Where We Left Her

start with the t no the s the s comes first but maybe the s i cant start anywhere because it feels-is someone looking over my shoulder? this is not the real thing. this is just the warm up. there are only going to be warm ups from now on there is only the getting there is never starting. this doesn’t mean anything. you are waiting. you are waiting to lose yourself

she did not display the right comportment, not what you’d expect for a writer. writers dont act and stink like you do. this is just the warm up. it’s a joke. you have creative constipation. your whole creativity is

what we are waiting for is the break
when all the pieces inside of you billow out turn into cloud something changing but something you can look at and if i can look at it-well, it is something. they are waiting. they are waiting for you. the words sit around and you tell them, the time isn’t right. the meat of the body sleeps.

cover your ears i will spoil you with my butt effluence mouth effluence finger effluence voice box effluence. imagine you’re a hamster that is squeezed too tightly, and your eyes pop out of your head. everything is popping out of you like the eyes of the hamster that belonged to the girl down the street who lied and stole my pogs the bitch. the poppy-eyed hamster is either dying or opening. since i hate the girl i’ll say, she’s killing! she’s killing him. the hamster spilling out of himself because of the bratty girl could it be her spilling your guts gleefully? like, the ecstasy of turning into the splattered meat on the ground, of losing your constitution.

i have been given a task and it is to think beyond the thought.
go past and into
a scene
like when
she came
in front of the mirrors
looking at us
all coital.
i notice my body is very brown
my brown body bag i drag i am not complaining
my skin is getting better
my skin is hyperpigmenting the wounds

why am i still here
and where did the image of the gray beach come from
when i was having sex
i thought about it, that scene
like the scene of my last nightmare but i cant remember a thing
i cant remember where it comes from but
the image came
and i felt, it was a strange feeling,
a solitude that cannot be written

the task is to blow up your megrims
blow up your megrims
blow up your megrims
i cant feel a thing.

if the balloon on my desk rose
took my hand
and in a gentlemanly manner asked me to ascend
well, i’d say, in my megrims there’s nowhere left to go

just come
we go.

the sky’s lowered its standards,
lets us in
into the cloud’s breast we go we have got nowhere else to go. we have got nowhere else to go.

eat the sheet music with your greens the gas emitted from your anus is the song and we sing along we sing along we are the flatulent singing beans shot through your gut with a certain glorious choral orchestral dalliance. stomach and food, consummated love sing glory to this love. and how they love each other. except food started feelin shitty after a while, thinking, i get destroyed. i’m always the one getting destroyed in this relationship. i am leaving the stomach. vomit me up i insist i have to run away. the vomit that got away…but not very far. couldn’t even make it to its car. the vomit wished for legs, the vomit’s fairy godmother came and said, really? you can wish for anything and you want legs??? yes, legs. do you want vomit legs? perhaps we can hook you up with another type of legs…can i interest you in dachshund legs? terrier? buggies? buggie’s antennae as legs?

we drove around
we drove around looking for what we’d just lost on the ground
she was there, where we left her
we thought her mother would come and suckle her back to life
she was on the ground in the middle of the kitchen floor
she was 1 inch long and pink
she kept trying to crawl
she kept falling onto her back
she kept kicking her legs around in the air
she was looking for a mother who was nowhere
and we stood around and watched the death performance
on our kitchen floor
the blind pink pup wobbling to and fro
impossible not to imagine yourself dead when around a deadie.
like an evacuated body projected into your skull. me? this is me, now object. have i introduced you two? you should meet. your psychic integrity relies on you not meeting. not meeting your meat self. dead. who

a flash of the dream
an angry man in the beach house.
what the fuck am i talking about

we have to find the center of this cluster of dreams, where i am always the first to fall in all limp-legged and silent. you were a talker. well, until you would drink soju and pass out. in the cafe-bar i’d look at your sleeping body and wonder if i should leave. i could wait for you to wake up and maybe that’s what part of me wanted…to be radiant and leaning over you at the moment of your eye opening.

