Monday, June 29, 2015

mr. dog.

narcissus- dowser of reflection- marry you? marry

deep-dark-sad-lonely me. the best i can do
is be hurt knowing
my life depends on the opinions of others- the new
science. out with the old- it went

on a diet and died.

and when

i say "my life", i mean my well-being- which is
what i am nothing without.
that means i am nothing, nothing
without my neurochemical

biological
functional
complex

fucking up. the dowser

for meaning in dreams that fail never
my memory.
what do i learn from you

besides everything about the life i'm not
yet living?
my mouth is being a cave blindly
dripping darkness and

other unfashionable things. kiss it.

i remind you of something-

that
plasma anomaly, unforgivably
self-researching. that
straggling, extra chromosome, floating
the learned way. the microscope yields;
for i give a shit.

growing not growing
from
opposition- that which screws
with the process of

decomposition. the soul of violence

is a high-pitched helium voice.
this constitutes the anima- which is

justice-constituting

the outward gender
which is the very big dick of violence.

this dick is so big, that further growth
is not permitted.
MY SOUL IS TRYING TO KILL ME IS WHY.
i'm getting it to remain
illegal forever-
i'm only interested in the thrill of things
and that which is a thrill

is illegal.

take the ground, dump it
off the face of the earth. if the good mother

is all that is nature, we can
separate ourselves. let us reject our cells.