Thursday, October 27, 2016

EXPRESS ORDER

It better arrive before xmas or at least easter.
I'd like to express order a train
that will take me to candy.
I don't want to bleed for it.
I want it for free
before and after bedtime.
I wish to look in one lover's eyes
and melt into a carnival.
I want to order whee at the top
above crazy colored lights
and dropped red hot apples.
Don't ask for my address or age.
I'm nowhere. I'm still thirteen.
Raspberry dark chocolate me some
kind of promise.
But I have to believe it.
Has to be heavier than a San Antonio
booty call or drunk missed connection.
Bring me a rocket.
I don't want to die for it.
I'm talking about waking up
to French toast and bacon
from a pig not a turkey
and the blackest coffee possible
and him glancing at me
over the newspaper
because they still make those
and in his reading glasses
I'm luscious
I'm nubile
I'm never been fucked up the ass
and it's all first class to Venus
no stops on Saturn.
Hurry.
Bring it fast and furious
while I still
possess a damn.

BLEED CHRIST BLEED

Do not heed the psychic werewolves
and color coded cheerleaders
with their perfect peppermint smiles.
Bleed christ bleed into QVC customer service
into blow jobs into karaoke into customized videos
unto death
popcorn no popcorn
butter no butter
biggie size soda
lukewarm fountain water
no ice no filter
no fucking straw
bleed christ bleed
because Jesus wept sangre
because no answer from daddy
because no dawn
bleed bleed bleed
with or without panties on
bleed because you know how
you've chorus lined each step
since 1983
you can do that
you're dance ten
looks eleven
at the ballet
at the disco
at any given honky tonk
hot ass Saturday night.
Bleed christ bleed
because we all need mas
with extra sauce
but we settle for much less
because the limbic xmas tree
is such an irony deficient
linear noel
and we burn baby burn
while ice castles melt
into idiot sea.
It's Salinger.
It's Bradbury.
It's Dick on speed.
Through a scanner madly
we're crap artists dreaming electric
Uranus wolf whistling in the eighth
and Pluto so horny but not gonna crack
in the fifth
because damn baby damn
that Sam I am
is playing favorites again
and we will never win
but bleed anyway
unto anemia
it's the American way.
We've got credentials in spades.
Let's do it to it.
Stars and stripes por vida.
Make that apple pie proud.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

RESIDENCY

Hello. I am a special snowflake from Texas.
I can write, edit, proofread, publish
(PRINT)
(ON)
(DEMAND)
...draw, paint, wash dishes by hand,
make organic peanut butter cups,
scrub toilets (I leave NO SHIT behind)
and tap dance.
I can also karaoke.
I'm white but I sing Billie Holiday
and sometimes Prince and sometimes
when the moon is in Taurus...
OTIS REDDING.
I'm interested in a residency.
You have to be rich.
You have to live alone.
You have to have plenty of space.
You will provide me with free room and board
and a stipend of $3000 a month.
I like to get pedicures and massages.
I like to eat red potatoes drizzled with shoyu.
Please do not expect me to be the dumping ground
for your neuroses...that's what your therapists are for.
Please do not expect me to feign interest
in your attempts at blood on the page and canvas.
You do not have any blood.
You are anemic.
That is where I come in.
I will provide your beige life with much color.
Plenty of blood.
You can take pictures and post them all over
social media to prove to your friends
that you have relevance and cool cred.
No one will believe you but motherfuckers
are good at lying these days
what with Mars and Pluto
conjunct in Capricorn.
Power trips abound.
I will not play with your puppies or kittens.
I'm allergic to animals and bullshit.
I will not accompany you to the hot shit bakery
for sixty dollar cupcakes and lattes.
You've got equally fabulous cohorts
for that sort of thing.
Sushi? Not interested. Thanks.
I can stay in the attic or basement.
Out of the way to do my little mad
foaming at the mouth special snowflake thing.
I promise not to melt.