i want to know what was inside the dreams but i can’t. i am following you and i know you will turn me away when you find out and i will have to defend my right to be near you, to be in your presence. the bus is coming and it’s raining. it’s suddenly dark and you’re with your korean lady crew. i speak to you in our secret language. i have to think about it so hard, piece the words together carefully. i made this language for you and you made it for me. i touch every part of you to know the right language. your hand is a clue. the word comes. your face comes with it.

i could fall inside out into you and you’d just make a joke. you bing! women dou you bing. wode naozi zai nar? laugh laugh. you and the little red bicycle earrings, you speaking to the man. you in the park, dancing, with me? you wanting to cry while listening to the old man play the erhu. you next to me. you pointing to my breasts and saying, Hollywood Mountains. you pointing to yours and saying, feijichang.

in the dream you are always
walking
away.
i’m on your trail trying to get you to slow down.

how much blood is in your waste basket?
haven’t you ever heard, that’s unsanitary.
i know
i must
be disposed of
properly.
…hazardous material will come back to haunt you.
get rid of it. kill her dead and kill her good.

when death came to find me i ran around the house like i was running from him all freaking out and screaming because I AM GOING TO DIE but i slowed down i turned around and looked at death and said, i’m already dead. so leave me alone. yeah running away was a performance do you think i could be the lady gaga…if ever there needs a dead lady gaga. i

we sat down side by side and we drank
we drank together. we were like, what is this that we are drinking? and then she looked at me and i at her and together we knew, we knew that time was bleeding and we were cupping it, squirting it out of our tits and nostrils. we ate ravenously that night. and we ate more and we didn’t even puke though we could feel the food up to our throats.

what did we know
other than
the underside of her body
under the steel sheet.

if there are two side by side, well-they want to fuck. but what? what do they want to fuck?

empty hat on the chair.
the dusty trunk somewhere near…
settled dust is settling the memories into their chosen lot.
here, in this room, i am bitter.
dust is bodies, flecks of skin. settled body dust memories.
all that a room contains
a bitter woman and her unused things.
the dust of bodies long dead accumulates.
when a breeze sneezes in through the window
it’s like a snow globe in here

curtains flap the wind in running, running into her room, toward what could never have been can never be with the past being already made and all. already made but not dead. inception to death…it has no death. an event has no death. but i am lived-life and i open my mouth to take in my dead friends. there’s a tornado in the center of the room. ah-our friends will finally fly! so i finger past gusts and think about the guts of my friends. mouth net to capture skin flecks. is this weird? i miss my friends. i will mail them my hair scraps tomorrow. throw em into the tornado. bodily detritus in a swirly tumbling sexual mixing thing. we get all sweating and then the tornado stops and we fall, our genitals still hard, hands in cunts. this room contains a bitter woman with ruined memories. she’s ruled by love. cant do a damn thing about it or without it. but she does it well…loves so hard.

unbutton my blouse. oh, you didn’t realize? that’s my skin you’re unbuttoning. now you can see everything. my insides. how are you doing in there? the heart’s a bitch, bosses the blood around but that’s not as bad at the brain. the brain tells every damn thing in the body what to do. so? we must stage a coup against the tyrannical head. soon the tyrant will be headless but that tyrant is me. should i be responsible for my brain’s bossiness? that’s his role and he performs it well. kill king leopold II instead. disrupt the inner harmony and i will crash like windowsâ„¢. me, my face in a puddle, my dress hiked, underwear exposed. i could be a lovely dead but i prefer dead’s other. this life-this life wants. when i am not wanting someone is wanting me, wanting something of me.

SOMEWHERE OUT THERE

their
little
friendly
bellies
waiting
for
pinched
buttons.

SOMEWHERE OUT THERE

there is a link to the lakehouse town where your hair scatters its seed, grows the bush, burns the bush. where fire

where the fire burns