martedì 27 novembre 2012

doe on a funeral pyre.

wasn't it lovely? wasn't it a propos?
the doe on the wood pyre, waiting for salvation.
the spent placenta on the ground, the freshly depleted sac and the swarm of insects, thick.
the entrails in the corn field, plowed straight to the bone.
littered with the fragmented remains of a late harvest.
the death of the wild and the innocent.

the death of you and me.

funeral pyre for a wild wild doe.

she died giving birth and her baby is nowhere in sight.

the crimson of the naked corn cob flesh. flecks of gold, its last hurrah. the last hard useless plastic seeds.
nearly all the corn grown in the US is inedible as-is. is this that useless corn?

what the hell kind of place is this anyway?

domenica 25 novembre 2012

desperate single lady.

oh they say he's just a pansy 
just an anti-social flake
what's a girl like me got business with a guy like him?
what's a girl like me think she's gonna get?
you know he's got a dick so he is one, that ain't NEVER gonna change

-ah, you were hoping he'd just fall in love, just be the one. just die in your arms tonite?

-it could happen, sister. i've seen its start. there's such a spark...

-yes, but he's scared. and you've got a nasty habit of being an anti-antidote when men are scared of love.

-me- 'oh, do i? dammit sissy, why you always gotta go straight for the weak? kick 'em when they're down, that's your motto, ain't it now? i bet ya think i'm no motha' fuckin' shakespeare neither, don't cha?

(ah, but it wasn't shakespeare who had a god damned thing on her.
it was only herself who held her back.
true happiness, true peace
lie right inside her small heart.

whole, just as it is today.)

cold sweat.

the cold in me
the sweating constant cold
perpetual cycle
the gleam
the shine
it's brought to light
my salty skin
it's cold and oh that wind just a blows
clippety clap snippety snap

i am in bed under too many damn covers
in too much damn clothes
but in my childhood bedroom
in my parent's house

i'm awake in the middle of the night
trying trying
my skin is just crying
but when i move the cold air on my skin
turns my clipped leg hairs to spines of danger death.

goosebumps and sweat
and its been like this all night

how's a lady to get sleep in this skin?
how am i and just how might you, sir...
what the fuck am i to do with this?

she shakes it in his face
flesh bulging between her fingers, sweat dripping between the boards in the floor.

her face is red
but they shake their heads and carry on
they know it's all a show.

sissy's at it again.


'sex changes everything'

but it turns it into everything else.
god i've been here before but not with you.
in the dark of the park you wander aimlessly away from me at a 45° angle
and i yell after you but i am yelling at jason
'why do you always do that!?'
and to the stars
'ì thought we were hanging out'
and i find a place behind a tree and i want to throw a rock at you
and make your head bleed.

i sit and watch the stars and contemplate getting up and running home
making you worry
and feel bad for being an asshole

but you come back
i hit you a few times
and we walk on in silence.

she walks without looking back until she gets home and realizes she's left him behind intentionally and feels both fueled and hurt by her own gross emotions, her own drama.

the tightness is back and it was first there in her chest
when she and the other man fucked
and stayed together
and killed themselves
and killed eachother.

i am not sad i am not sad i am not sad