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| pic by briscoe park :0 |
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| its bosch u dunce |
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| okay ur not a dunce for not knowing pebbles but one day u will be |
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| and ur only a dunce for not knowing kenneth anger if ur gay and annoying but they do mention him in the simpsons so |
hair in the teeth in the dog that bit me
is there any piece
i forgot about? of me.
of the sugar content.
color changing junk spoons.
arctic circle milk bowl.
some cliche
from some
from some
from some
from some
from some
movie i did forget about.
alright, have forgotten the name of.
i’ve come down from that acid trip of true connection;
name to thing.
instead, it’s the other acid feeling, the cold,
geometric, dirty one, the cold and dirty light that clings.
everything is slick with a fine
layer of pig fat
from the bacon
i ate for breakfast:
thin, slimy, gone
bad. this: is nothing nothing noting noted.
i’m running so quickly! i’m gliding out of here so fast!
i’m rounding the bases and…
shh (back home, torturing the spiders, i’m setting the spiders on fire,)
yeah, they’re all running all over the place as their legs catch and curl,
and leave them. twitch trembling against
a cold cold can
in the earth,
in the heart,
of the depth of the darkness,
of the soft of the death of the grateful,
of the chew of the champ,
of the bitter incorrectness:
this hideous horrible need for something.
for anything! i’m
w r i n g i n g
this dry!
squeezing that place
where knowledge breaks down
language becomes recycled junk
not the most worthy but the best shaped,
the hook-i-est.
WHICH is something cruel isn’t it IS something cruel is it SOMETHING cruel is something CRUEL?which? the fact that things that the body loves desires needs so separate from what beauty and joy are, ISN'T that odd? isn't THAT odd? isn't that ODD? so sneeringly obvious.
cold light dirty pig fat recycled phrase.
into the recycling already, and there's not much left
for me in the way of wisdom
tooth shopping.
as in, shopping for the tin-tasting tiny
little piece of real estate
caught in the back molars of a druuuuunk
bitch facedown.
that image that grew up with the first woman
shh (a dog could tell me a whole lot of things
like a city made of ice, sitting at the dirty north,
the ice all slicked with cigarette ash.)
that's what's in my teeth.
stupid ugly bitch.
doghair at the funeral parlor,
allergy white hands too,
tight face, too
stretched, hair too frail
to flake, too hard and calcified.
there’s an apartment in the city in my teeth.
everything there is the same color:
my teeth. it gets on me when i sit.
it's unclear how far i will extend into the apartment.
it’s unclear how exactly
i'm supposed to stop living this kind of life.
or take a step outside
of my mouth, sure, but of the word more,
of the cereal box literature,
which is ALL i really want.
is all I really want
all i REALLY want?
i really WANT
REALLY WANT.
the cereal box:
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