|
| atrophy annie bends, to stoop,
to pick up a flower. for her hair the trees wave and
the stars, they should sparkle, but atrophy
reaches her every half-hour. the trees shook, their denizens free.
she faded into luxury. curls of ribbons will part her delight,
and she pulls and she steals through
the dawn. Fingering the wall at night, she
stumbles on her secrets. Thinking she
might feel too far, she wakes
through the window and sleeps on the lawn. atrophy annie, remembers her name, and
summons a fig leaf to cover her shame,
and she bends, and she stoops, and she
supports our troops. | | |
| Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes a witch of trouble in electric blue,
In her own mad mind shes in love with you.
With you.
Now what you gonna do?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes some kind of demon messing in the glue.
If you don't watch out it'll stick to you.
To you.
What kind of fool are you?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
On a boat in the middle of a raging sea,
She would make a scene for it all to be
Ignored.
And wouldnt you be bored?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Strange brew, strange brew, strange brew, strange brew.
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you. | | |
| your empty salad sandshake touched me.
with teary eyes and whispers of unhearable longings
{I stretch}
I tried to trample, tried to sample
three shades of regret.
salt shaker, moon breaker, I keep all my seams
intact and slightly stitchy, cold fingers growing itchy
with black reminders, fervor for failure, touched atrophy
tasted delight with lemon cream
boring out what lay between,
those sheets of paper plastic. Fat, and happy figures of
the cardboard cutout universe. Shadows on the wall
dance and flicker, ever-bicker, never touch the
morning liquor, never touch to see the fall, maybe they
should have it all, if only they could form the taste,
salivate in their disgrace, and walkabout with dusty
face. Empty-headed headaches, feeling like a pulse of
arbitrary and flavorless brain solutions. Saline dreams, tie
me up with rubber tubing. Stick a feather
into my arm, drain me of my sticky ichor. Two
to breathe and I'll take that lost chance. Touch absurd
and your fingers will stick, for a week or three.
(and) Tell me, would you bleed for me?
{I retch}
It's taken, soft lime taste-ing, mind
arrange and thought-erasing paint-y, please-y,
never-tease-me torturings of stitches
I have long outgrown. And long I played,
sticky-fingered, into your hands. Into your heart. Into your
arms. Push me away, please! I cannot take the luxury, your
company. The sidelong sighs and lost goodbyes.
Stretch marks whisper to my eyes, and I squint to my
past. I bite lips, my own this time, and savor
reason. Turtle doublets echo laughter, screaming that
the rhyme come after.
| | |
| to be what God made you, you have to let go of what you have made yourself. don't be a builder.
| | |
| empty endings,
twisted misbegivings.
| | |
|
Lifetime
