a cigar-store solipsist
stuffing towels in doorways,
i was crowned prince asphyxia;
oh, do not fall in love with
dead boys - you can't make
martyrs out of suicide drones.
a study in arthroscopy (manus)oh, i'll take these muddled words & cigarette burns,a study in arthroscopy (manus) by counting-vertebrae
spit 'em out or sell 'em as cinema or cemeterial.
i've got these dirty fingernails hooked like cat claws
into my prey-heart through pericardium; i wanna trade
in this light head(ache) to admire snapping bones
or splitting skulls 'cause i can't keep the talk cheap
or the drum-beat outta (always best inside) my mind.
my spine has never meant prowess; i've always been your
favorite migraine, baby: all potential & no promise.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; theybetween my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial) by counting-vertebrae
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
fall in love with (splitting hairline fractures)we swallow blues insteadfall in love with (splitting hairline fractures) by counting-vertebrae
of talking them out. oh,
kids like us are specters,
spectacles: boys counting
rib(cage)s & (de)composing
don't you hate
is a vessel
we're deities or tomb-raiders; no
in-betweens for writers these days
because i'm like a relapse (of you or youth)baby blues cannot cure suicide agendas.because i'm like a relapse (of you or youth) by counting-vertebrae
all these poets do is wither, wither,
waste - decomposing bones just
enough to trade them in for
words & kill them
conversations bloom between my tongue &
teeth or two choice vertebrae; thoughts
burst like blood vessels,
like self disgust
(i am more catatonic
than i am catastrophic).
Of Irrevocable SoulsMother, I have learnedOf Irrevocable Souls by TwilightPoetess
of all the places in the universe
mementos from the underworld
within an owl graveyard,
maps not meant for following--
a fleeting touch of the galaxy.
The moon is on fire,
a dreaming globe;
in the silence,
a strong and broken man
plagued by phantasms
the tails of falling stars--
"The bone yard glows, but you are still here;
friends shouldn't say goodbye like this."
i don't miss you, but i do.when it rains ii don't miss you, but i do. by solis-ortus
drive like hell
trying to find you on the
how many nights did we
on the edge of town? hell,
i had memorized the way
you looked in the
dark. your eyes shone like the
stars (but i should know better than to
compare you to any sort of
and sometimes when it
storms, i think
of calling you and telling you that
i'm sorry your mom's a
drunk and i'm sorry your brother
overdosed, and i'm sorry that
i left last fall–
see, i had to burn this bridge
before i jumped off of
sometimes i get mesmerized, watching the flies.i'd drink the bleachsometimes i get mesmerized, watching the flies. by Whyles
my mother pours into the sink
just to feel it eat away
at the chapped beige skin
peeling from my vermilion lips;
it's winter in this summer wasteland
and i'm jealous of the sink.