Showing posts with label I will. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I will. Show all posts

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Stages of Mutilation (ad nauseam)


Never been so sick with self I could taste it in the back of my throat
most like oysters growing algae, and this me, I scream 
and she freezes like a dumb deer on the winding dark highway.
Blindly bounding, bound and blind. Why I do mind the interruption!
My way, the high road, widening and re-routing due to corrosion.
Adult servitude has made me more wild than civilized and I despise 
the empty chit-chat, predictions, philosophy of catastrophe and empty
arguments that produce nothing I would swallow, hollow-remember?
I have not made myself clear in years, the only deep lines be
on my face. And my watch is dying, I hear it on my chest at night. Laugh lines. Elephantitis of my wet ware smearing ink and I still think it might work
with some flammable liquid. That is what we do to keep warm.
Never be successful in a lifetime. Have you read any biographies lately? 
The good ones go
to better places, I think...and since I can no longer drink
myself there I swear I will 
I will
I will
I may....I mean to try to explain and this tiny truth laughs in my face,
which is why I should never stare deeply into any mirror
at those crows feet blue lies.
Shut up! I have said, over and under, through and thru synapses
shot in my head. They said; put that voice in a jar, take a walk, 
don't talk to anyone about your crazy ideas, they will die-
Dead. You're crazy ideas, You Are
not the first nor the last to go unlisted, name twisted, dumbed down
held hostage, manipulated, occupied, and easily entertained 
by self-deprecation in all its bold colorless forms. Muted.
You ugly. You can't. You ain't. Not gonna quit. Not worth
a spit, high and dry, my mouth tastes that salty green poison and 
I suck-
What would someone like me possibly do with dumb luck?
I already owe too much interest on borrowed intelligence, a smart curse,
and it hurts
but leaves no mark. SH. Self Harm and alarm bells, my squashed spirit yells, 
You win. I gag at my mocking grin, dripping bile down my chin
I can only hope to lose my inside voice. 



Painting by Yehuda Pen, Self Portrait Muse and with Death (1924) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tres (trace)

Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...