim is cauliflowered. trimmed in sick orange. floronic rabies blown up into your guts, camouflaged in the sulfur. play-acting Eucharist mashes brown soot between his toes. you call this "walking on air"?

magisterial tether. there was never a doubt it would end with a stifled gag. behavioral ticks. were the hairs in my throat swallowed or were they grown? cynics ache from cuckhold tongues when told they are everywhere. mimed the wash so many times, the skin has dried in sympathy. come here for the heartache. all that comes is statutory rape. no surprise or sickness but the lack of either one. can only disgust the more or the less. the true void. a pedophilia of the self. only then will you be touched. reflection is the nadir of what we are.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Re-Write / Cut-Up Omnibus A-Z

Joy is a sinkhole. Ankles out. Wrist cuffed to knee. Wake eviscerated. As pregnant as I’ll ever be. Viscera the orphan of my unbecoming. Was it even a name before hearsay baptized? tighten cigarette-burn eyes. The acid stops below the neck. Who are you to leave the throat to me? These mental lepers can’t tell condolence from guilt. You’ve never been there unless flowers belie the wreck of bodies souls have left behind.

ruined ourselves to spite the futility of your endeavors. they ate snails off the ground so they could glide over razors without being cut. massaging knotted collar, i entertain inflicting paralysis. these hands haven't felt more like mine since they clutched lean blades, cesarean fitted for the most blessed of evacuations.

Horror show eyes that for the first time seem to be filled with real dread. cease to be stock and reclaim the body usurped by the ambrosia-void. a rare apprehension no father figure could reproduce without scaring himself. phantoms and keepers can be forgiven for their plot-hole inconsistencies. there are no such things as imaginary boys. We know it's not your voice, and the laughs between the hacking are the next best thing to a trade of breaths.

crawlspace frontiers. dying rabbits like canned laughter. a dead eye's negative grants burning oil audibility. television static body paint. horse whipped on a test pattern slab. seized development to accommodate cosmetic atrophy. lines of grown men split SCBAs with horses. waist high dogpiled human remains burn on what's left of the flags. callow prurience. born a witness. i never purgate.

Reading incest fantasies out loud, voluptuous women with skulls for heads eat in aviaries to see which of them brings death. I can't help but pick the sand from the corners of my eyes. It armors the gaps in my teeth. Locusts skirting buckets of chlorine, landing in our mouths so we can't live off spit.

the mold of your spirit in cigar-gray rinds. A wreath of nails bent under foot. Abscess like a sleeper cell in the lead stomach of a dead horse. Pricked lips drained into soft paper cups. Rolling plucked eyes across her own half-snipped tongue. Envelope folds on a threadbare physique. marveling like a body at the dawn of the word. A wirework of hanged women. dislimbed carcass held like a ballet.

at 11 i learned you could vomit blood. calender girls thrown in a dumpster and set on fire. a pervert mourns beneath a chain-link fence, trash blowing like the ghosts of children who couldn't clear the edge. you act as if you've never seen surgery performed without air-drying the incision before. make your own surrender. microwave my bound hand. he loves that all of this makes you want to die.

his mother's ghost kissed the tumor away. the ruptured insides of third world child brides tremble like guilt ridden rosaries. boiler-plate honor rape held to past failures, wondering what i can do wrong.

a congruent siphon. alignments of stalag angels volunteer holocaustic ascension. courting the forked bones of perfect beings, masters of the aftermath are black-toothed in cul-de-sacs fornication webbed. gunned down immune network. black market trial and error. once knotted veins are now docking.

glutted murders void their bowels in mid-air. pulchritude rewarded through keyholes of human skin. knotted like a bud of meat. she glistens mace. submerged in dirt to the chin so more of the earth can be chewed out. we only want what is abandoned. all creation random and dreamless. we are at the world's anus. rejecting the air pores imbibe.

