Archive for December, 2009

To Ratchet, Darling: This Is Not My Best, But I Did It For You.

December 26, 2009

two dozen foil-covered dishes splay out

grease and fat made proudly by my

discerning relatives, one set of wrinkled

silver tops devouring another.

.

my eyes glaze like

uncovered gravy

going solid in the beige

Pyrex behind the second

dish of deviled eggs.

.

my aunts and grandmother

talk about homosexuals.

.

did you hear about Brian and his ‘friend’

…..……you know they won’t be having children

……….(laugh laugh laugh)

but you can’t judge ‘em

………….no, you have to love’em, they’re still

…………family

I don’t think God made ‘em that way

I think they choose to be like that

.

we humans have trouble with

presence without pretext,

pesky “I think, therefore I am

uncomfortable” leaving us unable

to sit silent with each other, radiating

happiness by simple fact of I am not alone

and we are not alone together.

.

I would rather kneel

eyes closed, bare neck

against your black velvet

throat, nerves to skin to fur

to skin to nerves singing it is good

that you are here it is good that we

touch your presence against my presence

is good it is good we are together here it is

good it is good it is good back and forth in primal

love rite language deeper felt than words

left unregistered by your

beautiful brain.

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I Am The Awful Dreaded Monster Thing, Omg.

December 16, 2009

it doesn’t go over well at parties.

I identify myself and learned men

recoil in horror.

.

“it cannot be!”

“I never would have thought!”

“are you fuckin’ serious?”

I am, as a matter of fact, fuckin’ serious.

.

lately it’s been hard, the questions

and uncomfortable pauses

in conversation.

“but you don’t seem…uh… “

“I never would have guessed…“

“that surprises me becau – “

.

I know, I know.

I don’t communicate via nonverbal grunts

or have the brain circumference

of a bottle cap, so nobody

really knows how

to handle it.

.

I don’t either.

The Big Dogs

December 10, 2009

the big dogs eat my heart, oh my god,

the big dogs weave themselves into

my limbs as I sleep like casts for

all-over fractures and breathe deep

to massage my jagged jigsaw bones

back into place.

.

they say things like “we are one” and

“you are ours, and we are yours.”

they howl burial hymns that scythe

men’s souls to shards like murder

mirrors bouncing future pictures

back of awkward, messy ends;

men blush and weep, ashamed

of ugly, indifferent deaths.

.

the big dogs blaze strength like martyrs

in my weakness, they hunt in packs,

they think like us but cannot speak.

I love them, my god, I love them

so much; I feel their souls through

the fur on their necks

because they choose to live

in the open.  the big dogs

have no home but themselves;

I go where they go, I sleep where

they sleep.  they are my guides

and keepers, they know the place

where I will die, they will carry me

on their soft, strong backs as I go.

Vomit Was Released In 1956 And Went To #1 On The U.S. Country Charts. It Got Pretty Good Reviews.

December 6, 2009

Vomit.

.

Just say it.  Vomit.

.

There’s nothing wrong with saying it.

.

People vomit.

.

I bet there are at least a dozen people vomiting right now, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

.

I mean, it’s unfortunate that they are vomiting, but there is now therefore no condemnation for those who vomit.

.

“Get sick” and “be ill” are spineless cowards who weep on their mothers’ aprons.  I have no use for them, and neither should you.

.

No one has ever been as honest with me as Vomit.  When it said, “You should really break up with that asshole,” I vomited in your car and didn’t apologize. When it said, “You’ve put on some weight over the past year; do you really think you need that chicken alfredo?”  I vomited in the toilet and sprayed lavender-scented disinfectant.  When it said,“I think your struggles with weight and being single have led to some self-esteem problems that have caused you to become bulimic,” I said, “What the fuck man, you told me to do all that shit.” Vomit replied, “Hey, nobody’s perfect.  And now your ass looks fantastic.”

.

Besides, my mother told me never to marry a man ashamed of his own vomit.  Therefore, we are over.

Throat Fire Aesthetic

December 4, 2009

let’s yell at each other for a while.

it will heal our hearts and afterward

we’ll need cough medicine, which will

make us sleep like babies.

.

there’s nothing left to fight over.

all buildings are destroyed and our

ideas have jumped from our skulls to grow

in the dirt. we will join them someday

to feed them not just with our heads

but with our whole bodies.

.

I waste so much time

not doing what I want to do

and not saying what I want to say.

everything I have ever loved is burning.

what else is there to make you understand?

.

drag your grosgrain bow

across these gut strings and

make them sing.

My Name Is Layne And I Am Seven Years Old And My Brother Dustin Is A Dumbhead

December 1, 2009

He pushed me down on the carpet because

he’s dumb and stupid and a poopbrain and

I’m gonna get our dog Lassie and ride on her back

like a big fluffy pony and her eyes are gonna

be big red fireballs that will burn him and shoot

lasers at his butt and she will say scary things like

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” and

“You feelin’ lucky, punk?” because even though I am

seven years old and don’t get cultural references

my dog does because she is smart and watches

TV and eats name-brand dog food.  After she burns

him crispy with her fireball eyes she will chase him

into my room and all of my stuffed Lion King toys

will band together and hunt him because that’s what

lions do because I am a total dweeb when I’m seven

years old and love reading ZooBooks, freaking ZooBooks,

but I’m not good at sports and I don’t like gym class and

I’m overweight and have huge glasses and in five years

when I ask Adam Wadsworth to dance with me at the

sixth-grade dance it will be super awkward because I

am still overweight with big glasses and I was

a late bloomer and he doesn’t like me that way

but I do because we both read Redwall and he looks

nice in button-up shirts.  My Lion King toys will

corner Dustin and Simba and Nala will rip off his

arms and legs and hide them in the backyard

and under the deck and stuff because they will be

hard to find and I won’t get them for him because

he is a fartface, and I will say “Ha ha ha, who’s fat

and dumb now?” and he will cry and want me to

love him again and I won’t because I’m mad

and I don’t have to.  Then me and Simba and Nala

and Lassie will start singing “We Will Rock You”

because I do know that song because Dustin plays

that CD on the stereo downstairs and we will stomp

and clap and laugh and it will be so much fun.

Then I will close the door to my room and after

a while I will want to play 2-player Mario and then

I will say something not mean to Dustin and we will

play Mario together and he will say funny things in

funny voices and we will laugh a lot.  I will like it

and Mom will make mac’n’cheese for supper and

it will be the best day ever.