stranger seconds of solitude, don’t look at me, i cross, i’m still, i kneel forge your secrets and forget your testimonies, a sucker for sins i am you said i’ll carry you, i say come into me a redemptive chorus slides anemically, you procrastinate seize me virgin again measure the strokes you blessed the surface with lost in control, uncontrollable lust, the end ticks inside of her, she wants jesus
one that cooks and looks good and smells like she hasn’t just been cooking, a harlot who’s a virgin, one who’s demanding but subservient, one who is motionless and doesn’t talk, an emotional storm who calms herself down, a spoon in a kitchen, a still in a bedroom, a stiletto heel in bed, a flower on the outside, a nail in the coffin on the inside, i speak in flames to a firefighter.
I’m getting there over you. should I step on you first? your filthy body is growling as you walk motionless towards your bride, take her hand and say your requiem vows. we expand away from each other like galaxies you walk away as I plant seeds of us inside we killed something before its birth.
heavy strand of smoke, freedom rising beneath the ceiling, I wander with you and I know nothing of the cares of the world. you do not admonish me, or point towards my destination, but leave me floating, spacious, fleeing the abrupt which you did not cause; the savor you leave me with has sickened oh so many, but many has cured of loneliness, nervousness. the light at the end of the tunnel is where your ash lights up. burn to ash what has once caused pain,
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman you walk in the supermarket with your long-sleeved dress as if walking down the isle, I see you changing your pace, do you know I have longed? no groceries and no grocery boys in sight, you can do the shopping for me and I’ll do the shopping for you. scattered letters fill my mind instead of price tags, I’ll leave you, master, toy with them; fruit and vegetables are dying...
I knew there was something there because we were at each other’s throats. Now we’re adult appliances dragging words out of each other’s mouths. And nothing comes out. Maybe just grief. We have grief and spices on the menu today. How would you like to serve it, please? The spices will do, thank you. Save the grief for mourning times. I’ll also have a black hole with a teaspoon of honey, please. Yes, coming right up. Sugar? Anything that poisons or asphyxiates, please, yes.
In a sold-out show, I stand nude in the shop window, Tabula rasa, in line, awaiting to be told what to put on to sell, Like convicts waiting execution, mannequins they have turned us into. Semi creatures greeting each other with smiles and venomous corporate hand shakes, Mechanization is death imitation is death repeat after me repetition is death. I’ve gone to the depths of myself and found I am cut in half, sliced in one thousand bits of flesh and mourning...