Spending the night in a silence worth my weight in duress, anything less than epidemic forfeiting allure. I had hoped this would be the day enough times to occupy the decades with wound-profiles clumsily splayed in a flowery thrush. Hate is easy. Oddly tranquil. Soft and within reach. Muscles amassed from the shakes when sick for everything. this will be the day I pass the mold to the craters in you ... where we always planned to be hanged.

ache-thievery. it's cause of her pain is only words. compromise fetishist. calling out my defects like names being read off a blacklist. an open chest massage. snake dancing with intestines. she cuts holes in my shoulders to slip her arms in, peeks over them like splitting suns over a field of angel hair. she walks off my molt, but its still my blood being lapped. i hurt myself because it's more rewarding than working for what i want.

saliva gunned. i dream of my teeth being liquefied and sucked to the back of my skull through my gums. heavily creamed in newts, a connubial record of brides with more ammonia than a catheter cult. saints crafted from vandalized nativity scenes. pulling out their jaundiced wings. preserved indigestion. muscles rung out over a newborn's head. vertigo tailspin. ceilings melted over my hands. mice skeletons clumped in the corners of cardboard boxes. boiling house paint so i can tell if the rooms breathe.

tankers of battery acid implode on security cams. ephemeral bondage. excremental compedium reprimands and annuls our banal eros. meathook fixtures like the tails animals use to choke their young. Wall of larave drops a varicose shroud, giving skin the cheap thrill of having life again.

He commits hate crimes when he looks you in the eyes. He walks like a "woman", hiding goat horns in a rusted coin slot between the slope and the crash. He creaks on hind-legs around abortion-matter, blessing the tits his tongue hid from. And while he plays up the cuts I know peaks into the pit of wound would humble or confuse. But we'll forgive him, cause we remember the goodbye to the horses who came for rifles to avoid the run. Though gesture can be nothing but empty, he moves to labor pains as if the dance will epitomize.

Surgical gloves littering crabgrass, lobbing the surrounding concrete like the lifeless hands of drowning victims. The girls were bandaged head-to-toe, placed upside down in black coffins, and dropped in a muddy lake. I saw a woman who looked like your future; fists raised like vintage propaganda art, Walking like idols who let the world down, houses built with skies inside to ween electric litters off the plug-in nurses. They're staying there while the murders are still indoors, forgiving their mechanics while pining for analog slashers.

coiling like embryos bracing the wire. Sibling heads split open, left bleeding overnight. Reclaimed orphan joy mixed with grave dancer’s abandon. razor-facials like a barber shop pole erected before the red could dry. wired to guillotine keys. compacted into a vase. caught as it sinks in the black sands of a once fertile depression. Staple shut the cunts that bore them. disgust muted in the publicity of an open mouth while some part of them is murdered inside, preferably a child.

cardinal eggs hatch in a child's mouth. little figures push through the brambles without injurious suspicions... without tearing their robes, never reaching scar tissue maturity. a hole was ripped in the bag, toes digging in the dirt trying to halt the drag. flies drown in the oil of what used to be a face, swirling like the last look of a child who has sucked in all of his organs.

19. PRISS:
ebola harem. I’m trailing the mud from the footprints I pace around everyday so i can say I walked with someone. famine victims in the corners of our marble eyes. As sensual as an angel hemorrhaging. the clay heart gives you away, soiling otherwise concrete skin. Stab wounds blossom when fingertips pollinate. Amputate myself so I can crawl home. The best nights of my life are all indoors. Rocking back and forth, arms around invisibles. Dreaming of the androids that will take your place.

I can feel my eyes melt as i sleep, dripping like milk down my cheeks, drying into white shadows of your body over mine, wrists and ankles deep in my chest and waist. specks of blood like the footprints of pixies dancing naked on the gratings of a slaughterhouse floor. our last 48 hours urinating in a broken elevator. another foot and we may find legs on which to stand.

laid at the black maw like charred currency fluttering from fire gutted mansions. Talking naked men down from bell towers cause I'm sick of being upstaged. Leak out of bodies angels tug between plains. i leave for the pockets between muscles the way I abandoned voice in ears of brain, left warbling at the bottom of the throat, popping from the holes their shadows burn into my skin. scoured from a true terminal. neon-white pinholes outside the vinyl. drowning is not up to me. My head just held the water.

