I havent had a good shower
in a week.
or washed my ****-reeking
clothes in
three. the electricity
and gas are shut off.
there's no beer or *** but
I don't think the cats have noticed.
mid June and it's already starting
to push 90.
before long the water will evaporate
right out of your bathtub,
taking you and half the house
with it.
sleep is dreamless, just a quick cut-
to an unwakeful day.
all my time energy and money
spent working a job i dont
give two ***** about
(maybe 0.7 *****)
or helping others.
I haven't gotten a **** in months.
if this is the path to enlightenment
you can take nirvana
and shove it up your ***.

you
are the
quite whisper.
sad to say the
world too
rough
some go under
some never came up
when the current swells
to pull us down. the
black water meets stale
sky in one unbroken sheet.
the pain that rises and
swells in you also
swells in me
or so I'd like to
think. some band
if roving dogs could
rip me to shreds
but before
gulls feast on
my eyes I'd certainly
hope some
little verse
could make
it worth it
in the end.
the sea th
en returns
no thing.

the soil is baked hard and crusty,
I dig in my toes but barely manage
to scrape it.  a dry wind
like hot breath scours,
soaking into every fingerprint formed
in the landscape.
I stand on a rock face some hundred feet
above it, the arrid plain featureless
allowing the eye to see endlessly
til the edge of the planet rolls off
into the horizon. the sky
like a sentinal with stone clouds
moving quickly, pounding their way
along the glittering dome.
for a moment one obscures the
sun and I am bathed in
shadows, the edges of which
like torn paper against
a bare lightbulb: blinding.
I scream and my voice is absorbed
by the dirt and rocks and smal
tufts of wild grass which crinkle
dry: the sound is hollow and
seems to burst from somewhere
that isnt me.
here ambition is meaningless
and humanity is dead ear
and I am nothing and
so are you.

you park with the windows
rolled down for a kiss
that doesn't come,
and now you're pressed up
against him with his chin on your shoulder.
painfully hart crane knew
what day it was,
but I'll never look at the
calendar.
its better,
the gulls would just get sick
the old folks in power scooters
cant handle much more than
a jigsaw.
if I were to choose how
I die I'd want it to
be hungover and by the
hands of a silverback.

123456789
68747889392020292
92829299988888888
because that's how numbers
work.
I was back at my job
standing in the toy section
for little girls
there was this label
for a disney princess toy
it was labelled
"SPECIAL ***.
DP
$19.99"
and I had this rock hard
******* thinking about
*******.
***** that triple.
every hole oh my god.
right they're between the legos
and hello kitty.
there was a splash and I
awoke. the nurse was standing
in front of me with
a
bucket in her hand.
the mask was off now and
I could see that her head was
completely shaved balled.
both eyes were replaced with
cybernetic lenses, looking
like unblinking insect eyes.
I couldn't feel my arms or
legs.
-that's because we took them
she said
took them?
-yeah. cut them off. they're hanging over there. she pointed
and there they were speared
on meat hooks dangling
from the ceiling like dried
flowers.
I looked at my new stumps
they were patched at the
ends with stemcell bandages
looking like a cross between hamburger
and peat moss.
why would you do that?
-it was part of the procedure. she
didn't think you needed them
anymore
she?
-dalia.
my girlfriend.
oh my god im going to ******* puke
-not possible. we took out your stomach too.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
-a girl's gotta work aye?
she flipped the bucket over
and sat down in it, crossing her legs high. she smiled, without
showing teeth. a big smile like she
was barely containing a laugh.
combined with the lenses
the effect was that of
a praying mantis preparing
to take down a sparrow.

for her birthday I bought her
a lawn chair
for my bitthday
she chucked my guitar
out the window.
she bought ad space
on a dating site
proclaiming I'm a cheating
*****,
so I poured hot coffee
on my head and walked into
traffic high on quaaludes.
I woke up strapped to a gurney
with this **** nurse in
a
rubber nixon mask
******* spilling out
of her candy stripe
she was installing this
metal cockroach in the
side of my skull.
my first thought was a little Steve Ignorant in the middle of a conceptual framework for the same time to get the best of all the time to go to a few days I have a lot of
my second thought was 'that's
not proper medical attire'
my third thought was
OH MY GOD I'M NOT SURE IF I CAN BE ONLY ONE MILLION YEARS AGO AND IN THE GREATEST BAND OF ALL THE GREATEST HITS FROM YOUR PRIVILEGE TO WORSHIP WHAT IS SHE DOING TO MY HEAD
but it came out like a stifled
squeak.
then I passed back out for a few. I dreamt
someone bent over me, 69 style,
******* on me
while simultaneously *******
all over my chin neck and chest
it smelled like the jungles
of a dead planet
I couldnt move anything but my head.
and in the corner there was a fat man eating raw chicken and staring

write for myself, for the spaces
between my atoms,
for the spaces between a caress
for the absence and longing,
when a woman, as women are prone,
eventually vaporize and leave you with
a few articles of forgotten clothing and
other detritus, almost purposefully,
so that you find it Weeks or months later.
I write for the days with no beer,
for the nights with too much beer.
I write when there isn't enough to eat
as if i've can satiate themselves with charred
thoughts
or aching soul soup.
I write for you, too, as I write for myself,
which ever you may see it,
whichever eye may brush these rushed errors

(green, brown, blue)
it is yours as it is mine,
just as you are me
entwined in this plane, in this planet together,
like lovers in the sheets
momentarily inoperable.