Текст: Subtle. Other. I Heart L.A..

i heart l.a.

i've got what letters one would need to spell winter
safe in the belly of a white paperpinch
i hurried folding

this is exactly the sort of mood that
i cannot watch movies in

boys nerves all yelling "arm" into the blood brain barrier
ganging up on now inside the big bone holding up my face...

my father was born in the 40's
they had just finished erecting the oakland apartment
i now live in...
since then...
two single mothers and a man who cut his face have lived there.

day after day...
this is the day after desperate

my room has filled with
day and night
and night and day
since then...

my father has called twice and left a message
the electricity is on...
these are the least of my worries

the moles on my penis remind me of skulls
and all the doctors who would quickly
cut them off and eat them
as they take down art in hotel hallways

probably to the tune of plain old heart failure on a rollaway

they hurt in the dull
at the hinge to both eyes
the no place of an ache
where you push and pull when trying to fall asleep

soon things kick in severly at the nape
of my patience
as the worm inside my spine contracts

i see me pouring cum out of
the corner of a dug up shoebox
across the hope lump of an old pet
onto a large bundle of grain

i think what's wrong with the world
has to do with those who fell in love with new york
or los angeles or paris and jerusalem

and me of course
flagged in modern sneakers
and perfume of my morgue mouth meat adore...

if i could only travel back in time and kick my mother in the face after
a permanent

this would nothing
and feel better or worse
in the necessary softening of all my bones

there is more to life than manicured vaginas and a saline solution

the no place of an ache dangles
body all around it.

i've got no new spelling of the word winter
for the me on the other end of this airplane.