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.
Primrose princess
in your infallible infatigable
mall meager fantasy song:
deliriously, eagerly and
freshly won with no more
tongue today than yesterday
stained and barking stung
climbing ladder rungs and
licking dark deepened
blood clotted skin rivets
speckled across sands of
vastly different sonnet sons
dripping with the scarlet
lungs singing cancer dances
dusted with lusted necromancers
in the twilight’s negligent sun.
I dreamt I had no body,
no limbs
just a head
inhumanly capable of bounding
freely along lawns of carpet
across wooden tables
through pastures of night drenched grass
fenced in by complexes of crumbling
terra cotta apartments
and dangling impossibly off of balconies from
string, like bait, begging
for the crossing pedestrians to bite
who look up in muffled horror
who shudder, retreat
and cower behind upturned
trench coat collars.
Twenty one more days to live they told me
in this strange state
of pseudo-existence
where nothing more was required of me
but to bound and be,
to love without a heart
full of life and with a feeling
like I’ve never felt before.
I dreamt I had no body,
no limbs
just a head.
I woke up crying
I wasn’t sure if I was happy to have everything again
or I was sad to be back to it all.
