1. ATROCITY CONDUIT:
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.
2. BAYONET CESAREAN:
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.
3. THE CAT WITH NO FACE:
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.
4. CATHODE RAY DAISY CHAIN:
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.
5. CHLORINE LOCUST:
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.
6. CLITORAL GRENADE PIN:
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.
7. CODEINE APHASIA:
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.
9. FORESKIN WHITLOW:
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.
10. GARBAGE ISLAND TECTONIC SHIFT:
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 through...compare the mold to the craters in you ... where we always planned to be hanged.
12. THE INVALIDIST:
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.
13. KETAMINE AQUARIUM:
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.
14. LARVAE WALLS:
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.
15. LARVAL STAGE RAPIST:
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.
16. PETRIFIED CLOUDS (WITH APOLOGIES TO TED KACZYNSKI):
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.
17. PIKED CHERUB:
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.
18. PINE BARREN OSSUARY:
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.
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.
20. RAGDOLL CONCUBINE:
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.
22. SOLICIT ASSAULT:
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.
23. TIJUANA BIBLE OMNIBUS:
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.
24. TORSION HALITOSIS:
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.
25. TRACH-RING GHOSTWRITER:
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.
26. UTRECHTSE KROP:
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.
27. VENUS MOUND CROSS HAIRS:
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.
28. WATCHTOWER SYRINGE:
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.
29. WEAPONIZED ROHYPNOL::
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.
30. WOMAN IN REFRIGERATOR SYNDROME:
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.
31. ZERO HOUR GLASS HAND :
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.