Sunday, April 10, 2011


my utensil tells me, “my stainless
body is blistering, feverish. thirsty for my afternoon tea.
sweet concoction of crystalline, white bubbled
steam, rising foam enchanting an instrumental soiree, of blues,
of jazz and trumpets and bass. sounded deep from the trombones, breathing,
gasping from the lungs of a drummer who rolls his own
cigarettes, and lets cymbals ricochet into a silhouette of lynching.
rusty nails rollerblade down the black corset of solitude, sapphire jail
time carved in the scratches on a gold pedant, watch as the sunset melts
into a wolverine eclipse of high tides against fanged blinds and lemon acid splash
conquered the hallucinations of a cracked spine. straight limb pulsing,
diet infusion fiending, bombshell and wood dust and clot scar
fermenting in a cylinder hurricane, unconscious but eyes wide animated marvel.
hiding under dried skin the frigid sting whispered and all the hairs on
my eardrums stood, saluted, and at ease with conveyor belt stitch patterns.
saved room for supper, when shivers abandoned galactic orbit
of palm readings and feng shui. a mirrored balance of stove fire and iced
pipes, infinity pool ripples and dandelion wind, canyon sand
and akuma’s revenge. doc, tell me where the fuck it all ends?
more is less, the rock life sure is a strained mess
is it finally alarm time, i hid my mutating self from
knitting, injecting, longing, losing, myself?”

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