fidelic whore-- this is appropriationmy sweet synchronicity ,i have downed your appetitein a bed of front teeth (it is morning in perthmidnight in dublin, and the noonsun has been lost behinda dress of mothy curtains)do i taste ofyour forethought of love making;do i reek ofthe weeds that have infiltratedthe posture of your spine?-you bend overmy lap a curve of guiltand weep all night.i collect each knob of your bodylike a gift. press it to my mouth.swallow, spit.
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
how to healthey say honeyto soften the wound, but i let the woolwet with ethanolgnawuntil i amweeping,again, and again,and again
a poem for your poetryin you, find:repetition,cut lines,dash-and-enjambment;a woeof honesty wringingthe strength fromemotion:toward the end,destroyed.
i and youwho is it thatyou dream of?is it mewith the knife in your back;do you see methe woman witha wolf jawcut slack in a growl?do i pounce you?do you defeat mewith the knifei gave you?and i wonder the soundof me when you finally put your demonto rest--she is a venus(her body cut fromthe ivory tusk with hips like that of a valley, breasts shaped astwo moons caught inher breath)and i am the trapshe slips into.i cut her headinto a loop land wear her round my necklike lace.
thuggish loverno more on love. tell meinstead of the hearts you'vebeaten, and the way they kept onthrobbing
movinglet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about itlet's talk about iti'm so fucking sick of talking.and sitting in this house, and thinking. and feeling like themuscles in your throat thatrepel everything you sticktoo far downi was told that it was all inmy head that the world wasagainst me. i am paranoid,i am blackened by this bodythat hangs in the corner ofmy mindand it's all in my headthe way things vacate and glarebut every body is goneand the night is so silentso uncoincidentally at thesame hour,it's all in my head,and the floor hasbeen torn up, my prettywhite washed carpet,and underneath it's the samescraped floorboards, the sameshitty floor that was therewhen i was laying on itnine years ago,and i saidto myself the otherday things have changedthings have changedthey aren't the same,and i'm glad
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo
note 62i fell asleep besidehim, and around elevenhe woke up and said"i'm leaving"where did the hungerunlock from, why is iti spent months watchinghim come and leave withnothinguntil now"don't" i said"stay" i saidand bent my armsaround him. "allof a sudden you love me again,"and he stayed for a little bit longer
untitledseducing the writeris pointless;he'll seduce himselfif you're silent.
ZemiThings having to be returned to their transparency: i. / green mist-earth / knit atmosphere / fathomless blue-lavender / lights spun out from light ii. are recalcitrance / and you are convergence & - a fingernail of summer - a melting of rain - a crown of flowers - a priest of sunsets(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.Zemi. are you beautiful because I loveyou? Zemi? ) iii. I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution. To Rilke, it's a melody that floods over us when we have forgotten how to listen for it. I never could forget this: for how could I know my hand as both well and chasm? and how could I know time, a windstruck dimension, standing in her white street? iv. We go on morning walks and Zemi laughs at everything I say.
make me blue foreverwe had sex between empty boxes on the floor and the scent of vanilla and dragon's blood incense made everything seem more vacant than it had to be. the room was cool but too warm beneath his skin, between his and mine. the ashtray was half-full, i noticed, as we moved across the floor, and the smell of summer dying was coasting through an open window. i becameinfatuated with the knowledge that fall was coming. soon it would be cold. i could smoke,stare at the sky and maybe i'd stop purging. maybe i'd commit to health, stop cutting and anxiety. maybe i would change.or maybe i'd keep promising myself that until next fall. all the while, i am changing, just not in ways i want. i corrode internally. i turn so blue that i begin tofade into the sky.he grabs my hips and moves me, tipping me up and steadying me to ride him, the phosphorescence of the quiet bright room seemingly ingested by me. m
Vishnui. (matsya - fish)in the beginning, there was silver;mercury inscribing cuneiformbeneath the bloodwork of your skewed scales,scrawling preserverthroughout salt-drenched lungs.and you laced clear planets into your slipstream,wrapped solar systems in translucence.ignoring all the shattered galaxies. ignoringhow easily their frail orbitsbroke.ii. (kurma - turtle)your ribcage screamed a shattered warcryof not-quite-god and less-than-human;a shark's-tooth carapace crushed in. forgotten names clawed out your sternum.your spine fused into your biting back.iii. (varaha - boar)razor-wireless shrieked of true talesthieved by midnight's neon-tripped true bones.gunshot eyelids half-horizon,you rose, arpeggioof stop.iv. (narasimha – half-man, half-lion)he walked like christian gods on holybreaking waves of children's bowed backs.a crooked tooth inside you turned,crucified his smug steel-gray blue.v. (vamana - dwarf)eras of electrons scratchedthemselves into your heels
what are you thankful for?thank god for youand for LSDand for all things in between the twothank god for democracyand for level-headed patriotswho realize the real love of countryis the love of others and respect of self.thank god for the biologistsand the chemists and the physicists andthe mathematicians who in the faceof an ugly human race, give mereasons to love the worldeven more every day.thank god for trees and mountainsand oceans and fresh air and wide fields and, i'll say it again, thank god for youand for LSD too because they belong in the listof natural beauties as well. you are made of the earthand lucy helped me to see that. every day i thank god forthe truth being that he doesn't really exist. that all thingsexist. that i have a conscience to keep me straight. thatenergy is never created or destroyed. that energy is god. i thank godfor that.thank god for my family. i wish they weren't so blind but i thankgod for them nonetheless. i thank god for your eyes. green likethe back
a string drawn tautthere are so many blue stars in your skinbut i can't believe each neuron is a universealight with planets,gaunt aliens signing godin the absence of your name,dim cars on the street,beneath an awninglike a glowing orange wombyou shudder saying,god,i just had a chill, is this room coldor are we in the gut of a giant who's strung outseven days lifeless,biting the apple,a dragon,wishing for his mother,mijo, dioses magno,the earth is spinning in the eyesof a turtlewith a red shellwho swims in the flowers ophelia braided, who swallows supernovas and they pass through his kidneys,oh god,we could burst any minute,a fly's nerves twitch,tectonics shift, a city laid,babel screechesbetween microscope lenses, clutching wife to child,do you know my name?do you know you're shivering? do you know i'm the son of your nucleus?i live in your cheekand die at your
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost, kissing stylish arsonists + I still love every sky escaping from your lips
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
autopsyher spine was cracked down the middle,her skin unraveled at the seams.bloated lungs and an emaciated heart filled her no longer moving chest.her eyes were still openand her hands stretching for the last thing she ever saw,though she'd never reached it.no one knew the exact cause of death,except the shadow of a boy who avoided her funerallike it was a plague.like she was the plague.
