Let the Words

before i left i'd said i'd return for sure never did never will closed my accounts threw the keys stopped paying bills couldn't pay them anyway my old number is still linked up with my google voice account it gives me half-hearted transcripts of voice messages " This is an important message from AT&T to discuss your wire less Please return our call you may also access your accou nt online AT www, dot A T T dot com slash my wife. Thank you for using AT&T." " Hello This is an important ca ll from Wells Fargo card servi ces Com you press one. Yeah, if no t 5 sorry I did not detect a respo nse. We will try back later. Thank you." some don't ask for money "If you could, Texas, a rare a call back Give it to me, that'd be awesome, thank you bye." my mother calls regularly " this is mommy, just calling t o see how you're

I watched Cap with his constant hard on and triple folded neck, jam the face of Vict, the toothpick deep into the anus of Dave the camel "Drink the shit," Cap screams. "Drink the shit" Cap ranted. "Love the shit" Cap vomited. "Suck that shit" Cap raged. Cap's a man with greens he rubs them on his cock every night dreaming of GDP, skyscrapers, and silicon tits. Victs a man born of dirt subsisting on scum collecting in the cracks of his mother's kitchen after I watched Cap fuck Vict to death for power, status, and fame Vict's limbs were hacked off along with his eyeballs and dick shoved into a meat grinder, diluted and blended with piss and sold at the mall for $30 a bottle "Profi Komandir," eau de toilette. A billion tears of irony will drown all those that choose to see.

I lay in the rain with a purple sky, twelve suns swirl slowly without ever setting. My breath is heavy and the air is thick. The droplets of rain are like acrylic paint, forming little dotted mountains of color across my bare chest and legs. There is a kind of silence that feels like heavy stones piled a top my head. I cannot move. The rain increases. Putting the world around me into a slick of fantastic colors of red and green, purple and blue, and gold and silver silver streaks. I am becoming part of a painting, not of my own making. I try to stand but my limbs feel like tree roots being forcibly torn from the ground. I am starting to feel the sensation of drowning. Drowning in a pool of paint. I slough off paint from my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. As I slip the paint from my body I notice my skin has become translucent. I can see the fat tissue and beneath that, the sinew of muscle. Alarmed, I finally force myself to sit up. I gaze at my navel. I can see my innards and pushing

"There's a chaos inside that 'll not die down." Unsteady gale wind whips at hair rips souls from their bones leaving corpses of naked bodies curled and crying, wet and muddy Blackness, sound of breathing a scream that wallows, tares from the intestines spewing brown bile, lead heavy words "You'll not drown in a wake of your own making." Shoving gravel through eye sockets, dreading tomorrow caught in a web of mucus, rotting tobacco leaves, dust of glass sprinkled on tongues Empty bottles of fire sing heavy somber tunes, tumbling off the end of the earth, cutting the heads of goddesses bathing in the stars "Turmoil inside suffocates tomorrow and the next." "I know."

Impatient mother scowls sourly at her children and scolds her husband, silent and seemingly dull, with wide soft eyes, for being a lazy ass. Their youngest daughter of four, bobbing her giant head with an amber green stare, smiles shyly at me in a shopping cart full of children, doughnuts, and diet Pepsi. It's 8:49 AM. Sleeping in a parking lot after another pulsating never ending night of nodding off for fifteen-dollars an hour, a woman clearly Tlingit, clearly drunk, and clearly lonely, asks over and over again "Aren't you coming with me?" There's no response. It's 1:37 PM. Steady clicking, pecking irregular bird, chattering confounding words, for future comas to come, eyes dry, brain heavy sack of fluid and distress, "documentation's for the birds," I say. It's 4:49 PM A day has passed and I am ready for a beer. It's 5:54 PM Cheers.

A man on a busy street corner full of voices and rumbling machines, sits at an eloquent bandsaw with a long line of women, children, and sad little men with humorless gazes. Each person in line digs in their pockets upon reaching the man and hands him a series of cards - credit cards, debit cards, member ship cards, plastic business cards. The man at the bandsaw flips a switch and carefully cuts each card in the shape of birds, flowers, butterflies, and intricate lacing patterns. He hands them back to the owner and they smile, amused. They walk to a young boy who's furiously chewing gum standing next to a sky scraper riddled with scaffolding. Each person with their artful little cards gives the boy their card. He then leaps quickly up the scaffolding, removes the gum in his mouth and sticks the card to the glass/stainless steel building. Climbing down and reaching the ground, the young boy puts another stick of gum in his mouth and waits for the next person. * * * A woman with hair

Waiting in the rain until bones gone soggy blood like slush aching clenched fists The bar rumbles with waves of laughter, old rock songs tinkering of beer bottles ice in clear glasses saw her once, all flesh heavy breathing, in rhythm with a man, the rain slid down her cheeks and collar bones like olive oil, white teeth glowing in the twilight wide smile thanking god standing under an eave across the street, eating blueberries I witnessed the pleasures of immortality Swaying like a falling alder leaf, her eyes wander lazily trying to remember the ground a smooth wild pendulum "You know how this is young man, without a crystal moon" "I want you in the rain always singing of immortality" Metal buttons, cold wall, starchy stiff jeans pulled past soft milky thighs, rain water warmed by skin twisting, jittery excitement folding, consuming, gripping shallow drowning breaths until life is knotted loosened again, drained already forgotten Leaning now, buttocks in hands smel