tracheotomy manhole. storm window capillaries. maul ticket to clouds. uncovers the watermark like the stain on my birth. cattle aphrodisiac fails to silence the wasp. the sides of their legs kissed with mud. the ribs pried so the lungs can for once feel the air.

nailed muscles. crow quills pinned to egg crate face guards. glory hole guillotines. genitalia like warped bookends. stomach acid rising to your waist. sickles gating your windpipe. curdled ambrosia on your soldering iron breath. the sutured hands of guinea pigs bleach the veins roping your heart.

a room full of severed heads piled into broken TVs. frozen house pets buried at test site flats mushroom dawns cook into glass. hari kari with a shaft of light. talking vaguely of art from a cathedral countenance. tree bark curtains navigate the ichor leech. selflessness bore the most bitter of conceit.

Born begotten. Reflection is soul-decay, forcing serration along the spine of my shadow as it hunches over syringe parasols. Rat's eyes crowning stigmata like a bloodworm, inheriting miracle. The sores i survived will be nothing but umbilical knots when held to the vinegar drowning pool. the grief that should've been mine now rocks in a chest whose hinges don't so much creak as they do casually moan with the naive indifference of cripples throat-deep in quicksand.

hexogonal matrix slurping back its clay seeds. greasing the walls so the shadows slip to one knee. masturbating the sonograms of a partial birth abortion. tongue stapled to the roof of your mouth. spade lizard skin with their eyes forming inside out.

Contempt accessorized. Ribboned mutilation robbed of its truth. The viscera hollowed to mask and mirror the real you. Blood caked constantly, but always missing the vein. You can see where the skin has gone. Nerves straightened and shivering, probing for a cavity to die in. A flower bed of abscesses blossoms where tonsil buds have been sewn. Were you slavish, you’d share my anorexia.

all fear. geode bullet wounds drained from the photo of an eye. vivisection fountain head. a stomach in the glass. tampered evidence was the first outsider art. pressing my ear to a pond of lye. cleansed of the voice. tangles the insides like pulling your hair. decrying pain- theft as reckless/selfish, but a nail won't suffice all itches. i'll forever prefer unknown companies to a survivor's cowardice.

Anatomy maps browned from air raids. Crossword rubble of concrete and cellos. secrete kerosene for the fatalists, rowing in place with scythes, close pinned and rooted to pond scum. Honey comb sponge bath. Entire hives graven on my chest. Harpooned to the wall by the crotch of a raging monk, who cuts out two jaws while in the slice. The snot lobbed above my head grows darker everyday. She reads “choose death” in all speak – a rapist’s waking dream. Breaths like dry ice lapping my neck. Chalk is blown until their dancing really is for me.

the hand prints on your neck look less like a stranglehold and more like they pressed wet concrete. the tire-tread of a stretcher that rolled from the back of a burning ambulance. Inverted crosses streak down the corner of your eye like the tears of a heretic whose seen heaven for the first time. I wanted to believe absence of prayer would somehow yield a more genuine stretch of “better days”. But whispers from a crawlspace won’t make it to your ears, be they curse or be they praise.

I am a shoebox rabbit bracing your shovel blows. i am daisy cutters to overrun where a watermark was meant to go. sweating blood thin and acrid as the smoke from a limo wreck. leaving layers of crimson soot an inch thick and wide reaching as martyrs splayed on iron racks. untying hairs knotted around your fists, trying not to break your fingers in the process. your father has been blessed by not living to be ashamed of you.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

survivors of the mass deleation

Gag reflex tightrope. No one had to tell them they were alive. Birth as masturbation, spreading from folded lungs. Only then do you shiver. Come back in the hope you'll spill for me. Cause though all our vomit is cold only one us is empty. Faith is brushing admission like shelved fruit flies. There's still the chance i love you, if only for the guts left behind. When i wake up in the holes it's like the worms of the earth have grown nails over their heads and were taught to digest in reverse. Finally, I wasn't waiting.

Wasps lathed in breast milk. A bubbling inner elbow. my brain is time lapse footage of a rotting deer head. zinc petals catapult beetles with rain. Dropping clumps of grass and dirt into her mouth. At last we’ve got a taste for flagstone from the gravel they brush off their knees. Muddy palm prints on her thighs, as if she’d been dragged from a grave. bruises crossed over each other like a biohazard sign. Bifurcated by wolves. Auto-erotic rope tricks. wept in the subconscious, creaky jointed sisters swab fly traps with iodine. now I feel the burn of sin on sin.

