dirt.

caked in the ridges
of the cobbler's palm,
smeared on the
mashed potato baby face.

war paint.

a hint of grit and grime
in a picnic lunch,
exoskeleton crunch.

worm food.

nematodes,
sticks and bricks
you have a home.
orangtang special spice,

percolating,

earth's blanket
under my fingernails.

idee fixe

if i were quiet
silent
for whatever reason
a goiter
globus sensation
mutism
nothing to say
maybe i would
listen

maybe

i will make this my utopia.

as the beaches of paradise leave me with,
burnt skin, sand-filled and scratched corneas,
a brackish tongue and bloodshot eyes.
as the finest wines and forbidden fruits
have ceased in their ability to quell my hunger.
as the conflict diamonds are lack-luster and heavy
the gold wiring leaves stains on my skin.
as my silk clad delicate bones and tapering limbs
are still the subject of body dysmorphic disorder.

i will rest easy on permafrost deserts.
my hunger will be satiated by bread and butter.
i will be beuatifully adorned with mud and rocks.
and my mangled body will become the sculptors muse.

and this will be my utopia.

a somewhat mediocre cover

plans shattered scattered
across times zones

hanging strands of tinsel
on cattle skulls n bones

rolling in tumble weeds
mixing with dust

inhaled through new
freshly pink lungs

now youre
there
im still here

i kill corners of bottles
your eyes are finally clear

its about rebellion, isn't it?

you do not have to follow the wrinkled map on your palm.
you do not have to float down flow charts and fafsa forms.

you only need to stay under the influence,
of love's natural barbituate.

meanwhile the world sits, stands, speaks when they are told.
meanwhile they drop to their knees before god.

gesticulating, prostrating,
their lucid hides undulating,
on the floor of the altar.

meanwhile they combat their surges of racing heartbeats,
with slow rhythmic breathing incompatible with panic,
and esophageal spasms and heat flashes and pica ticks.


whoever you are, remove yourself from the floor,
glue together your aching shattered patellas,
stand with knees locked unwavering,
like old trees against the restless
winds of life.