she left her cell phone cord

The phrase keeps slipping then catching in his mind.

He never should have looked at her Facebook.

more photos. it goes on for pages.

She couldn’t peel her eyes off the floor when they met.

Now she beams unashamed like Belle de Jour

for this popcorn eating cunt. Makes sense now

how smug he was that night. Oh we talked his new short film…

and 80’s bands. You know… boring stuff.

You like The Cure now? I will always love you.

Bladerunner. Like tears in rain.

Nice bio bitch. FUCK!!!

did she WANT me to read this?

her smug text *i can’t do this anymore.*

Don’t bruise your thumbs.

Your slender, sensitive, intelligent thumbs.

in that wannabe edward scissorhands looking motherfucker’s lips

…if only what she left had been soul sustaining.

Fuck they even look good together. She’d lost that cherub glow she always complained about. A dress?  It hits him

between rubber cement when she saw herself in photos.

Hollow Foal. Metal Skeletal. Both the new songs were about that.

*You suck and you suck and you fuck my head  sideways but it’s hollow like your heart and you will never swallow my soul.*

He told her that song was about anime. Always in a sulk. He sure could scream sing his metal into an overloaded mike Industrial Grunge Blues indeed. Poison Lemon is the album name? wtf

She practically wrote it herself.

*Do any old thing you want me to.

Cut my belly with a rusty blade.

As long as you drown,

and promise to swear,

you can Poison My Lemonade*

He complained about her having techno phobia.

Fine! If you don’t want my sweet ass unicorn drawings

to distract you from Skeletor’s stupid fucking drum arrangement, my shift starts at seven anyway. she lit a smoke with a tea light candle, she thought she was gonna come in the gravity of it.

little did he know, one beat away, how close she was

to spilling way more than votive wax

all over the studio, with shaking hands,

setting it back on the amp.

*You do the math. I write the songs.*

All the hot words, tedious dodges,

crocodile tears and spite, reflexive choke

coming back on him like fucked up acid. her bones

they were both like ninjas with clumsy hooves,

trampling affection, projecting dull envy and sloppy fear.

*Grouching Tiger Hidden Wagon*

It was funny back then.

No wonder she switched her major to Film.

He counts off weeks on his fingers in wicked arpeggio.

It took her all of ten days to fuck Popcorn Boy

The second he was up in Olympia touring the new album.

She had already swallowed the pill by the third chorus.

no fight. she left. She never gave a fuck for his ego

his subtlety, the esoteric trove he truly is.

*Go fuck a pit of vapid metal slags after the set.*

Often she thought maybe it would make her Happy

fuck it let go like. actually happy. for Him. for Her even.

happy if he actually WAS getting pussy after his shows

instead he gets wasted with his dick friends

running her up a pike like Yoko Ono.

There were times when it used to matter.

where now, all she ever felt fucking

was scissors and sawdust.

He’d come home feeling

strange & eat poptarts

Always a sour face.

I thought you lived for MUSIC.

He acted like…He acted like he was acting.

So insulting when she seldom made demands.

Sold out show again. Bruce made it. How nice.

She thought to herself,

if only the devil wood

make her pussy skyrocket

like his recent luck with music.

Another ode to procrastination. Not even a kiss.

Maybe so called patience is vice.

Impulsively patient, she thought,

working late on her socket cartridge sculpture

the fine line work on her new tattoo.

Swollen. Inside out.

She said she wanted it BLACK.

The cake stupid. 27 candles. Blew what?

Mixed nuts? Shaky palms. I’m quick to shoot?

My fault you snore? What empty canvass? Don’t even.

WE BOTH suck at lying worse than a fucking Eddie Vedder song.

