12/11: Subconscious Explorations (5 untitled poems)
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1.
Because once the pain has dripped and dried
and I’m empty inside
I beg the flowers grow
‘tween the cracks in pavement
i beg for stepping
stamping boots
on
and over
so i can break my back
for
a stem for
for
a petal for
just? just for
for just one petal
for just
the one
and for one
a crease in her spine
to make the shape
and i’ll paint the glue
and i’ll watch it dry
and i’ll watch me die
from an inside
2.
my bellybutton reeks
umbilicals and tears
lint and wax
a midnight oil burns
a qtip digs and searching
for gold
amidst a river
in blood
and chewed and spit
placenta
fuck the cotton fuzz
the isopropyl
i’ll clean
me clear
i’ll sift the mud
i’ll scrape the cold
the rock
the bottom
the drown
the save
the hope
to dig and be pulled
intestine at both ends
of anything if it’s there
feeling lost air
the brisk breeze
a nail on slate
or my finger in too
kind not yet too old
man’s nose
hair
ripping
bubbles
so we can die
together
gasping
for water
gulping entrails
and butter
3.
the fat is what she needs
and hates
and her voice curdles
and churns
and she isn’t even there
or she was already left
but still she was there
and everywhere
she is in the milk when it stirs
and when it foams
she was there
spinning silk
to tell the coffee
grinds
dry
and go
come back again
and do the same
and give it more
now make it blacker
no not as bitter
and not as cold too hot too steam
this isn’t lactaid and sugar
will kill you like sidewalks and family love and friends too
wet the filter
still damp. shit.
brown water
the cigarette smoke
net in your hair
and don’t forget the beard
and don’t forget to shave
the shit curd mustache on your face
it isn’t there
4.
bubble bubble bubble
cauldron in my chest
please don’t let me cause you trouble
i won’t
i promise
don’t mind
me
i’ll die
here
in this stew
of tiny toys
i picked them up
for you
and put them in the bath
with bubbles too
if it’s too hot for me
it’s just right for you
5.
his is in my ears
so red again and fire
tipping at every curve
canals
steering magma
behind them too
and under
the limestone bridge
a broken neck
cocked a crack left
asleep in z’s
its sitting
on the foot
of a bed
raised 15
°
somehow
is mine
from somewhere
my weight that leans
a boulder/roll right
at the ready
just like a dream
daydreaming work
working and love
of toil
oil
blister
skin
raisins
raised chars
they feel
like not at all
or maybe feel
like a name