apart.and I was sitting in the gutterafter trying for the fourth night in a rowto drown you along withall my other ghostsand the churchwas across the streetcross lit up high in the skyand it feltlike the completeopposite of salvation.it was 4amand with the neon blueshining in my eye linei realised i was alonei was utterly alonein the saddest way possible.
they can't be takentheir bleach skin caught my eyealbino white against the wildhair like bright sky electric in the briarshaloed sister gods shot down like fawn
inertiai think i brokesome bones in my sleep.i remember waking upand saying i will do it in the morning.my floor is littered with broken thingsi meant to fix. there is a mosquitoin here growing fat on the thingsi have intended to change.the radio whose battery light is flashinga slow sos at the darkening ceiling.the piles of old letters stacked like snow.the people who told methey were lawyers and insurancebrokers in the elevatorone time at two inthe morning with the stenchof death on their breath.the day my body stoppedhealing.
(MDCCCXVIII.)& maybe élanis holdinga magnumto your temple-no bullets,flowers(lilacs)like we stolewhen we were young,wondering aboutcelestial skies& the meaning of forever:it will never passinto nothingness.
terminali.we landed in oklahomaand drank cheap martinis in the terminal;you carried my guitar and fell in lovewith my voice but not my tongue,not my hands.ii.there's a man with a garagethat looks like a plane because nothingmeant more to him. will you make a modelof that bar? will you make a modelof my red cheeks? or will you live in a townhomewith her and three children?iii.the problem was you're not gay.the problem was there was feelingbut it wasn't for us. i had you butit wasn't for us.iv.i'm not sure if i resent you,but i remember that bar and every pockmarkon the stool you sat on while i playedthe song that parted your lips;you remember every pockmark in oklahomalike they were ours.
you are, you will bethis is meant to be heard: https://soundcloud.com/c-e-moore/you-are-you-will-be-by-your-methamphetamine--my bodyis beautifulwaitnofucktry again with moreconviction this time.my body is beautiful;its curves ascend more than the ruggedAlps, theyfall like contradictions from a politicallyincorrect statement, my body is thepavement of my mind's highway but theseflyovers keepcollapsing, I'mtrapped under the debris ofesteem(not self-esteem, that requiresa mind-heart team effort)my lips have kissed all kinds ofroyalty; my hands have polished enoughcrowns and sworn fealty to the rightpeople. my loyal legs once opened widerfor you to go deeper but I don't likethinking about that, I don't liketalking aboutyou.start over and this time,mean it.my body is beautiful; have youseen how my hipbones curve likewishbones?(when you find me stuck between yourgravestone-teeth, will you promise to bebreak me homolytically?)have youseen how my thighs purge out ofsociety's
SurrealismThree a.m., andGod is in my bathtubagain—sipping whiskeyhallelujahs;backlit bya freshwater moonin the mother-of-pearl sky.
The Flutter VelocityI didn't know the bridge would fallor that the water beneath could consumethe last structures of an identity,when held still I don'tfight anymore.The architects were ignorant.I make gills and breathe,submit to pressure,the last car to fall is black.I don't care anymore.The shore persists.
crashworkwhen i say i don't want to exist, i am trying to ask for the high sharp note of a lemon, split across my tongue.we limit speech to apologies and collisions, restrict touch to skin. i no longer trust scales, prayers, or repetitive numbers. we watch the hospital on tv, eleven seconds between explosion and sound. pillows of grit bubble into blue. our legs still through too many movies, neither learn nor forget the distance between skin and chrysalis. i open myself but remain human and paper. the music does not change and colour does not fade. i clean the bathroom floor. inside my nose the smell of warm water.if you asked i would have explained in physical terms. the blue veins of the chicken you ate, as though mood did not touch other body parts. the unpoetic safety of colon, carpal, sesamoid. i hold the taste of jasmine in my mouth, your tongue an absence. latticework of space.
thankheaven for books,and mulatto boys thatbreak my heart; thank god for vodka andthank god for urges that slither into deep throatspast better judgement and thank god for his handsthat he lovedme with