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violet kite

one thing i love about my life is how i am full in emptiness like a fucking bell or some nonsense like a cactus tree. in one breath i feel pert, pristine, unconsummated and even virginal… in the next i wail and moan like a veteran whore, beach ball tossed with relish from frame to frame, shoved blind in every socket. i invite sorted sordid hells and malady into my life, close the lid on the jar and kill even poisoned butterflies such as these. i weather merrily the well deserved torment for all my sins, as i am very flexible, equipped with smokestack chakras, chemical flurries, cathartic emotional lightning and a masturbatory mastery that allows me to self sustain like a bromeliad in a basket of shade.

this life of mine is half full. i spin plates the wrong way and dangle from the ceiling, a hemispheric marvel of fortitude and spectacle when i’m not rocking back and forth in place bemoaning my fate. i wake in the morning with suck my cunt verve and a nasty lip, unbounded by fear of pure expression. i mutilate language, flirt like the devil and fuck myself into a corner on a bad day. sometimes i wake up beatific and show my puddle what for. it’s a shitty world and we all know it, yet we sculpt the ineffable, railing against the caustic wind of modernity. we mow down the bleak highway like a bus with teeth. on a clear day, gloom is mere roadkill squealing in our wake like a dusty armadillo.

my life, in the mystery of pronoun and syntax, takes it on, full bore, the stale imagistic mires, missives and dismissive doldrums of defeatist fuckall antiquated norms, obliterating perceptual roadblocks with acid and firestorms. i throttle my clover and holler like a wraith possessed by a bassoon, from my little room, stirring up trouble and lemonade. it ain’t so subtle. i talk a good game but really, i too suffer doubt, anomie, sexual deprivation, poverty, psyche depravation and occasional suicidal desperation like any bird worth its salt. call it what you will, but twitter is a hell of a drug. i have nothing and no one to blame. every other tuesday this estranged endeavor rends me speechless in nearly tangible rapture. one day i hope to capture this storm and ride it home. my fingertips like ten horses will deliver me into a clement abode where your kisses rain like ginger candy and teardrops are a shape, not the color of every waking hour.

vivisection vivian

VIVIAN

I’m a coffee shop narcissist, all this wasted on the atmosphere

So I take another sip, and I’m there in the cup, face in the surface tension

Eye’s nostrils forehead ceiling, I drink again to the incestuous feeling…

The conversations no one hears me, lusting for my sister self

Kiss the brim, suck my lip…hey love you’re so well equipped

To fuck yourself into oblivion

Pound of flesh in jars, my twin antiseptic for the soul dissection

Washing my hands in the sink, she smiles from the mirror

Saying yes, she’s ready for the procedure, and talks me through the vivisection

Stretched out on the tabletop and fluid on the paper,

An elastic umbilical, and static in her hair, her wild eyes open,

She names herself Vivian

Now my hips feel funny, my nipples stick out, and when I

Breathe in I can smell her on me

She swears like a savage, fights for control, and I stare at

My skin with new curiosity

I call her lovely, and she calls me beautiful, watching the world

We walk us around

Down on each other, and fitting like frogs, we laugh at our

Clothes adorning the room

Legs ever open for her soft advance, we breathe saying

Nothing: that’s the whole point

Our hearts safe in seclusion

Alone every night, all this space to ourselves, me in a dress

And Vivian inside

In our lovers arms, aroused and relaxed, I surrender all

Sense, and switch off my mind

I’m watching it happen with a third set of eyes, she wants me,

She wants me inside

Vivian kisses with and through me, a love attack in tandem

We duel with emotions, turning summersaults of fancy

And drink to enhance the illusion

She’s drawing it on orange paper: Love is weird and scary

There aren’t enough words, she draws a burning dictionary

She doesn’t want to loose us and she doesn’t want to need us

She says sorry so fast, after crying fit to bled us

It’s not nice to ask the question of what’s left after we put

Our clothes on

Smiling at me with wet red eyes

What am I supposed to think when she says what I said made

Her feel like a slut?

When she’s scared its all over cause who would want a

Fuck-up like me?

And I feel it in my throat that I’ve just been a tremendous klutz

With her heart

And it makes my head hurt because I know how she feels

With the little bits of ourselves awkwardly exposed to

Somehow be dealt withdrawal

Scared of what it all implies.

