Tuesday, April 13, 2010
HTAYKSSS
I sat down here today (it’s early here today)
& said, “I’m going to write something
powerful!” & then I said, “That’s the
worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.”
*
growing up
fireworks were our first masturbation –
at least we were encouraged to experiment
& build – we could use any saw or axe
in the garage, murder trees, design our
own planet – we could maim the legs
of the Free State as long as the Free State
could still walk straight come dinner. Hither
through the woods. The skinned knee
heals like a map we follow for the rest
of our lives
*
she never makes promises
just in case she can't keep them. There
is something I admire about that
but I’ll never understand why – she says,
after I touch her tiny shoulder,
“You touch it, you scratch it!”
& there I am, scratching her back
in the kitchen I never grew up in
*
I love this house, but it’s still a weird
place. A cat over here. One farting over there.
Weightlifting the electric bills. Evidence of
splendor on paper plates. I will honor
all of you when you’re gone
with jokes & insults & endowments of shit
*
I say shit too much.
I don’t know how not to.
It’s as prevalent as ketchup, but worse
for civilization. Really. You can blame
every evil on ketchup. Why do Americans
cover their dinner in liquid candy? Because
no one told them it’s disgusting
*
the only thing nine volt batteries
are good for now is powering fire detectors
& guitar pedals -- both are responsible
for saving an equal number of lives in
American lives. Heroes save people
from one sort of fire or another. Artists
do the opposite. Bring me the heads
of my family, the severed heads of
my friends & colleagues, twisted &
swinging giblets by their hair – bring every
Facebook & Twitter head I’ve never met –
the cute, the trolls, the combustible egos.
Pile them in the middle of the living room
where my head will be like the angel head on
the Christmas tree of moldering stupid
& open my house to the public
*
we’re not always this morose
*
she wrote something on my hand that never
washed off. The gosh, the ghoulishness
tattooed inside the mouth like a wallet
*
now I’m lonely. Boo hoo hoo.
Can you come over & help me move all
these heads out of the living room? They’re
blocking the TV & I want to play this first
person shooter where my family is chasing me
through post apocalyptic DC & the monuments
are skinless fingers in the distance
& the goal is to make infinity not cliché
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6 comments:
Let's eat things and burn things and maybe break things rill soon.
(please)
I have become very good at that.
i dont know if my comment went through or not before but if not it said something to this effect:
this post was so fucking good it made me miserable and ecstatic.
i am linking to it if you dont mind.
"now I’m lonely. Boo hoo hoo.
Can you come over & help me move all
these heads out of the living room?"
yeah that's good.
Thanks for the link, Kelly!!
Boo hoo hoo.
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