If you had a more pretty name I would use it
You’d find it splattered all over in my blood your name in blood
You are fleshy like balloons like sex dolls they find in yellow celebrity cars
But I did do did do did do love you
I don’t care that your head is filled with green pool water
I don’t care that any of Donne’s poetry doesn’t speak of you
I mean any of it. The weird sisters, the witches have done me in.
I want to boil your chick-flicks, your cheap religion, your bad vampire stories
And take the needle to the jugular, filled from the cauldron
If I fed you some of you to you you would say
“I think I’m going to be sick”
I would want to unroll my finger and point it at your face
And scream with my inside-voice
“Ah-HAH!” That’s meaningful. With the casket
you are deep and beautifully empty
We need more of you, I will clone you and rename you a thousand and one times
I want to crawl through the wet streets like you
Unconcerned and perfectly meaningless
Perfectly meaningless
Goddamn, I am becoming, fitting to you and
I am crazy and
I want you to get this
So bad I feel bad, the lady-killer, the bloody unsexed puppeteer’s got nothing on you sugar; you are a plastic pie,
a blackberry one
Your name is always in pink bubble letters in my shrinking head
After I used the needle I will hide it in your bed
And when you bring shining boys from the night
And you don’t put on soothing fuck music
It will prick one of you
I hope you deflate and melt like a witch and scream and scare yourself
But all the magic will already be boring in my veins
And meanwhile I’ll be morphing in a back seat car
And under long trees shaking like unsettled cement in the yellow yellow low low street lights
Becoming that neon sign you want me to be but
You never told me what to be
Fuck this hurt, I’m getting cut with your miraculous hair, it feels like aluminum cans are slicing me in slow motion
I am a spiral like an orange peel
One time I saw one glued and it looked real but there was no fruit inside.
When I reached inside of you, not bleeding, you moaned and stiffened
I pulled out what you couldn’t reach with your fingers
If I told that story in all its details people would be grossed out
They would puke up each other’s hearts, be embarrassed of course and shove it back down
Some people just can’t hold their hearts
I felt like a doctor who cross-dresses as a trashy lover at night. What bloody man is that?
I come out breaking through the windshield without my monarch leper-wings
I come out with my head full of demonology and Cosmopolitan sex-tricks, babyblue thoughts
And knowledge about hunting
I am ten feet tall, my jaw gets squared
I don’t eat pussy and I sleep well at night.
I don’t trouble your patterns, my hair and eyes are bible-black
And we wake up to fair-weather
When you let me, I wear your skin and inside I have near death experiences
You come three times a night and
we own a color T.V.