Thursday, February 21, 2008

Purchase Value

Such a world that
pits a man's soul against
Pier One Imports. I don't
want home deco. I
don't want style. I don't
want useless
shit. I want useless
time. Oodles and oodles of
pointless reverie. I want
serene strings of necrotic
musings tangled throughout
my head. I want to stretch
strips of thought on nonlinear
trajectories like drunk laundry
dangling in a stoned wind. I
want warm solitude and warm
tacos and a warm tequila belly.
I want to moon about
beautiful landscapes with hugs
of sunlight kissing my neck and
arms. I want lonely nothingness,
soft rainfall, and thick nights
dappled with endless stars. I want
time--not stuff. Too bad this
world sells time for stuff or
else I'd be rich.

Devotion

Your fingernails became
lies the moment they
collected his flesh in your
passionate clawing. Your pupils
devoured the whole of your
eye when your truth
expanded to tell me of a
dream reality. Your ear drums
ruptured and suffocated the
sound of my voice as I
plead a hopeless love. Your
nostrils burnt from the acrid
stench of our twice-polluted
bed. Your tongue lacerated my
mouth and hung me like a
baby fish. Your life became
mine, for a moment flourished,
and then--
we both died.

Gesundheit

I feel my life unfolding
like a dirty tissue and
for the first time
I'm happy that I
sneezed.

ThanatEros

A limping wolf wanders aimlessly
through a lengthy gorge that sits
atop the world. Sunlight streaks the
craggy rocks to his left. Pours of
moonlight caress the polished stones
to his right. Walking tires him and troubles
his injured leg, but a secret restlessness
pulls him towards the distant horizon. He
howls helplessly at the cold, quiet stars—
never realizing that he's merely crying
upon dead light.

Stamp of Approval

Writing is the diary of life,
so how do I expect
to write
when I sit indoors all
day every day. This isn't
life. It's fear. A poet
in fear is an absurd
thing. It's like calling
chronic masturbation a
healthy sex life.
Perhaps, my poems
are a chronicle of
a slow suicide--a folding
inside. I'm a letter trying to
become an envelope (why?).
Getting licked is better
than getting
read.