Keep me in this place of vagueness,
cool dissonance passing between
my eyes and yours and deem it
love.
Keep me here, as I am at home here.
In the passing.
I am ethereal in my smoke-laden internal compass.
I dangle before you tools of your trade for
ecstasy and
decadence.
I swivel below the ribs,
all the easier to eat me with,
I faint at the sight of your kindness.
I will weep for your laughter and
water your shortcomings;
we will grow less as we
become more.
Follow me.
And I will lead you down the
garden path of
I just can't
help myself.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
I was busy placing detonators under the MIRROR FUN HOUSE,
pitching
piveting
images of
itself for and by
itself,
when I heard over the rusting intercom
the main fuses were being turned off for a
routine check up and I would be
again left, as every one is, every night,
in the dark and
all the better.
The bombs in my pockets reminded me they were
awake and impatient or otherwise
alive;
otherwise, their life,
like mine,
wouldn’t growing steadily
shorter.
The ferris wheel in the
distance without my glasses
a slowly rotating
flower of blinks;
I wished I could hear
the pistons
the generator
understand whatever is making that
Big Wheel turn
but instead I sliced at the end of
the plastic ends of my explosives
to make them a little more
homely and different and
mine.
I looked up into the
rectangle framing my face
while behind me a
rectangle framed the back of my
head framing the front of my
face framing the back of my
head framing the front of
me.
I ran my fingers through
the wires petting them
something pretty then
wished I could hang this
night above my kitchen sink,
just above my rubber plants,
as good luck for
the future,
the wishbone of my
gratitude.
Instead I pushed some
dirt with my fingertips
purposefully without reason
then let the
wire follow me from my back
pocket,
leading the way
for the end like
I would lead a be-speckled French bulldog,
if ever I would give in and
purchase such a friend.
I walked some distance
I don’t dare guess and
laid my body against a
tree,
I hope an Oak tree,
the roots
coddling my thighs and I
can see my breathe in the
darkness and I thought of
the spinning, blinking
stars.
I took the detonator from
my boot and before I
pressed the
don’t press
red button
I glanced over my shoulder
wondering why
I should make it,
before,
presto,
everything shattered,
every light seared the sky in a final
collision with it’s end sister
in the falling dark
and every piece of my
face and body leap
from the ground with it,
flying into a place
the darkness seemed
much brighter
from
here
and
I
was
happy
someone
had
left
the
light
on
for
me.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
I have this
cup.
This
cup—my body—
it sits at
the corner
of me
and
says
“I’m spilling.”
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:18 PM UTC
I am all bent out of shape but
all skin
is.
I like the noise others make
so later I can clap for our
audience not
watching.
My heart is a nudist with a
thing for
clothes.
I am without weekly
allowance.
All this change collects only
dirt, dust, drop offs and
cut hair,
I was collapsing, lungs
depleted I feel
raised
without having
grown.
I
am
spent.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC