I looked
into the mirror
yesterday
and I couldn’t
see myself
so I
walked outside
to the rainy streets
and peered
in foggy puddles
but I couldn’t
see myself
so I
ran to my
friend’s room
and asked him
if I was there
he didn’t say anything
back to me
so I went to my room
and fell asleep
naked
and
free.
chewing through your
corn filled shit,
I broke my wrist
fisting my way out
of the annals of
your deceits
I broke my leg
running in concentric
circles, falling
over those thin, low-lying
trip-cables you see
in heist movies that
may or may not actually exist.
I broke my neck
sticking it out of
a fast moving train car.
I didn’t see that brick
barrier coming so fucking fast.
I broke my arm
weaving webs of lies
to escape the ones
you trapped me in
But I won’t break
my heart for you,
and I wont’ break
my balls for you.
Those I’ll save to break
myself, when I’m tired
of using them
for my own
selfish pleasures.
I saw her
laugh
and I loved her.
A stuffed
dove
with the mating
call on
repeat.
on repeat.
A diabolical
angel
playing a detuned
harp
in hell.
But I knew no better.
So what if
I stuck my
hand in a bowl
of colors
and came out with
the popcorn
jelly belly.
At least I got laid.
A long wave weaved through my hair
in the last dying breaths of day.
The tangerine sun tickled the horizon with rays
of intolerable fragility,
sinking with the light into the sea.
White birds danced with brown bulls
on black sinking sand to the tune
of Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine man,
but he didn’t play for me.
It was the last day of the world
and we all knew it was coming
but we didn’t know it’d be so soon
we didn’t know it’d be so god damned soon.
So I swam in the sea as the last light of the last day
descended into the void of darkened eternity and I was
washed away as the long waves weaved though my hair
as Dob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine man
played like a million symphonies convening
over the coastline
playing for all of us
daring us to dream
when there was nothing else to do,
as God slept in a hammock in Tangiers
sipping Pina Coladas.
where are you from?
what’s that accent?
why are you here?
why are you here?
why are you here?
how long?
have you been to
do you like bush?
do you like skynard?
how bout that exchange rate?
does it matter?
conversations flutter off an on with varying results but more often than not it all just boils down to can you get out of my way. because that’s all I really think sometimes, but I also wonder if my periods will look weird if I don’t de-italicize before concluding my sentences that aren’t queries or exclamations – and normally these are the types of thoughts that occupy the vast amount of my brain-time.
six bottles, ten cans, six empty personal size chip bags, two unwashed plates, dead digital camera, overturned burnt cd - I wonder what it is, telephone, corkscrew, nearly full pack of Marlboro medium cigarettes, empty day planner, fan, lamp, six pens, twenty six bottle caps, ray ban wayfarer sunglasses, toothpaste, three empty chocolate mint wrappers, a bottle of Heinz tomato catsup, empty hummus container, small foil square, laptop, two arms.
