dear god please no more flinging bling bling rubble at our blue green sea streak soup no comet kamikazes flaming ‘saurus burgers and kebabs no asteroid suicide bombers their ocean seafood boil we've got enough with tsu tsu namis tse tse flying tsk tsk virus its all too much playing planet pinball down the middle no free games flippers flying you swear and tilt curveball space and time
Month: July 2020
TSM 117
now I think the instructions to perform a CAT Scan didn't mean I wave a cat over you while you slept as I looked to your body for poems my love, not scratch and struggle and Howl in shamanic pain or the dog doggerel barking frenzied free verse waking you my dear I'm sorry for the caterwaul, the catafalque of poems I've scrawled, their jagged arrhythmia ECG monitor boop boop hooked up to arterial dreams scanning and probing for heart murmurs
stfu ode #12: to my morning coffee
oblivious my coffee speaking to me too early while I am bleary as cold cream no I don't want to hear your stupid story again about the mezcalero and the jumping bean playing poker all night in the back of the truck on the way from the Yucatán you so poor nothing to wear but sackcloth the men in the fields stripping sugar cane with their machetes toothless from sucking cane all day rotting their teeth and no I don't buy the beautiful girl in the factory had eyes only for you picked you only you your anguished parting your torment like an oven from hell I want only lightning or silence between words the way I want only lightning or silence between buttered slices of toast lightning or silence in the interstices of morning storm and wind to wake to the smell of ozone the smell of burnt air zapped alive and cupped in the rain
TSM 116
ok I squeezed the mirror like a rag to wring out a jangle of silver how you said I could help myself to coin of the realm that mirrors charge for passing us from front to back and back again pitching quarter after quarter from the car window into Charon's plastic toll booth bucket on ramp off ramp rewinding until no quarter from the reflection of your face so much faster than the current of the river Styx in rearview you Windex my eyes and place an empty shard of glass in my mouth like the last dollar to buy passage ferry what's left of today's failing light to the other side
TSM 115
are you asking whether my mind is gin-clear as anyone who drinks to sterilize their blood and wash away the viral crown of thorns lodged like a burr in lungs of the faithful or are you just checking when I roll a whisky stone to close the tomb I wipe it down with alcohol
qbit 