Sleep's an insomniac lover reading ancient odes, fiery dirge and death, voice laden with violence, sex and honey Dreams are a repetitious chaos chanting that pulsates somberly like electricity This is a rock This is a rock in a park This is a park with a rock where green grass grows. There is a tree with a shadow near the rock in the park where the green grass grows Again. Over and over, silent images of a screaming rock. Again. Over and over. I cannot stop. Frantic replay. This is a rock that bends time and space in a park that exists only in my mind where the green grass grows and a tree casts a sad shadow to remind the light that there is always darkness, that speed is relative to its existence, that one with out the other means nothing I want to beg the rock to speak, cut the tree down, and turn green green grass that grows into ashes "I am not Moab! My father is simply my brother and my sister's only my mother when all else is dead." There is this rock in a park

step-father's marrow is a white man's, that's steadily killing him Cassandra (Mother) says graft versus host disease is a war he'll certainly lose Snakes have licked the ears of hers and mine, the fall of Troy is charted by doctors with monotone voices and weary stares Body stripped bare, he's already burned upon the pyre, Chemotherapy Ultraviolet scorching, patches of crusty flesh In dreams he plays a giant mystical organ with me, keys made of book bindings and slabs of gold, that slid beneath my fingers to a melody not my own He smiles, sways to the chaotic notes and when all's gone silent and still he stares at me; "The battles we lose inside ourselves will always kill us in the end." I beg Apollo to blindfold us until the fall.

i've plugged in the television turned it to channel snow with its steady raspy whisper snow is cold it comes during winter like wet salt or cotton balls its getting to be spring now birds are starting to scream and the air is damp and warm channel snow will keep the smell down, cover these bodies in my kitchen with dusts of ice you can get an orange extension cord 120 feet long for thirteen dollars at home depot, a small pulley and two bolts for eleven eighty five every wednesday they'd stop by the light, the word, some salvation i'd asked them politely four weeks in a row. four weeks. not to come given the weight of the television and the force it takes to separate the metal prongs from the plug-in i had to buy three zip ties thought of it late so i stopped at the drug store mellisa has almond eyes and large breasts a gold crucifix precariously tittering on the verge of suicide canyon since she turned nineteen i've joked about her cross to bear and every friday night a

No longer let our voices fall to a whispering march of death. Jam your baritones and inflections through songs for a god gone dead Make the earth shudder under your footsteps as you let the wind take the pages like a flickering flame Make your presence known through the howling sleet and rain - scream in the faces of distorted kings, spit on their robes and shit in their eyes Cast your fury like the waves and witness the smoke of god vanish in the shadow of a cat, feast upon the words that wither like the grass Smear the self indulgent prophets in sweat and mud, drown the child of the Euphrates and piss on his holy stone Go horse in your burning wrath, sodomize wretched Isaiah, suffocate him in the wallowing tears of Job, let the blood of your hatred flow like wine Drink of your consummate supplication steeped in rage and disgust. Let it sustain you to shake the pillars and columns of his temple to the ground Dictate your commands and bask in the boundless power your existence brings t

old translucent green pop bottles litter everywhere filled with flesh and tears and hate and love and guilt and joy and rage and pity and remorse hurling black rusted tire irons and crow bars green bottles scream and weep and laugh and vomit and defecate shattered shit frantically shards of green in the lawn on rainy days a naked body haphazardly lays bomb it all, break it all a frenzy of life lived is a garden of glass that cuts you deep it is never greener so lay and roll and bleed bleed deep

My roommate was nearly killed by a rusty muffler. My rusty muffler. It tumbled, and ricocheted off wet pavement right at her She laughed. Brought the broken pieces by hand, said I'd fix it someday Radio's never worked, orange lights illuminate buttons that have no use, they're pretty in the night reflections Broken knobs flick them on and off on and off on and off on and off Before my muffler's attempted murder a chorus of tired pistons, rubber belts, fluid cylinders, mechanical leavers and stuttering window wipers occupied the cabin hall Now there's only a rumbling to be heard beneath my feet, loudest in every gear rattling organs under thin layers of fat It chokes the need for talk We are taken by the roar from place to place, I flick the orange button lights on and off on and off on and off there's need to yell at times "stop it..." I follow the white lines with my eyes until home, the howling dies, our voices are left to fill the void We listen to

heavy legs, empty mind an incandescent bulb burns quietly three books open at random hundreds of pages unread already written rain, ice slush, days overlapping, gray sheets wrapping every awakening a life that's been emulsified thick and bland let the routine of breath begin again

turn them over again in the abrasive light remember what you are squalor and stupidity hobbling round for one last smoke a slow burn will only kill you later