ASTROLOGY OF ME 101

I'm a Pisces imbued Aquarian
because yes the sun was in Aquarius
when I was born
but 29 degrees not two degrees
and I've got Mercury in Pisces
and Neptune in the fourth
squares moon in the first.
Tight.
Scorpio is my IC
and my Mars squares Pluto.
Tight.
Bitches spit and shit on me
then whine when I hit back.
Unfriending me is fine.
Blocking me is cool.
Assaulting me with verbal vomit
and psycho projection
is something else.
I issue out warnings
because I've got Jupiter
in the fifth
squaring Uranus in the second.
Don't tread on me.
Well you can.
Results may vary.
I can't be held responsible.
Mars in the fifth protects
my first house moon
and lately
in the progressed
everything is in Aries.
War.
War.
War.
I'm drowning in sangre.
Negan with his barbed wire wrapped baseball bat
disturbs me a little
but I get
the metaphor.
The macabre carnival
awaits us all.
Yes. We all get our candied muerte.
But some of us
get taste tests
long
before.

WHO THE FUCK DO I THINK I BE?!

I'm not Crumb.
I'm not Kardashian.
I'm not Madonna.
Yet.
Somehow.
Even so.
Motherfucker
I
persist.

CHAT A SNAP

I'm fake at Facebook. All my friends are Italian.
I don't know any of them.
I don't speak their language.
Perfect. No problems.
I'm myself only more so at Instagram.
Dramatic selfies are addictive!
So are hastily scribbled sketches.
So are a lot of things.
Judging a motherfucker
might take you as far
as the closest Taco Bell.
Eat that shit for me.
I'm at Subway.

STEIN SMOOTHIE

Nothing aiming is a flower.
Dance a clean dream.
Why is there more craving than there is a mountain.
No mention of butter.
Wretched use of summer.
In this way they are allowed to retaliate.
There is very little to hide.
Later one knows there is a way of winning
by being intriguing.
We had a motto.
This is it.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

KARDASHIAN VOMIT

Someone is watching them.
Kardashians kontinue.
I watch in my donut pajamas
bloated from the kind of cheese
you spray from a can.
"Writing a book is like
the most annoying thing ever."
Khloe Kardashian writes books
signs books sells books.
She has to fill the hours somehow
between big deal boyfriends
kocktails
koffee klatsch
kunt krew
kewpie doll voodoo
kitten kostume selfies
all up in that social media
instant gratification flavor.
"Why do you watch that crap?"
I have to fill the hours somehow
between sloppy cheap makeup selfies
and mad scribble scrabble.
It's interesting watching people
think up ways to spend millions of dollars.
Impromptu trips to Iceland.
Housewarming parties with like
really expensive candles and deejays and shit.
All those kids.
All that klutter.
I'm kurious about how exactly
their deaths will be televised.
Probably with plenty
of killer
lighting.

YES YOKO YES

Chess beyond the board
moves me to looking glass tears.
Taking the train to the latest queen's
paint dripping garden
puddles me
to twelve.
I wasn't even
bleeding yet.
Someplace higher
grows the only rose
that has ever listened
harder than stone
to my fumbled mumbles.
There goes Bill.
Yes. Yes.
Quite.
Kicks transcend
translation.

EVERYTHING YOU CLING TO WILL ROT

OSCAR FOR SLOPPIEST MAKEUP


THOUSANDS


EAT MY PEPPERONIS


JACK SPICER VALENTINE

The cubic zirconia burning a hole through my tongue
disagrees but please continue.
Bring the waves.
Bring the storm.
I live for the toss.
Inside me there are cookies
that do not crumble.
Inside me there are jars
that do not break.
Inside me there are lions
that yawn and sleep
and dream of tundra burglaries
and meadowed ice cream.
I know your bridge.
I remember shimmer.
Everything hazy even as rich white bitch
walking her expensive dog of some kind
drips derision on my toes
on her way to zip code made of crystallized snot
and fossilized blood
and galacticized sweat
and no amount of tears
because tears
are for
pussies.
The pink Monopoly money greening
my hand me down jacket pockets disagrees
but do
go on.
I am here
to learn.

Friday, October 14, 2016

LAST WORDS OUT

NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

We don't die.
We just digress.
John Ciardi wrote that.
Sin, hell!
I've committed
every one.
Anne Sexton wrote that.
One night with you is what
I'm praying for.
Elvis Presley sang that.
If I go to church on Sunday
then cabaret all day Monday
ain't nobody's business if I do.
Billie Holiday sang that.
And on.
And on.
There's a rowdy hell choir
tolling proud bells
inside my skull.
One day I was sitting on the bed I made
strumming my man's guitar
singing a goddamn gorgeous song
I wish I had written
because it feels so true.
I mean I've pretty much lived
every fucking note.
My man kept cleaning, muttered,
"Sounds like a Bob Dylan song."
It was a Bob Dylan song.
And we are all idiots
and there is nothing left to write
but don't let that stop us.
Try, babies.
Try.