Moths Love The Sticky Side of Your Heart

i told her that mermaids crack vials with their teeth
to rid the fear of the salt beneath the square fucked
roof of my lip died for lack of flavor on the tinfoil
princess’s last goodbye.  she fell asleep on the
milkweed parasol for spite. listless and growling all
night. the shades pulled in and got bored and talked
about fucking with my life.  last night i invited them
in and they carved me up.  i only smiled when they
said something they thought was funny.  i worried
often about  my twittering black shoes were made for
running away with the point ought to be in my eye
because i never say anything remotely useful.  i’ll
hear a song on the radio and i would come for the girl
who is singing  like when you drive by a radio tower
and the people in the car are being defensive and
dull and you wonder what fell hot wraith knows the
wind up there where the red light is blinking.  if i
don’t take myself apart there is nothing left for you
to walk away with.  there are bits of shrapnel on my
lips and stuck in my nasty faces… this careless one
that listens without interest because you could never
touch me like those sirens do when im not complaining
about it.  all the ways i try to paint myself lovely
in the light for the times i am a shallow dish with no
love for you.  split me.  split me and you.  stuck in
a room.  we wished for this and they gave it to us.
you decided not to eat so you could mindfuck us into
money with no eyes with no mouth.  i like it when you
move unprompted then you lie back and act inadequate
when all we want is the next thread.  all the patience
in the world for you babe.  something in your voice
makes me giddy and wet. avocados in the shade are not
so blackened yet.  you pour me water in the morning
like it was fucking holly golightly and you whistle
like hell licking a lollipop. and you say hearts are
dangerous things but i don’t believe you for a moment
because lovely i want nuthin more than you.  can eat
moths and you can eat flowers and they wont make you
sick like you make yourself when you aren’t listening
to the sticky side of your heart.  so eat another moth
for me love and don’t ask permission just drink it down
with your beer.  you could call yourself a lot of
things but i know that you’re not.  doing anything
wrong.  take tylenol for instance.  you were right
though when you said hearts will tell you need
something and then wont let you have it.  i think you
look cute when yore looking for what isn’t there.  you
call it hating yourself.  im always here.  falling in
and out of love and life and you all the time.   you
trace the curve and give it nerve and you tell me you
never even dust it off.  i mean sure you never draw
like you used to. except for on my face or on the
floor. its always so easy with you.  the whole fucking
time.  we weren’t looking for anything and now you tell
me you know a secret and i don’t want to know the
answer because when you shoot that smile at me i feel
so not human and if this is the length of love than
i’m not listening.  you worry your outfit is vane.
these made up thought traps.  i believe in you.  and
you believe in everything.  except for yourself.  it
shows the way you walk it around.  moments when you
held your breath in the pool light wondering if she
would really swim away with you  gave her eyes and
held back what she wanted  to hear you tell her her
eyes are made of lavender and lime twist. but all you
said was fuck with your lips.  so she swam away

blush not

• blush not apologize not
waste me fuck you
do you ever invite yourself over
to have a good time with you
throw kitten nice kitten
i dont know what you want
i need to get slammed
you cant do it for me
thanks for getting it
you look graceful on the tile
just dont demand i sleep
while youre vomiting in the next room
to say that hurt like hell
would just be more stupid words you’ll never hear
sorry for saying i love you
and spoiling a good ride

goodbye decor
goodbye tomato
it could have been so much more
than honest disclosure
baaad days
when i cant talk about
how you scare me
this hasn’t been forgettable
i try not to recognize red cars
i dont love you
i miss your skin
and hugging soft
while you stare down
and let me taste drowsy
you vacuum headed
caffine addict
i cant believe you took me to a movie
i wish we were freinds

i think we might have given
strangers more trust than we gave
each other
i wish i could take a nap with you
relation(sunken)ship
id like to see you somewhere
and see
i wouldnt be saying
yeah fuck you too

from an insanely
fucked wench
i am not your well wishes
or what i could bust
with my head
in a box
in a box
in a box

off my wave
this is not a spectacle for the faint
you passed out

kill me in your mind
while i watch you

it hurts to think that maybe you arent angry with me
maybe you even miss me and wonder why i dont call
when i saw your new graphitti i only had a pen
i spent it fast. maybe thats me still wanting you
or your memory.
i think its strange we havent seen each other at all
thats the freeze.
thats me being vicious
im not exactly hopeful
turn me down and say you dont need me
and watch how long it takes till you can see your breath

i gave you every opportunity to think me down
something in you wanted my worst
i can picture a wobbly oppinion you let get solid and tacky and cracked
was it easy to make up your mind?
this is me being nasty and vindictive

at least i can feel my spine this way
i couldnt get at whatever makes you tick
i bet that would have made it even worse
so much stupid fucking talk about pronouns
trying to sort it from it

why couldnt we just be two stupid kids
and enjoy it?

