wedding day
picture Tristan Tzara
reading horoscopes
scene
we all seek out horror shows
to throw quarters into
bored with this
gorefest
metamorphic
CRISP lower case r
NA meeting
we stopped going
we sit in bars
DOC in bathrooms
touching stars
meet Elohim
EMTs weren't fast enough
black
oblivion
slipping from skin like Prada
la la la la
pranayama
for the love God please stop
we did yesterday

what is that strange other end
of somehow?

Zeno's favorite number?

I've been dissolving slowly
this whole time.
I dont know quite how long
that is.

Fleeting glimpses of gilded good
amidst **** loads of, well...

This isn't a call for help.
This is sincere.
This is dismantling of style.
This is alive like the rest of it.

Every cigarette I smoke
is the last one I ever will.
Every syllable I ever wrote
is abominable and I love that.

To J. Toombs,
sovereign de la deluge:
we love you.

Remember the willows
and our many conversations
about the nature of doorways.

Catch me at the solstice
howling about the half and half
being frozen.

A labyrinth is a match flicked
into a pool of gas one will notice
only if one has ever before ignored fate

Say thank you.

There is so much
want in me
sometimes it's scary.

It becomes---
a hole I cannot fill.

Giving birth to
a whole other person
that I can not please.

Bound up in anxiety
then left outside myself
to freeze.

bodhisattva,
hotbox a square in the lobby
of every hotel at once.
la di ******* da.
"try to stop me" is written in
the auric field,
Lorca in front of the firing squad.
of course it's **** or be built better
by anybody else afterwards.
bet.
i cash checks from the cancer-verse,
dead to whatever panders
to a standard first.
push me out this ******* window.
please.
i need to touch earth urgently.
I need to simplify all of this
balled fist twist and turn ****
burning around me.
don't listen to me.
i'm howling at the moon in my memory.
i'm not new to the entropy.

you know this though.
you know this.

and if i must rip rotten fangs
from the gaping mouth of the day
i will do it in the night hours
where every whisper is a war cry
alone and aflame with regret
the regret of never having the strength
to crack my ribs and carve the names
of every single one of these ghosts
onto my beating heart
and show them smiling like a child
while their's beat too

they dance in my head to the sound of blackened canines
hitting the floor at my feet

at least they are dancing