I mean it
this will be clear, no poetry or sparkles
no birthday candles on the cake
there are
a few ways to serve truth and
I am not familiar with any of them;
I am glad you don't hide in the bathroom to eat your lunch anymore
I am glad when you found love you pushed it away because it wanted more
than you ever had in your organs
I am glad you fight the diseases you've invented
I am glad that over the phone angels drop out of your mouth
and fight the monsters in my stomach
there is such a thing as good violence
no one has won yet
but
the fight is
pure

With my hands on the back of your neck
I see the crackling raising erecting
Of your swan skin
My thoughts are gasping for breath
       Going upwards in the
            Filling shame
War and city battles, apartment bullets
Motel room fiascos, jigsaw pounding passion

With my body cutting you down the center like a diamond
I’m breaking you into formlessness
Jagged like clean glass
I’ll pray to your white scars
              I’ll reinvent myself
Come out of the still lake
             Cleanse myself in black oil
Lips like razor blades, teeth like wet wings
       Innards on the pillow case, on the
Boring walls, on the idols

With your hands around my neck, your fingers in my mouth
Cheating life out of life
Taking it out on one another
                    Bruised peaches bleeding on the ****** scene
Dead red balloons left over, molding cake
Boot marks on the white rug
I want you puritanical, *****
We’re finished
We’re glowing
Lifted up waiting
for the floor.

Tamed not
I cannot believe in this beating so much
Let rot
We need to calculate this, we’re *******

You Lady Laz-
No, you my Plath
With your heart in reverse
Your hand on mine
On the relation gears
Your lover and his shadow’s near

You cruel shrew
You insatiable cage of bones
******* like a goddess at daybreak
I do love you.

This, my confessional
This, my pornographic revival
Eat me
**** the air out of my
Thin second coming
**** the miracle marrow
Of my bones, make a soup
Say a spell, yell, melt.

A mouth like a witch
Hands for my itch
Bit chiseled by bit
Us, lower in an atmosphere
Hidden from the house on the hill
Hands full of placebo-***-pills
Tiny wrists shaking in fear

Tamed not
The muddied housewife
The war plot
The trapped door trigger shot

God is love
Love is biochemical
Love is the bathroom stall

Holes everywhere
In the walls
In everyone
In the suspension
I cannot believe
In at all

If it’s true that I’m stuck with my hands
Even after I’ve dumped my sadness down the drain
Then I’ll hold on to it.

If it’s true that when I kissed you I cut your lip
And tried to **** you dry
Then I wish you hadn’t stopped me.

Memories stain and it might be true that I’ve been six months clean. Give and take a few.

The mind is its own place and you left ****** finger-paintings on the walls.

There’s an old folks tale told by blind witches
And if it’s true, the myth, it goes like this:
“There once was a boy who fell in love with a plastic doll. She would stare at him and he never felt seen. So he injected that neon fluid inside his veins so she would notice him. he glowed brilliantly like a motel sign, like a phosphorous mannequin.
All for nothing”

I had replaced the blood I ****** out
With mine
Well whoever put that blood in me, in there,
That blood I put in you

If I did dump my sadness it would go to the river
In the big fish tales, in the sirens, in the spoiling
River bed

And after rolling off of you, stiffened by some ***** of pleasure
                 It’s the only time you feel real
I would go to the sink, dip my head under
The rushing water
Fill myself up on it
Feel it fill my stomach and my eyes

What have I fallen for?
What have I taken in?
People have survived on sadness and emptiness
                                   on stories and truth
                                            forever

    Who am I to refuse that?

The city and the buildings
determine
being in love.
Drag her by the hair,
cut flowers in the desert

Without books about love
you wouldn't know how to do it
or make it, or feel it
The funny
Sad-funny thing is
Poets only pretend to be in love.

I puke love blood
ha
ha
on the off-white rug
I carve your face only in mirrors

I set dolls of
you on fire
watch the pink dust
of your lips make
patterns of impossible density

You have to be well-versed in
insanity
to know you're insane.

Drinking vials of your
pitch black
I turn it red to decorate
my squirming

I've read the rules
I know how to be in love
I’ve seen the healthy city
The building of love.

Big Blue empires of love,
A king and a half to every throne.

Some of them full of
bones like the old day
(Who's gonna sort you out?)

Strand up straight
as to not fall over
every time I see an eye
that could match your left one

I shrink in my shirt
and climb out the
head hole
and look for my brain in
broken jars
wadding around in anyone's soul.

The tale of common things,
my savage tooth on your rich arm
Whoever showed us the methods of in love
(you taste like cracked glass
to coat my stomach)

Whoever showed us the methods
of in love
like accidental ****.

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
and a naked flag

And the straight lines, sticking up
Soul-sick too...
Read it in the windows
and hanging signs
"You Are To Be In Love"

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
Smooth flat
an almost naked flag

and
the lizard-landscape
of you
here
in the
flat
anti-city
lands
here
we
keep quiet
on sins

(crawl into my mouth, the sun
isn't out anymore)

Big blue queens
are out
reigning around me

and you don't think I'm lonely
(?)

You were born better than me for now
More prepared, your skin smoother, even,
Your black boots that look like
They’ve been licked by junkies
Your oil-eyes are able to divide the images
T.V. orange and a tangerine
One is not the other
When I will seep inside the hole in you head
I’ll pick and pull to get you
Really get you
Before your full mouth moves
I’ll nod and tell you
Quiet quiet, I know I know
I am an idiot, I run scared
I hide in cars, I cry at celebrity gossip
The red carpet is the ****** scene
Your tongue rolls the same way
Unrolls, let’s the stars fall out
Then rolls, let’s me disappear inside
I hate myself
I reach for better thing than the sky
I grab your hand in mine and I reach for
Toy monsters
For romances written by wine and ****-buddies
For meaningless problems
For music carved in plastic
I let you unguide me, undo the zipper, unbreak my glasses, the ones that are tiny mirrors
But then you speak
And it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen
So
I make surgeries on myself like a night-doctor
I build a tree house in a pear tree that you can’t see

Yes, that’s me buried up to my head in your yard
Yes, that’s me telling strangers I am dying of sadness and lack of substance
Yes, that’s me trying to fit in your head
Yes, this is me setting myself on fire wearing nothing but your black boots
I win.
Keep ignoring me
I write better poetry (and we all know I hate poetry)

La. La. La. La.

The cursed and fated prince had prophesies, I’ve got soap operas
I’ve got night and nights of blank, blank, ****
I’ve got a freezer-burnt heart
And pictures of you drinking neon drinks
I’ve got the dichotomy and pungent mixture of art and ****, of God found in the gutter
You’re drinking anti-freeze aren’t you?
That would mean so much if you were
Keep ignoring me
I’ll send you my hands when you’re done with them
They won’t work
               But you can touch yourself with them
     They will be gray
Paint them red
A red that can’t wash off.