Friday, July 8, 2011


Every day I feel I'm drowning
They plant flowers between the exits and the highways
I have no exit
I have no flowers to pick
I collect scraps of metal
and blisters
and burns
and blood on my jeans
and a portfolio of strangers
and their handshakes, forgotten
I fold myself into napkins
and dream about eating pussy
at least four times a week
I mail bloody envelopes
to addresses I cannot remember
I thumb through cellphone contacts
But I hate none of them enough
to call them
and feed my intestines
out of my mouth and through the satellites
and I hate none of them enough
to beg them to thread the other end
through the eye of a needle
And none of them love me enough to do it.

I relate to only insects
I pinch off their wings and examine
their veins with careful scrutiny
through the lens of my broken eyeglasses
that I can't fucking believe
I forgot to bring with me
So I wander selfish and blind
Poor me
And I hate falling asleep sober
Because I wake with tears drying on my cheeks.

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