Tuesday, November 07, 2006


ways of seeing a space-moment as a constellation of broke stuff.

i am
in transit, in a place
of being broken open
for you.

they stuffed me in a meat locker on a hook
and there was a sound of swishing like a hand through space.
it hurt; i died.
i died quite a lot with my nut-brown hair and hot pants.

there was a great darkness and inside it the meat throbbed.
it was bickering with space and time like a kid on a leash
decaled on the side of a bowl.
i was poison at that point, absolute poison.

it was on a side street and it was dark. i'll show you the spot.
close to the public library. you had eyes and lips and hair.
i found out that i loved you there. of course that might have been
a lie, and such a lie.

there was a contemporaneous flow to it
like lava upon the crops and the sheep or woolens in a dishwasher.
there may or may not have been a clarion call ripe as dropping fruit,
or it was perseus come to slay me. either way, sorting out the
fragments, it 's possible entirely so to see me dead as a vesuvian.

ba-doop ba-doo wah. sex.

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