5 Poems

NOTHING BUT THE END INSIDE OF ME

I grow Mom's erection to flatten lost paradises

On t-shirts on dead fingers on their lunch breaks.

For miles are goat mailboxes stuffed with recipes

Always hot blue tarps mix with mermaid spermicide.

Dad's boiled saliva smells my easy lifetime.

Earlier, it wore Autumn Sonata as fresh underwear

While sailing the rotting sunflower sea

Toward Trakl's black mouthed yellowing olive tree.

A thousand videos of cobwebs punched in their stomachs

Is everywhere I've been and nowhere I've gone.

I look outside garbage bags five times a day.

Nothing but the end inside of me counts every beautiful thing I see.

FERTILE AND BARREN

Pasta in limbo.

Laundry in limbo.

I have no income.

A washcloth walks faster

Than ample blank flowers.

I feel insane when I get into bed.

Digested shrimp age calmly.

They pick a postcard from my guts.

Shrimp recount their remains to shrimp pussy faraway.

An erased mouse has chapped lips.

I live like it lives.

I used to be more friendly.

MOMMY GUILT

The two windows on my wall

Bleed the best sauce,

Bleed people at their regular table.

People are basically snippets

Of the stuffed donut-thing they’re searching for.

Race riots emit the odor light poles love.

Kissing light poles is getting weirder.

Emails talking to me tomorrow

Simply want more time outside.

My days have too many hours in them.

TAKING A SHOWER WITH MY REMOTE 

The cum on his neck is art.

My cum on him is the average I thirst for.

Happiness comes, depression comes.

All the buzz on dolls that are Wi-Fi enabled hums. 

I've run out of cum.

God replaces it with teams of mustard and ketchup. 

Gandhi swallows a gallon, Mandela swallows a tub.

Writing shit about cum for the rich is not art.

TV PREVIEW

This September, a super-soldier fucks Confucius.

This October, celery smiles like shitting sprees arrested for shoplifting.

3 counts of attempted shellfish iffiness

Develop a case of breastfeeding anorexic tadpoles.

In the style of stab wound epilepsy,

A shadow's shitting spree was another of the twin towers 

Evaporated when a young white girl made the show more sellable. 

A tan of bladder-like eyeballs on Confucius

Suffocates the allotted croaking of frogs.

In October, the super soldier's dad fucks bulimic shotguns.

In November, French fries and defined arms are pregnant.

AFTER THE SHOPS CLOSE

AFTER THE SHOPS CLOSE

My uncle vomits dog food,

Thanks God it’s not pancreatic cancer.

He passes his mundacity onto fields of tooth reruns.

He passes me getting up early to make the commute better.

I’m thinking about the soap that’ll make me die.

After the shops open, I’m on my way to visit Kafka’s grave

And stop to watch a Hare Krishna parade.

While there I meet a French girl.

During lunch, she jerks me off.

Fireflies pour out of her eyes so I know how soon I’ll be in the dark.

Four decades later, Kafka’s on his way to visit my grave.

While there he stews about being a child star who became an ugly adult.

He opts his clean socks for a bird cooking in its beak.
A lake on that bird is drowning a mole in the morning.
Just last night she was in love with the dirt’s ass. 

https://youtu.be/BNHNxaBCKVc