the moonlight found a pond
a possum's throat tickled
and toad croaks, liquor licked
Casper's corpse wrapped
in a wife-beater, stiff 'nd yellow
'nd ripped sunk into a spot
below a birthday party

long since I longed to pry
apart lips, peeks snuck of teeth
float in pink gums, you fold
into not quite a smile, in angles
of angels, ages since such a line
lips drew sunk into me,
little lips worms on hooks
for a fish gasp, flopping
my breath is forgotten
against the dock, pray
I populate your cutting board
sink sharply into me, I wanna hurt!
one will be skinned, by god, as sure
as wind blows, bugs 'nd worms
'nd dirt of dead things,
our pale bare feet sink into
the dirt of each other's corpses,
would it be worth it?

back into the fog
my skin draws dew drops from it
familiar fog like folds in blankets holds me
it's a grey tendrils into me, fog horns
a symphony, a taste I ached for with
an open mouth, deeper,
I've lost my north and south,
it surrounds me
knowing nothing but the fog
I am never safer

all of us in human ruins
ancient greece down our guts makes
puddles, shoes 'nd shoe-horned
rubble of our ankles, rubber soles
or none, sold our copper wires
conversation sours in shadows
the sun threw in, assume the shape
unhuman, a slouch unheard of
I've got a hunch I'm not up to code
up to speed, down to foundation
fumbled, fumigating gaping mouths
in gowns and in iron, entire blocks
of basements bottomed out
shout! your ceiling's pocked with holes
moth balls, your testes twist 'nd pop
'nd pull you into artifacts,
a mound unearthed,
a siren ruined

I want a never-ending waking up
a forever morning of coffee, eggs,
and cigarettes before lunch
a dusk that hangs in the air
like a long fog, coffee bottomless
a cigarette that wraps around the world
and returns behind me

commerce kiss commence
transactional traction dripping
with ripping off of awful senses
spaces between bones closing
without clothes, poverty perverted
into contorted triangle touching
body parts

a fish would squirm
through a pelicans neck
worms pecked make worms doubled
she turned Donatello yellow,
double-troubled, bass-colored her ass
made fish scale pale, scalped blubber
underwear under where table leg pegged
a cum puddle, gooseflesh neck, the pour,
the peck, the specks of sour squeezed
seeping my yellows out which dust flocks to
cock ruined in bloody sun-dried, tried
to fish-hook a rug, a vomit-mattressed actress

all the things I remember I'd
rather not, snot bubbles,
a soap, is it you? is it snot?
what drips from my mind to fingers,
it figures, the figure dances figure eights
floats in pink between brain's foam
of every memory, ivory ever-after ending
forever lasts an instance, insect sheds
an exo-skin, skeleton when my memory's bright
casket bent in bells tonight

does it end, or is it
an ending? never-ending
finish line, up and walked
as did Diogenes
hobbled knees, knees wobbled
wine barrels rolled into tomorrow
tip-toed towards your last
pace yourself, racing past
a placement last, slammed breaks
and broken bones, overdosed,
you're toast, underfed you're dead
give us this our dope, our doubt
our guts within without fault,
is it all the wind? we tumble into
false starts, a stutter scars the mouth,
a sigh, a shout

my love is a lump
shapeless it acnes my flesh
shaped more or less like quarks,
they jump, bug bites I might itch
canned I can package them,
used up and wet, run their courses
without legs, one day red
and the next the same as skin surrounding
like scabies they soak, there's stale
love in my laundry, I suffocate in time
naked the smell of our nudes miles apart
if only butcher knives could cut this fat
I don't care to carry

in pain in the past I couldn't
picture the present, may this present
soon pass too, past tense, rigid digits thaw
erecting the present every other minute
I can't picture the present, or painting the past
any longer, or shorter, or older, or older, and older

significant dust in this corner blew
all our holes opened as windows
without a bug screen the brooms
let the bugs in, swept quick in wind
wing'd tornadoes

moist makes the slugs
from far grass and gardens
into my mind worm their way
corner they create, wet,
occupying a flesh space
made from meat into thought
from vacant to not
filling folds, creep into crevice
become my brain, wet slime pods
plop and gush, suck and fiddle
twist, fondle and thrash
my puppet strings of nerves

