Tag Archives: writing

She had a face like a rotifer

These fluctuations
Manifest
It’s uncertainty
                                    Yeah
A twitch in the eye
Now I think I
Why I was never in control
                                    Yeah
Arising inescapably
A bunch of dots
In little groups
                                    Yeah
On a piece of paper
That’s all we are to them
All we are to them
                                    Yeah
Why it happens to me
Why it doesn’t happen
To you
                                    Yeah
Why it happens to me
Why it doesn’t happen
To you
                                    Yeah
We might be
Something else
Something somewhere else
                                    Yeah
You’re more here
& I’m more there
It’s who we are
                                    Yeah
We might be
Something else
Something somewhere else
                                    Yeah
You’re more here
& I’m more there
It’s who we are
                                    Yeah
Why it happens to me
Why it doesn’t happen
To you
                                    Yeah
Why it happens to me
Why it doesn’t happen
To you
                                    Yeah
She had a face like a rotifer
Wanted to be the first in line
Didn’t care what she was waiting for
                                    Yeah
She saw her name at the top of the list
She saw those numbers to the sky
But nobody came
                                    Yeah
Nobody came
She had a face like a rotifer
Looking back at me oh
                                    Yeah
Something broke under her heel
The timeline stopped an infinite
Of filaments fell out of her purse
                                    Yeah
Like intestines would
Or chiral liquid crystal marbles
We suck off in sequence
                                    Yeah
In a circle off the floor



Velutina

I found some tracks
In the mud
I went lookin’
Just to see what
I would find
& I found thunder
On a sunny day
In June
It forms a line
It forms a web
I wonder what
They’re singing
To each other
Then the thunder
Pounds again
It pounds again
From somewhere
Maybe higher up
The mountain
& the sky
Sometimes
It seems
Like these sunny days
In June
It booms
From somewhere
Higher up
The mountain
& the sky
Sometimes
I find tracks
In the mud
& I go lookin’
Just to see
What I might find
Not ever
Really knowing
With my eyes
Peeled back
Like tangerines
Like tangerines
Peeled back
Into a spiral
Then the thunder
Pounds again


Watermelon on the face in May

They figured out
All you gotta do
Is drone them
& they’ll come back
They’ll come back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is bomb them
& they’ll fight back
They’ll fight back
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is send them off
& let them back
Let them back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is let them thru
& they may want
They may want
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out


The inbetweens

Light a candle
Put a stop to them
Put a stop to them
Put a stop to them
I like to sit
Watching plants grow
From a window
Scrolling down
Down
Down
But it lags
It lags
It lags
It lags
& I know
Somewhere inbetween the I
And these requests you sit
Collecting
& I muse
Do you feel a pang rewarded
Like I do
Like I do
Do you
It’s sticky
Like a web
Like the cum
On your hands
Little humps
On the top of tinted SUV’s
Watching screens
Watching screens
Watching screens
It doesn’t matter
We’re the inbetweens
The inbetweens
The inbetweens


The miner

                                                      She was waiting
                                                by the open window
                                                  for the sun to set
                                                 smoking a cigarette
                     but it never did
                       that night


         The Velvet Underground spun around
         on the thrift store phonograph
                                  it sounded
                      almost like Aphex Twin

                    a full moon
                     or a straight line
                       insufflated off a mirror
had her hair all tangled
                                            tied back
                 like some sorta
                                    dying ritual


both of her hands &
        both of her eyes
     would alternate
                                       from screen to screen


was she a hunter—or a dopamine machine


who was she waiting for

                  in nothing but her striped stockings
                                             up to her thighs 
       a black choker with a ring on it &
       an indigo princess plug hidden

                                        by the faux tiffany lamp
                                   cross legged on the bed
                 in a small white room
             with a fat buddha tapestry
                                             twelve floors up
                                            with the window open


no encryption


 the screen turns off
  but the cam stays on