isnt threre a switch?
between what is and isnt now?
here i am for you, love
now

i cant always be on your level
i dont always want to be.

you fell in love when i was full flush
sometimes there are other days
i suppose theyre easy to keep track of.
is there ever good timing?

you call it a bad day
you forget how to talk
and the contact is numb
sometimes it just doesn’t happen
and it’s difficult to say
you tell me to look in your eyes
and guess what’s on your mind
I think you say it with your sighs
you wish you could unwind
attatchment can get sticky
on each other strictly
every other night

the lines I cross out catch your interest
self edit always the looser nonsense and no sense
there’s a piece of you stuck in my heart
and you still look sad in my head
is it easy for you to keep me at a distance
something I did or something I said
you never let us get a fair start
you got wasted and threw plastic at me
left to throw up and told me to sleep
is that your way of getting at me
or maybe you think talk is cheap

your ladybug
has let you down
left you with a hug
and see you around
get in your car
and drive across town
celebrate
the let down
I wish you weren’t contagious
bad mood girls are poisonous

MUTE VALENTINE

She’s having fun with me.

I let her have her way.

We’re walking us around,

watching people who won’t ever know

 It’s my love’s first time

blowing bubblegum with a boy’s mouth

standing slightly taller,

really enjoying a cigarette

writing it all down on paper.

She’s acting like she’s studying

maybe she is a little bit,

this book isn’t exclusively a prop.

There’s a work of a kind getting done

we engage her conscienceless

body language and coincidences.

A vacant thread of attention,

silent sexuality,

sea anemones

sending chemical messages into the water,

our eyeballs watch it happen.

Hair strung out as an indicator of obvious preoccupation,

too scared to stare into each other’s faces,

then all of a sudden we’d need words

instead of bubbles of immaterial longing.

 I’m pressing into the table,

licking my lips and enunciating

as your signals land ever so lightly.

I taste them and they dissolve

straight into our imaginarium

I hear your voice

it makes my skin blush…

you watching me seemingly fuck the paper

I make authoritative movements

gesture myself to stage front

without doing so much as talking,

not even looking your way to disturb your view of me.

I want it to haunt you,

how your mind gets it this easy,

yet I remain unapproachable even as some dork walks up to me

gets me to say hi, no, and fine.

You can’t even get to hello

I’ve swallowed every available word

to keep us on this level,

totally naked and abstract

our minds fuck like ballerinas on strings

I’m shaking with the thrill,

knowing how you wonder

could you really have me?

You doublecheck every thing you know

with another look you’re sure

you’re irretrievably lost in lust.

You give me even more

your head drops to the books

you no longer care to look at

all that matters anymore is what I’m doing now.

expert fingers on a throttle you can only dream of touching,

I engage and speed licks her lips

the room is reduced to the sound of transaction

people walk in and out dizzy on the contact rush.

You don’t even drink your coffee.

You’ve fallen almost asleep.

I’ve spent all your worry for today.

Just listen to the footsteps

the sound of the cash register

people moving into place.

They fade into nothing

in this place where we screw.

They talk about skiing destinations

some lady is talking on her phone

I get louder

we make her sneeze with the imagery

You get up to pay for something

I can’t make out what you’re saying…

something about your hands,

a quick reality check,

You go for a magazine

always fingering a rubber band in your hair

the static knob on a wave generator.

You’ve gone and made the line secure.

continuing  series of sensuous

fixation terrorists in alt vault trompe position.

a guessing game now.

am i grossing you out with what I’m doing to my bubblegum?

you get up

you start throwing candy hearts into the garbage can.

now you’ve dropped one.

