Sunday, May 31, 2015

the squeal.

you know the spoiled girl died young, yes? and that
it's always such a shame

when people die ahead of time- you never
would've suspected
a part of them was obliterating themselves-
they used big words, they went to school- nevertheless,

they die
worming their way through the dirt in
their wildernesses-

the essence of their lives buried
for they didn't know what they were doing-

unreasonable, crazy, mean, accepted-
it turned out they were not superior-

and their basic needs
dunked into the sea- pouring water, after
through a journey- inside, it was

actually quiet.
if this was hollywood,

or new york city, i would love
to be stared at, for i love to laugh at
big fat places

filled with their big fat people- i love
to name-drop and to
memorize maps-
sectioned into different areas where you can
sample the artificial air, thickening

into aphrodisiacs that the people get hooked to
and are honest about.
"i am horny."

where is the sense in these maps? i'd rather

give my whole at once, to a cause, or to a life,
then chop it into nuances
that do terrible jobs-

some bits getting to places and some bits
staying right here, instinctively faithful.

please do not feed me to the birds, leave
my stupid things alone with
my wisdoms. i have no eyes left. i feel

my way against my blockades with
my whiskers against the walls-

this is famous, this is famous.