| SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH |
[02 Jun 2004|12:14pm] |
waiting for god to call me back and drool his powder into my left nostril.
I am stuck inside of a house without shadows where
The rains carrot-peel fingers beckon me almost provocatively
And rip holes for forced entry in my secret deposit
Likewise the pulse of the veiled clock makes me anxious
Because it’s breaths come easier than mine as it does not
Smoke forty cigarettes a day while leaning over torn-up bibles
Looking, thinking, dreaming about what we all understand we are living for.
Finding out our black buckled church shoes were irrational
As were the bath time prayers and momma’s crosses
Know me now as I lie unholy and pantless and crossed
My poise quite pointless and my industry calls unanswered,
Unless it is the man I believe to be god who carries powder in his teeth
This is a soiled me, in the most ingeniously perverted of forms
The one who wore kaki-pants and walked through colleges
Feverish with outlooks taken from videos of Negroes in golden-haired chains
The one who went crookedly down all of the skid rows with my civic-auditorium eyes
And public speeches and clandestine nights at home with my fingers in myself
Scribbling on my orgasms with tender murder scenes in mind
I always got off on the obituary sections and collected my fucks like lucky-pennies,
Became the little boy with a painter’s hat the way they animated me
Then, again, in public haircuts folded squarely in my back pocket
I am still-
Still stuck inside of a house without shape
And craving triangles and squares and circles and pentagrams and angles
I am waiting for God to call me back and drool his powder into my left nostril
And rolled-up presidential portraits.
5:52 PM - 4 Comments - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
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| Dude. |
[02 Jun 2004|11:48pm] |
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Dude.
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