1028

’Twas my one Glory—
Let it be
Remembered
I was owned of Thee—

My brain is a factory,
producing every toxic part of me.
******* until my hand gets lazy,
fantasizing about Lexi Belle
and being Martin Scorsese.

My blood is a vacuum,
alone in a crowded room;
my white blood cells like to
travel to my *****,
so I can someday infect
designer uterine walls.

Locked and loaded,
my heart exploded.
The tissue and issues
attracted crocodiles
that swam from the mall,
for miles and miles.

Store-bought baby, my body isn't ready,
to be stripped down to the bone,
and sold to teenage radios,
that'll broadcast my American moans.

Caucasian nightmare:
my skin is not fair.
Peel enough off with chemicals,
until I decide there's no more,
and hide the layers in bathroom stalls,
located in the bleach of Baltimore.

you see they say i’m a spy

but i say i am a writer

i really hate these people in here

you see they a rev nutty as a fruitcake

and they have no brains

but they are poor

they just think they are giving me what i want

you see, as i write these thoughts down

they say to fucken me

that i am a spy who is trying to bring the universe to earth, yes i am

and this lady, needs to leave me, cause she is spoiling the aura

of what i am doing here

there is nothing fucken wrong with what i am doing

but i don’t want to squabble with them, or get in cat fights

cause these people are dangerous if you run them up the wrong way

ya see, everyone wants to come here to have

a bit of peace and quiet,

but there versions of peace and quiet is queer, dudes

this lady claims people are poisoning her

she is a real CRAZY lady

and needs to be locked up for 2000 years or something

ya see only little babies do what she does

and i can’t understand why she is nice one minute

and suddenly turns nasty, dudes

yeah dudes, she has these crazy delusions that

the world is out to get her

and i am trying to bring her to outer space, to let her sing

but in hindsight it appears, she doesn’t want to sing

i don’t believe she is getting married

who would marry an ugly woman like her, anyway

she’s an old fucken hag, one minute she’s nice

and the next minute she’s nasty

also she has people to protect her if she tried to **** herself

ya see she’s nice but she can turn nasty

and is she just pretending to get married

to try and fool people,

so i want cronus to get into her mind,

but she hates mind games

and she is nutty as a fruitcake

and i hope she falls into the river with the old memories of the loch ness monster

can emerge in lake burley griffin

saying, if this woman is forced to **** herself, let’s keep her alive

I watch the blade pierce my skin, yet I feel nothing

Pearls of blood gather in the seams of the wound

An errant thumb smears across the coppery beads of life

Staining the subtle, spidered paths of my palms

I lack the courage to push deeper

I try not to curse the steel as I feel my hand shaking

A crooked "T" forms out of the scar tissue

An odd accompaniment to the fading india ink smiley face I so proudly engraved at 12

The angry pink flesh of my grief cries out for recognition

With a pasty blue grin, the naivety of my youth only mocks this unspeakable pain

Tears fall quietly down my face as I prepare for another wave of pretending...

Another wave of forgetting
   Of regretting...
      Of blood letting.

that  amaze and delight,

the

abundance of colour,

plants, perfume of history.

it is the sounds among us, the

peering into the poem. it

is the gathering streams

that swell and please.

home grown veg,

then pause to watch

the tadpoles, insects, all

small creatures delight.

it is a large garden.

sbm.