Saturday, February 19, 2011

drunken dissection

my
palms
are
full
of
blood

my
skull
is
full
of
mud

my
heart
is
full
of
snot

my
gut
is
full
of
dust

my
marrow
is
full
of
midnight

my
soul
is
full
of
skid-marks

my
tongue
is
full
of
absence

locked out for good

in a drunken psychotic episode
i got locked out of my life
& never found the keys
since then i stare up into my own windows
too high to climb through...
sometimes i shout up at the panes
fuck you! fuck you!
the windows are silent
my life remains sealed off from me

Friday, February 18, 2011

the length of three cigarettes

thought it was a kiss but it was a yawn

thought it was a heart but it was a grenade

thought it was a magic carpet but it was multiple land mines

thought it was a womb but it was a full bathtub w/a plugged in toaster

thought it was forever but it was the length of three cigarettes

thought it was milky kindness but it was napalm

thought it was solid but it was a ghost w/in a ghost w/in a ghost

thought it was peace but it was a constant siren

thought it was fate but it was a stray branch of summer lightning

thought it was a nest but it was a grave beneath a grave

thought it was the sunrise but it was a three-day blood sucking hangover

thought it was a friend but it was a pack of wolves

thought it was god but it was a closet of fire

thought it was mercy but it was sabotage

thought it was poem but it was a delayed nervous breakdown
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.