our faces messed,
cluttered snot nostrils
fight for space with dirt
as we toil, poor soiled silhouette
must you muster smiles?
make tendons taught,
in an horrible grin,
scars and scratches in the oil
boiled complexion dripping
our faces holding so much
our pain is a T-shirt,
our poor faces messed
our smiles lies, our kisses noxious

she knew
her under blankets
my flesh and sinews under
supervision, duress
fissions folded closed
robbed once again of clothes,
holding her hand she knew
my face twisted, in front of her
my arm proving god a sadist
everything wasted as she watched
the clock mocking as it ticked me
through minutes of blood and agony
and her through years of much the same
she knew, a mother once again a mess
ruined, branded by my bloody hand
broken by lost hope, hoping it will end
that this chance taken was finally the last
she knew, went home, after it all
and threw so much away,
so very much away

is it a painting? close to one!
next to me sharing space
on a gallery wall it could be something
one might sell tickets to see it
hanging there bloody, biodegraded
made by my hand, molded by doctors
bonafide exquisite corpse
of rancid flesh and bone,
known to intrigue, I brand myself
an artist and admired is my craft
bask in abomination
or admonish me as I deserve

wretched wrenches
twisted switchblades
armalite rifles

sexless automatic suction cup
mouth suck sweet, bitter
slow first then quicker
as pits fill, piss piles
my pitfalls split nails
pick scalp, scratches
chipped skin and ooze red
ears beat to cauliflower
lumps absorbing profane
sharp knife noises reflect
in rain puddles, sung a siren
dim, locked up tongues smiles
wisely made frowned
crown in writhes and projectile
vomit a patron, sickly scarred
junkies the world over crawl home
hopeless and emerge into life
with hungover morning opened eyes
their sex stolen, snatched by poppy milk

leave the pink in the meat
the meat in the pink
toes in the water
hung off the wagon

five hour class,
wednesday 4:00 pm - 9:00 pm
friday 8:00 am - 1:00 pm
sunday 10:00 am - 3:00 am
fried bananas

I don't know how plumbing,
fridges, or microwaves work,
and I feel like I ought to
I feel like a zombie,
consuming and wandering
and falling part as I walk

grapefruit juice
6mg of klonopin
1m of xanax
wash down with kratom,
ativan, maeng da kratom
pills taped to my fire escape
this is a stupid poem
not even warranting
the energy it took for me
to write it, and I want a beer
and a cap of heroin,
I believe it would be the only way
that I would be happy

bow down
cave in
worm my way
rat me out
wiggle a little closer,
baby, belong to you
be short with me,
cold, bought,
sold broken

my existence will have
no consequence tonight
my wind won't blow a dead leaf aside
my breath wont heat the air
my heartbeat wont shake a microbe
I'll indent my bed all but dead

is this thing on?
there's blood on the toilet paper
bandages on my knee
should I kill myself tonight?
if I don't remember it,
I was never there
there is no proof,
and I'm reborn in the morning
again to suffer
it's early and I'm through
quite a bit of whiskey,
hoping it sinks into my
screaming kneecap
and shuts its fucking mouth
no work, no insurance, no work
a trap, trust me, I'm a caged,
injured animal

held my hands hinges abandoned
rats balding, an insistant sneezing
as their replacement pet frolics
and fondles you, within my means
subsistent they love without fault
forgive me, their buried brother
fades from memory, with his seizures
and suffering, another bill spent
on bottles that may well have cured him
but what was I handed in my state?
what was to be had but guilt?
I nurse as a scab does to break a strike
I try, life is too precious too yet
what a racket keeping something alive like this

pencils in grooves of
greased forks
slips away wood
to circumcise
sharpened point
lead lesions
in paper'd print
born of metal,
pencil, you are
a fine specimen

wanting more than the sun-spit
shadow across a basketball court
more than a bee's breeze,
there's this Brower park
and another slower one
to which I won't return
there's sun-soaked skin
that skin soaked sun
relegated to one
but with fond thought of the other
this bench I won't slip into
holds me more like a mother would
I won't drip through, held tighter too
by the sun herself, free from fear
of falling into black

pain
not crying
split tendons
and torn skin
muscles wrapped
around plastic
and wide tubes
pulling and providing
puss to the machine
torn skin like paper
scabies-covered foreskin
tubes shoved into
heart valves and openings
razor blades cutting
tattoo into stomach
fists and noses and guts
and cheeks and blood
that pools in porches
to wrap around the neck
of a heineken bottle

picture a man
a moth, a man again,
against a wall, again a moth