1. |
dog tags
01:12
|
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|
i keep the time we spent
tattooed on my arm in the
shape of a
nutrition facts label, like you're healthy for me,
or like you're going to give me
an ancient headache,
primal and rhythmic and turning on a dime like
the way the wheels turned on a dime like
the time we spun out
into the dirt beside the highway
or the times we got high
and tossed the tv off the roof
and watched the ground ripple like
the dirt turn and turn and turn into
the cracking screen and the
surface of a pond that you dove into
as a kid to chase after
the frogs found in the chlorine
tab carriers at the side of your swimming pool
back on long island
the princess frogs kissing like
kapitalism and running and screaming
and beating their legs on their chests like
an ancient headache,
primal and rhythmic and
i am not an astronaut and i am not an astronaut and
i am not an astronaut but i will watch the
whole wide world within my head and
watch it beat its legs on its chest and
then collapse into itself
like a bottle of milk,
nutrition label lapsing into
itself.
|
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2. |
coffee machine
01:03
|
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|
the sunny side of the driveway
shouted at me like faces on the moon
like food stamps and
the western canon.
I am digging a grave with my left hand
and the dirt flung aside forms continents
of planets i will never travel to.
i am every whatever, less-shitty-ness and all.
history marches on, poignant and strong.
every red-haired red-eyed insomniac
clothing store worker will become
dionysian and spit their
coffee onto linoleum, will
touch themselves to
advertising for printer ink.
we'll become
lonely songs for lonely lovers
taped to the back of bedroom doors
so we can read them every time we
look up from between your thighs
and smile, face covered in the
plastic scent of sex and death and
the sunny side of the driveway will
shout indecencies at us
and remind us that we used to
play together like
kids on the sunny side of the driveway.
|
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3. |
ship in a heavy sea
01:00
|
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|
as a child i always
enjoyed hide and seek
more than any other game
because there was a hole
in my shower wall
that fit my body perfectly
evry curve
every straight line
like I was a maniquine
meant to display the latest fashions
but always fucking it up with the way I slouh
inward
like a skyscraper in a windstorm
and i am like the lazy way you touch your hair and
then cough. there's a zipper running down yr
spine like yrskin is a tight leather jacket and
there's a tiny horizon in every curve of yr body like
yr a sculpture of small worlds. i will spin you and spin you so that
they get some sun. it is raining nouns
and theres a third grade english class in a
third world country with borders shaped like
adonis that need their lexicon
back inside their tiny war-torn hearts.
you are the way a carnival feels before it's torn down and
moved.
|
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4. |
spaceship earth
01:06
|
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|
something powerful and ontogenetic
will slip out of the corner of
your smile and will
become impossible.
i want you to become
impossible
like an idea or like a
painting that
was drawn into being.
to be moved by a poem,
to become the spastic
beating of the
tribal drums
deep in the heart of darkness,
some primal, visceral fear,
to become the calling card of a
traveling business man,
alive in each streetlight passed,
slowly, artfully fucking his
wife behind the curtains of the american heartland.
i want you to become impossible like
the mouth of a bottle.
i will be the string of a duncan yoyo
i will slip into a circle of myself and
sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep
until i am impossible.
|
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5. |
3 pills
00:54
|
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|
there is a hollow cadence in the
beating of holiday lights against my window.
harmony exists between the silent, pained screams
of businessmen and artists and the
spinning wheels of autobuses and so
we drink and drink and drink and
then spill our tiny hearts into the
gas tanks of autobuses and
speed across gallilean borders.
we are constellated like
points on an angry cartesian plane
or like the veins on the back of my
hands, pulsing with my rising heart rate when
we fuck or when we smoke.
i expel little bits of myself into
each cough. i am the empire state,
and i am the windy city and i am frisco and i
am the tiny lines between points on a map like
constellations. i will watch the water
become a sea of melting casio keyboards
and god will be the plagiarist,
fingers on a typewriter made of flats and sharps.
|
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6. |
marcutio's monologue
01:02
|
|||
|
pick up the fucking play you uncultured swine
|
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