I spilled my head all over the desk. The electricity cracked and something loosely embedded in my neck tumbled off. A maple leaf in a light rain closed the gap.
I visit kids grown out of their corporate sneakers and observe stuffed animals patched up with quantum care.
A gutted out Victorian, hollow but protected by the bears and rabbits, looms next to the Polish cleaners. Where is the plaster they use to fix geographical brain surgery?
we are not safe here
tucked and swaddled in the ghetto
white lilies and holographic franklins
shout concrete and security
but they lied
oh did they lie
and they have been lying all along
without effort
we are all alone
amongst millions
groveling for air freshener survival
electric salvation shimmering
red pop D-town carbonation
painkillers and tall grasses
pitbulls and charter school overload
the edge will not be taken off
tonight
tonight four lives orbit black holes
irregular breathing snoring twitching
all south of seven mile
a jagged eminence across the green oven mitten
the crooked cigarette hidden from the baby
the automobiles flying east
lugging along skillful heavy jobs and leaving criminals behind
brains chopped laterally with electricity
held together with shiny static cling
limbs operated without knowing the score
there is no center to this
everything is the center
one imaginary anxiety junkie to another
and another and another
-this poem is featured in Juice
I’ve got twenty minutes left in my twenties
and I couldn’t tell you how many memories I’ve forgotten
because then I wouldn’t have forgotten them
I’m barely awake on a vinyl recliner in a massive hospital
three stories up from the pavement earth that will one day claim me
my daughter is just three days old
she has remnants of being wedged in the cervix
written across her slightly oblong head
as she fitfully sleeps in a clear sanitary bassinet
my love turns to me and says:
I don’t know if you noticed
but Zoe has an extra long buttcrack
is that something we should worry about?
I reply, typing these words into a laptop
the little clock in the corner of the screen reads 11:58
and suddenly my twenties are nothing but nostalgia
You look like a miniature Japanese farmer
except with a slightly coned-out head
eyes that only focus on occasion
and neck muscles that have yet to take hold
The biggest thing in your life is the giant nipple
that feeds you and pacifies you to sleep
I’m just auxiliary at this point
a giant beard that floats in and out of view
projecting a deep boom of a voice
and a perpetual smile that covers miles
I would tell you the kind of person I am
if I only knew how
I would expound for hours on my inner mechanisms
if I only understood them
I would write a dissertation on my brain chemistry
if I had a friggin’ clue to begin with
yet I’m stuck somewhere along the fringes
glimpsing in from the outside
carving a line of shimmering red energy
into unknown territory
shooting a water cannon loaded with blood
at the orange harvest moon
reciting a blabber of foreign languages
to the sea the beach and the crabs
galloping and skipping lost in the sand
for the world to see that I have no clue at all
relentlessly hammering away at words
that only make sense when I read them in the morning
repeating an ancient echo
reborn once again in this clueless and addicted artist
I would tell you the kind of person I am
if I only knew how
Deep-fried firecrackers
exploding over amber alerts
missing parents
starving for freedom
and liberty’s ding-dong
sing along to crunk songs
and strangle citizens
with fat gold chains
browse the flea market
for stock options and
liposuction
be like MJ
and name your race today
white black yellow
red white and
blew out on malt liquor
or cheap workout beer
America is in love with you
the men looked on and the chicken brigade
-four thousand strong-
marched down the avenue as the sun fell under the duplex roofs
the women licked their lips and yielded shiny machetes
as the sky turned a pillowed pink
and the air temperature dropped a subtle degree and a half
clucks and cheers, clucks and cheers
the illusion is complete
the suburbs might eat tonight if only
the chickens hadn’t decided to rebel en masse
oh what disappointment awaits the salivating humans
