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I heart l.a. |
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I've got what letters one would need to spell winter |
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Safe in the belly of a white paperpinch |
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I hurried folding |
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This is exactly the sort of mood that |
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I cannot watch movies in |
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Boys nerves all yelling "arm" into the blood brain barrier |
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Ganging up on now inside the big bone holding up my face... |
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My father was born in the 40's |
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They had just finished erecting the oakland apartment |
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I now live in... |
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Since then... |
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Two single mothers and a man who cut his face have lived there. |
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Day after day... |
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This is the day after desperate |
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My room has filled with |
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Day and night |
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And night and day |
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Since then... |
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My father has called twice and left a message |
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The electricity is on... |
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These are the least of my worries |
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The moles on my penis remind me of skulls |
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And all the doctors who would quickly |
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Cut them off and eat them |
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As they take down art in hotel hallways |
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Probably to the tune of plain old heart failure on a rollaway |
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They hurt in the dull |
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At the hinge to both eyes |
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The no place of an ache |
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Where you push and pull when trying to fall asleep |
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Soon things kick in severly at the nape |
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Of my patience |
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As the worm inside my spine contracts |
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I see me pouring cum out of |
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The corner of a dug up shoebox |
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Across the hope lump of an old pet |
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Onto a large bundle of grain |
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I think what's wrong with the world |
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Has to do with those who fell in love with new york |
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Or los angeles or paris and jerusalem |
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And me of course |
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Flagged in modern sneakers |
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And perfume of my morgue mouth meat adore... |
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If i could only travel back in time and kick my mother in the face after |
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A permanent |
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This would nothing |
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And feel better or worse |
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In the necessary softening of all my bones |
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There is more to life than manicured vaginas and a saline solution |
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The no place of an ache dangles |
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Body all around it. |
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I've got no new spelling of the word winter |
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For the me on the other end of this airplane. |
