CUTLASS
talk talk talk talk talk talk
7/28/13
on deck
the heavy bat first, this swing
in the word to say near me but pushing through me.
take the han, the word flood implies direction, gravity's wear.
knowing the dams hold their breath
above the border,
put bets here before the pitch,
pop-fly or walk or homer
note the corners that punished
---your father evidently
worth your mother once---
and the world owes us a caricature,
take me into the sun. unconsciously, I will explain.
7/26/13
haiku
pumping pumping pumping
fingers fingers
cervix
neck
cervix
thigh
pumping pumping
wings wings wings
fingers fingers
cervix
neck
cervix
thigh
pumping pumping
wings wings wings
7/19/13
Projections of Projections of Her
By: Genevieve N. Williams
Unease bumps
inside the body of a fly
that bumps
against an unknown wall
in an unknown
room. It’s Chinatown,
Chicago. I’ve
locked myself in
the McDonald’s
bathroom. A hand-dryer
hangs by two
cords: home
and someplace
else. A fight ends
as quickly as it
began, and I open the door
to a calm that
exists only after unspeakable things.
An artificial
waterfall tilts to the left, and blue
nights rise from
grease and gorgeous women.
I can’t say why,
but I want to be the man
in the bottom of
a dried-up well, who thinks
he can gain the
answer to everything
if only the sun
will burn perfect circles
onto his hands.
Or maybe I just want
to lick the
shadows from your walls,
your yellow-wallpapered
walls,
your imaginary
endings. Later,
I will throw
them up into the toilet.
Who am I
kidding? I will not take
on any more of
your little deaths,
your half-cocked
confessions. I will
not force the
handgun from your hands
or lie by the
couch to keep you
from
____________. An empty bottle
of McCormick’s
sits in your freezer door,
and I have
better things to do than imagine a you.
When I left, I
realized you never knew me
from the
projections of her. You never knew
that I never knew
you, either – not really.
We were forever
each other’s mothers –
or some bit of
history that never existed. Who am I
to say you were
wrong for calling me
a whore? I know
an artist
who says words
are meaningless,
that we assign
them power when
they needn’t be
anything but shapes on paper.
He’s a
pseudo-intellectual hipster cop-out,
but that doesn’t
matter. What matters is this:
A man stands on
top of a rock, pregnant
with a lobster
that is really his mother.
He rests his
hand on his uterus,
closes his eyes
to the wind.
I share a card
table with a woman
whose ears are
cow’s ears
and whose feet
are pig’s feet.
We’re in the
middle of a gravel road.
She smiles a
knowing smile.
A foo dog
charges through
my apartment
door, morphs
into an aging monk,
and slouches
against the
kitchen counter.
He asks for a
glass of water.
My father is
there. In my waking
state, a black
shadow swooshes
from the alcove
of 20s Showgirl.
We have all seen
it/him/her
and we’re not
saying anything
to anybody else
about it.
The rabbits are
eating our peas.
Nothing will
remain as it was before.
It’s possible to
pass on traumas
to our children,
DNA changed
forever by
epigenetic expressions.
It’s also
possible to pass on positive
shifts. I like
to imagine myself
happy, though my
parents
lived through
unspeakable things.
I dream myself
into wells of absurdity
and wallow in
shallow waters.
A falcon tips
into the gloved hand
of a little
girl, and a fly dies
on my headboard.
She has
the weightless body
of a barn swallow.
7/16/13
but the meat is too aged
you open me up with tongue and knife
pulling out my dreambeats
my prime pieces
my life drumming doldroms
teasing me they say honey feels
sticky and tight but it won’t hurt
I taste like rain
and sugarcubes on your fingers
you say sugar feels
nous ne sommes pas un pour l'autre
you squeeze my flesh tight
flail around light me up melt me down
everyone takes their favorite part
a carcass in the wild loses its form
under a supermoon bones bleach
je ne sais pas qui je suis
pulling out my dreambeats
my prime pieces
my life drumming doldroms
teasing me they say honey feels
sticky and tight but it won’t hurt
I taste like rain
and sugarcubes on your fingers
you say sugar feels
nous ne sommes pas un pour l'autre
you squeeze my flesh tight
flail around light me up melt me down
everyone takes their favorite part
a carcass in the wild loses its form
under a supermoon bones bleach
je ne sais pas qui je suis
7/15/13
aerth
I missed the super moon
I'm a dead overlord
Maybe
I'll watch you take
three sips of wine
on a loop
Biking home I smelled lily of the valley semen gasoline
I say things while biking
je ne sais pas
muguet de bois Semen
Gasoline
That is
My glass
Cunt heart
Dead zone
Are you bleeding or laughing
Janis
whispers way too quietly
People keep
Dying7/8/13
cut here for 92
come and have a drink with me
sit down and talk a while
the dignity of this office must be preserved
time spent ousted
uncomfortable but calm
spinning rain
cycling around the park
like an old puerto rican man
on a fastback
drinking rumchata
eating fried meat
and drenched in a
glow not unlike vaseline
took a shower today
trimmed my beard
there wasn't weed in there this time
but not for lack of trying
halle berry
beyonce knowles
and the thunder rolls
sit down and talk a while
the dignity of this office must be preserved
time spent ousted
uncomfortable but calm
spinning rain
cycling around the park
like an old puerto rican man
on a fastback
drinking rumchata
eating fried meat
and drenched in a
glow not unlike vaseline
took a shower today
trimmed my beard
there wasn't weed in there this time
but not for lack of trying
halle berry
beyonce knowles
and the thunder rolls
7/3/13
still haven't figured out what cure song that is
it's 1991
i'm 1991
i'm listening to 1991
i'm fairly sure i became self aware in 1991
other things that happened:
broke an arm
developed an addiction to earl grey
hot,
i don't like honey in my tea though
and i don't like anything in my tea
or any sort of palette altering
bullshit, because it's hard enough as it is
to try and mask something so intrinsically
perfect or complex or entirely simple or
all together fucked up
i stand behind the notion that you rarely ever need more than four on any particular floor
but you need four
in 1991 we only needed four
now we only need four
i count in four HOWEVER i like to count by fives
or tens, my older brother sees sevens everywhere
glad i didn't get that gene
seven sucks
i'm 1991
i'm listening to 1991
i'm fairly sure i became self aware in 1991
other things that happened:
broke an arm
developed an addiction to earl grey
hot,
i don't like honey in my tea though
and i don't like anything in my tea
or any sort of palette altering
bullshit, because it's hard enough as it is
to try and mask something so intrinsically
perfect or complex or entirely simple or
all together fucked up
i stand behind the notion that you rarely ever need more than four on any particular floor
but you need four
in 1991 we only needed four
now we only need four
i count in four HOWEVER i like to count by fives
or tens, my older brother sees sevens everywhere
glad i didn't get that gene
seven sucks
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