Chlorinated IVs. A nursery of harlequin babies. Tanked in disinfectants, leavings from a soap dish fizz in powdered veins. Manure architects oven baked for days in a sulfur field of dead geese. Open their mouths and all that comes is the lake-logged moan of drowned kitten litters. There is no one left to say that the floors won’t move for me. Jangling rat eyes like hurricane wind chimes, I suck acid from greasy puddles at my feet. Pour hot tar on my sleeping head.

The voices come from the blood, touching my wounds in the raw. Light boiled all my tears away before anyone living was born. Replaced every limb with glass still half sand, anatomy rattled by hardware and presence. A rib-spreading Rorschach test clue the right ones in and alone. Languishment would be an admission of your strength not being ill-placed. Children are tombs for youth... Live roaches removed from a woman’s tongue. She hatched the eggs under her lip in the hope that maggots would crawl out instead. Paraphilic infants crucified and eaten by pigs. Guignol pin-ups play "lambs" knowing they can’t tell me where the aloe goes. Their teeth are a ground the most delicate tread could splinter. You deserve to be bullied if their mother is dead.

I can hear sounds around the back of my brain similar to crunching on bricks of salt. Skinned dogs cry blood at the edge of my eye, held open with clockwork of skewers. Heated needles up to the periphery with band-aids on her fingers; clumsy extensions of bamboo yellowed nails. Pinioned and taped to a revolving door, a mother flicks her child’s trembling lips. Aluminum plunges pus pregnant cists before the box cutter. All scars will crawl along warped glass shavings, picked by hand from damp red carpets.

The chains are pulled through holes in their wrists, tow truck hooks dangling from their cuffs. Slug mold furrows like a field of pine neeldes, halting acid sentences. TV cables braided into their muscles, amphibian-throated and ectopic in the red chairs. Fiber glass grows in moon bleached attics, opening fight minds to their oblivious chacanery. Settling debts through the eerie cosmos of clarity, forced to endure the atmosphere's philmic incisions that make the skeleton known. We are the excrement of all the burrows. At the neck we idle like baby teeth, so strike your air-bravado outside the fictiondrome and see where your pure bloods will lie. Once the cage and rack factor into your empty malice, my eternal quiet will be welcome on your behalf.

Tunnel vision anesthesia encroaches on all the right worms. A Kabuki understudy in a white oxygen mask kneads cobwebs into a drop-net over my open chest so my entrails won't stain your holy ground again. Albino vultures fixed in potato bug coil gather crucifix twigs at the sight of a stomach acid brush fire. Boneless braided fingers echo limbless reverb. Souls are mud when held against a skin pulled off in one piece. Roman decadence with slaughterhouse efficiency. Rainwater has been pumped through the bridge of my nose, skull lost in a gore-violet riptide, exhausted by words being my sole brush with the meta-beyond.

Communication has failed my age. I know the pattern all to well. These ether contortions. Flat reactionary. No more no less. Scanners pock the grid with ballpoint lice. Clouds lactate amber, informing mosquitoes of their environmental autism. honey spiked with hallucinogens from a pig's head turn graves into tracheotomy tubes. There is not one pound of you that will elevate penance beyond piss-elegant punishment, so sheath your contusions then blame the seamstress behind your veil.

Something kills me about teenagers on power-strip tightropes... slaying each other with harpoons, telekinesis, and vague body art. The snow smokes pencil lead nightshade, warping a curve into flat-earthed sinisters. From stem to sternum the charnel dolls go up, their spirits revealed not in the smoke but the soot it cakes on blue concrete like oil-geyser wakes, stretching their voodoo intestines across a crowded surf, muting the steam rising from the prophetic ganglia as not to give the end times away. but how do you hide Armageddon? obscure it beneath creamed veils of flayed abdominal walls, sun-baked pink and confectioned with sea salt? Look down and whisper "No". Spare the recourse. They'll never change. Not even in the face of twin death's heads, fire cracker string nerves shortening with every dismissive stare.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

"... died accidently while masturbating."