NOT SO INSTANT PUSSY

A few things have been lost in translation
and storage.
I don't miss the rings and dick pics.
I haven't burned the map yet
but I can taste the twin flame ashes
on my Mercury in Pisces in
the seventh tongue.
Bruja, he called me.
The witch brand is the only sear
I've endeared to memory
because baby
it's true.
I'm not ashamed of the magic
that brings the sailors
to my mermaid drown.
Numbers are irrelevant.
Name the latest hurricane.
Stay stuck in rewind
if that is the realm
of your choice.
My voice is still raspy from
screaming Billie Holiday and Janis Joplin songs
in a deaf Texas god's ears.
If the craziest most dangerous thing
about 2016 America
is pornography/Instant Pussy/timed selfies
of a disenfranchised white bitch's cunt
believe me babies
we ain't got
no
problemos.

A CURSE IS ON HER


TRIGGER WARNING


CORAZON DE VIDRIO

I never made it to CBGB's.


SNAKE


facebook your way to fame & fortune


I play with makeup & light.


DISCO RADIO


Thursday, October 13, 2016

There'll be no more nappin!!!

DO YA THINK I'M SEXY?


FREESIA LIMBIC


BLOOMING HARD


TRY A LITTLE TENDERNESS


BABY YOU CAN CRASH MY VOLVO


ALL THIS NEPTUNE NOISE


DICK ARMY


I continue to quote Kanye.

DEFINITIONS MAY VARY

A cone helps you get on top of things.
A garage is for all the art no one wants.
A cube is for licking.
A friend listens to your bullshit.
A lover holds you down until you drown.
A stew contains potatoes and vegetables.
A map helps you get there.
A heart is an ocean.
A mermaid is your compass.
A fairy tale is your natal chart.
An enemy is your catalyst.
A sun is your ego blooming.
A moon is your casa lit with candles.
A muerte is a candy trek.
A train is a looking glass, exploded.

SMIRK SPONSORED BY ARIES


I continue to adore this song.

CAMPFIRE

Oh limbic xmas tree oh limbic xmas tree.
I burned to a crisp between your branches.
Now I'm blue twinkling lights.
Now I'm the bargain bin angel glowing on top.
Now I'm...fuck xmas.
It's Halloween.
I'm wearing Lisa Frank sprinkled donut pajamas
pretending like I've never licked an ice cream cone
and my name is Kitty Cat
but you can call me Benign Laughing Golden Retriever.
I'm all soft slurp.
I possess no sharp edges or malignant surprises.
The moon is in Aries or Scorpio and I'm sitting
pretty bland dumb obedient
before the roaring campfire
marshmallows dripping from my fingers.
Toby is telling us about the time his uncle died
and an owl hooted the "Twin Peaks" theme
outside his bathroom window.
Corey is strumming his Goodwill guitar.
Chelsea is flashing her tits, dousing herself
with gasoline.
Sam seems intrigued as he sips from his
bottle of Maker's Mark.
Tomorrow the spirit quest continues,
should take us at least as far as the Valero
on Vance Jackson.
They still sell lottery tickets and Slim Jim there.

ADORATION FROM A SPOOKY DISTANCE

Stay over there deep in your gravy.
I know your potatoes.
I know your salt.
I know your pepper.
I'm toasting you still
from a billion galaxies away.
Here is much the same as there.
Everything bulges.
Such a brag.
Muchness continues.
Nada is a myth.
Can you feel it, baby?
I can, too.
I'm quoting the former owner
of the trash talking teddy bear.
Everyone loves him in Boston
and a few other places.
Space doesn't scare me like it did
two or three ghost stories ago.
I know every inch of the woods
where we stumbled blind
seeking candy.
I'm still in those woods.
I'm still slobbering for chocolate.
The moon holds me and if I drop
and if I fall
Mercury reminds me with a wink
that no motherfucker in the multiverse
possesses a true net.
Boo.
Shivering.
Shining.
I can hold
myself.

AS LONG AS I'M ALIVE THERE IS MAGIC


LOREM IPSUM


GEMINI