That’s the one I’ll steal if you leave before me.

 isn’t it brilliant like this,

given each other nothing but a sense of wonder?

what exactly ARE we doing

licking  each others brains like this?

I love you.

I love you silent and crazy

now I have to leave to keep my make believe.

You’re so perfect in my mind, my

Mute Valentine.

VVVKillOldPixurz 730

THE SCENT OF DEAD ROSES

i killed a poetic boy yesterday. the old ladies in the

shadows swore at him when he was walking home proud as

hell with a new pocketknife.  they told him we die

next week so laugh like you got limes for balls.  he

called them drippy old vultures in his native tongue.

they didn’t understand him and went on laughing and

spitting oily juice into to brass spittoons. he made

his eyes evil and stuck his tongue out at them,

so i killed him.  i have a deal with the old ladies. they

get tired of little knife thieves.  glaring the way

they do. this boy was eating a fat tomato in the sun.

his buddy walked up to him.  pants falling down,  snot running

down his nose. this boy told his buddy to fuck off and find his

own tomato.  so i killed him.  i pushed him into the

river.  he made alot of noise drowning.  now i follow

his buddy who wants tomatoes all day long.  i have so

many numbers on my back i can’t even lift my shadow

off the dirt.  he woke up this morning and spent alot of time

on his shoes.  i waited in the dust beneath the lamp-table.

and felt sick and burnt the whole time.  the boy’s dad works all

day.  he bought a good lamp.  i hate electricity. i have my ways though.

i love this market. the vendors are so poor, i can hide

in the edges of their skirts.  i suck flies into my shadow

to get a lift when i get sun sick. nothing escapes these old ladies.

they dress in black and fan themselves in the shadows

of the cathedral.  i never touch them.  i stay there

for awhile and then some boy comes by and i get him

into trouble. people think they know bright.  chrome

or sunlight on silver.  the wife washes the old man’s

water-glass and it glistens in the nine-am light like

heaven opening up in a drop of water. this town has

fell asleep in the stairwell.

the lover was supposed to see

three pigeons in a fight.  he would have thrown his

roses into the fray.  the ugly one was supposed to

pick up one petal.  he would have followed it with his

eyes.  it would have fallen into the river.  the lover was

to begin a life of misery and woe and bad poetry.

instead, the pigeons had more than enough bread.  he

kept walking and ran into the love of his life five

minutes later in the square.  i’ve seen this before.

when i fucked up in 1973.

now the only way i can ruin this town is to kill this

boy who likes tomatoes.  his cheeks are so fat.  he is

so unkempt.  no threat to anyone.  now he will aspire

to get his wife fuzzy slippers because he is like paul

with no mick.  he will drink fizz and be amicable the

rest of his life and no-one will appreciate what a

competent douche-bag he really is.  so i gotta kill

him.  he is bad with traffic but he walks too slow.

with dirty ice-cream smeared on his fat lips.  i hate

this kid.  raul was actually fun to follow around.

i have 27 numbers on my back.  you think you know what

a boss is.  it is black between a raven’s feathers.

my master is blacker.  and i live in fear of his

voice.  i met the shadow of a wraith one time.  he

tried to explain how scary wraiths are.  then he tried

to eat me, but the old ladies helped me, and i got

away.  i dont even know my boss.  i just know when i

get lazy i hear him screaming from the bottom of the

well.

pablo is sipping an orange soda.  he is a sweet kid.

i hate him.  he is dumber than bubblegum and i cant

distract him.  he was staring into the gutter and

singing this stupid song…

yeah yeah pablo, singin in the sun..

i dont care dont care. dont care about anyone…

spitting orange-soda on the ants. i did the trick

where i turn into bread.  the blackbirds swooped down

next to him, and made alot of noise trying to eat me

up, but he didnt care.  he must have been sad.  he

poured the rest of his soda into the gutter.

i spent the rest of the afternoon crossing the street

beneath cats, trying to catch cars.  the water-truck

driver is so fat.  there are always flies buzzing

around in his cab.  i did the trick that makes me fat

and black, i buzzed… bzzt.  he swatted at me and

that was the end of pablo.