Soap from the fat of a chemical burned crypto-fascist foaming over elbow like spit bubbles down your lips. how many ways can i talk of paper dolls before i am a twin to their brittleness? in that i concede to the admission of persona as collage. this was never meant to pander to your feigned indigence, so for now this is the last for now. these painted arrows will always be here.

Friday, April 8, 2011


mythology privatized. a limp mimic of delusion. wear out your Lazarus nerves. you're gonna wish this was terminal. the drool is a wave whose foam won't crest. furnace mirage. a round table that never ends. faces roll forward slow off a bridge of cuts. crooked escorts approvingly wincing. it was the right blood work, but the wrong skin build. Her slut identity is dying emaciation.

this is when i can hear eveything. throats entierly of air. clinching till i'm numb all over, like when backed against cuffed arms. intravenous ballpoint. a tourniquet mockery. internment camp physiques picked clean and lubed with wet clay. dragging their insides like the chains weighing down aquatic cadavers. syringe genitals dock eggshell eyes so more than yolk can well about the rim. fashionably existential. the only real questions are begged.

welded to his chair with urine and feces. she feeds him there as maggots cake the new seams. a forklift crucifixion. greasy collections of clock gear bleached with lighter fluid. fingers hook ant farm nostrils like pointy cranes. a spine weight dead lift emboldens your cage mass. daily torpor in extremis. dissection will recapture your physical peak.

blisters puffed with nitrous. a voodoo doll recall. a year in a trap, though unable to be pinned. canisters of steamed marrow crust the dirt like birthday candles creaming the small of your arch. my shame walks. calloused to a fire hose degree. thumb prints refined to a canker as copper as the ferrymen disc. purgatorial immunity in a condensed think that you'll never be sick again.

Monday, February 21, 2011


sleeping hungry. brain matter eczema. a head full of splatter analysis. guns cock every time you wink. dilated like a yawning hookworm birthing a ribcage. like ECT administered in shuffling increments. ply out my teeth so your mouth guard won't feel them grind. spinning severed heads knotted at their pulled tongues. i want to say "so?", but I've quietly cooled to the snares.

point-of-view vomitorium. individualism canceled out. conscious single and endless. mind tone spinning this heavenward. The carpe blanche of mourning. asphyxiate with chin to collar bone. bottom feeding sycophants enable the nausea that is loving yourself. the kindling bough trimmed to a swish. cooking oiled thumbs press ceramic cold sores. not to pile on, but to saw clean the factory bowels. zoo animals were taught of windpipe fragility. now relieved of throats, we can stop catharsis and own the sadism. wanting with the patience of 28 consecutive life sentences. mine-field tired and dead alone.

quick breaths like the fumes quenching the engine throats of the cyber-boned. these careful gasps stiffing luminescence before its bulk can be shed. they abandoned you and i envy their lack of a blood tie. you've seen the weakness you've nurtured, taking misdeserved pride in its discovery. what do you know of fragility beyond the rot of your breast? the same cancer that mashes her joints to pus. with all the behaviors that are at last betraying your mask, you'll damn this animal, too.

A stable of swelling heads filter a trough of bacteria. Exotic dancers with massive head wounds. gynecological puncture leaking hard. Auto-erotic immolation like raping your twin sister; only she will ever understand.

what's the use of shame? all is right without. rope burn like crescent moons hooked together and forming a dotted line that makes the sound of handsaws. a gushing corked tooth. hung thumbs won't lean in to gouge. membrane grating. a cadaver pouch through a sewage mane. kitchen utensil extensions. scalps swing from trees like traffic lights. when have centuries ever prevailed the wormhole of mere being?

all of her teeth had been replaced with leeches. fogging the incest of pulp novels, keyhole voyeurs mumble till the latex breathes. scrap nutrients. fed on back from trash bags suspended by hooks in the ceiling. rooted from the inside. sucking daughter licks the animals' yellowed skin. dog eared jawbones bear a catholic stress. floating and sinking at the same time. rape porn is the new elitism. we pine for the tang of guilt.