i was challenged to write a poem about a sentient car so uh here you go
my mother: robot shrill drilling my parts together
while dad and dad and dad and dad
made sinew out of molten metal.
out of the belched black smoke
of a factory womb i rolled
onto trailers overpacked with
siblings only i could see.
i can't forget the smiles
of the men gleaming cold
on showfloor after showfloor eager
to usher another stranger
you found me and i hated you.
you ground me down and stared through me
and only at me to judge and pick and re-
configure. my insides boiled over
at the whim of your careless stomp.
i sang the songs you taught me strangled
over wires and wanted to spit them out.
i saw the
i knew fear and joy and you,
then, more intimately than ever: i held you in
at peace now i rest your tool no longer.
in pieces i am whole; in pieces i am total.
tell me you love me and make it hurt.
our ribs are a spear bridge
tearing from me to pierce
into you and it hurts
but we love it like rainbow road
because it is beautiful and deadly
and has no railing.
let's hit boost pads
and go through loops
and look for power ups
and fly radiantly off the track
and die in the stars together
at the back of the n64.
tell me you love me in those stars.
i've burnt every memory onto dollar store
cd-rs and around my body built walls like
snake skin into an upright coffin.
blue and purple are the imperfect reflections i see
of my face on every side and every angle.
in here i am deprived of everything but
myself. i'm in love with false narratives
and dead dreams staring back at me perfectly
preserved but irrationally written.
to molt: i cut the corners of my mouth
and slide each disc in scratching lines
of misperception with my teeth on top and bottom.
my stomach, sick with corrupted checksums, waits to
regurgitate lossy thoughts again tomorrow.
a lesson about swamps for tables in 35 parts
is a thing I made for tilde.town.
read about a swamp.
oh, sweet avenger:
fist my face and pull out my anxieties tarp-wrapped like a river corpse and
mashed together like black mold balled up by shaking fingers.
rub it on the walls and write a poem that smothers
this place with inner filth like waterboarding in reverse
and in slow motion.
now, touch your lips to mine.
shotgun the fetid air from my lungs and
transmute it into perfume designed
by one who loves scent
in the way only a blind person can:
i will love myself like that one day.
you took my picture and gave me a soul.
you put it on facebook,
but it was a ghoul soul decayed
and rotted upon upload.
pitch over your pinterest and pour me out:
i am not your arts and crafts,
i am not your beautiful wedding,
i am not your year in review.
delete my tweets from your computer:
i don't want to be in you.
take out your disks and ram
and disembowel them.
bury out back the remnants
upside down backwards and re-
but leave me on your g plus page
empty and sepulchral
for google bots to grope and pull,
parsing nothing but mistakes.
friends: i say that i am and ask, where?
the sick nurse is exhausted and has been woman
working full time on his case. I with offer to take
over her shift. She waist-long brightens.
I am explosions. Is this what's wrong? the nurse copies
earwig-like insects that feed on rooms.
she teaches me what to do, explaining each time hair
in that i will kill a bug and say the white hospital
killed a bug in the nightgown.
all this is just Virtual Reality dark anyway
crying and shaking and trying to quit
my self has bathroom divulging impossible.
i up the game's menu.
soldiers jump through a warranty
we just keep track and crush the bugs and and
crushing them i realize increasingly disgusted
work fast. eye contact now. don't damage with the brain piece.
it has to go back in us. "go get some sleep," the nurse
leaves and i stand there:
a glass container full of brain:
comatose matter floating in some kind
of land, green and preserved.
why disgusting bugs
wriggling and waking?
bugs' absence moving forward breathing,
it seems straightforward,
but best most professional possible guarantees
that this was enough basically.
"save and quit."
i am bearing a self terrified to quit
without saving a door thanking profusely
a crowd that may drink champagne women
moved into another room and finding
some kind of shrine.
In 2014 I was born
And one hundred years later
Cut my brain and trace
The strata of radio signals
Layered deeper than the ocean.
Age my flesh by the layers of
Grime and smog and peer
Through my eyes to study distortions
Burned and worn by the rivulets
Of twenty four seven news cycles.
Trace on my fingertips the keys I have
Caressed from birth.
Scatter my bones like birdseed
Across the landfills and the wreckage
That they might find the screens that once told me
I was loved.
- boise 2 men
- zion national park is beautiful though I besmirched its good name by thinking it was a state park
- utah is really beautiful except for when it's ugly
- utah can get real ugly
- the hare krishna are making serious inroads against the mormons in central utah
- tumbleweeds are terrifying at night
- time is a bastard
- my cat is sweet
- my cat is adorable
- valerian makes it extra
- at the gas station in gallup, new mexico at 7:10am I thought I saw someone's face melt but I didn't I don't think
- la quinta is nice but it took me like three u-turns to figure out how to get into it
- microwave tea is better than no tea
- all of the desert cliches are real and today vultures circled me, tumbleweeds tumbled, the road shimmered, i went 90mph on a two lane straightaway for miles, evidence of white-american-led genocide and internment were everywhere, the remains of a coyote pack's dinner sat clean picked on the side of the road, rock formations bigger than god stared gloomily at gray skies waiting for erosion to return them to dust, rivers dried up before my eyes, but somehow, i still had cell phone service the whole way, which felt wrong and like cheating and i felt ashamed to post pictures of the mountains bigger than my life and bigger than our invisible network of lolcats and whispered commiserations and advertisements and you and me and everyone we know
- my cat is cute
- the two cheap ass super 8s we stayed at before this one only had shampoo and no conditioner or 2-in-1 and i was first-world appalled
who flowers in death?
leave me your secrets:
carve them on your bark
skin and leak bloody ichor.
when coldness takes your petals down
i'll collect them in my ears and mouth
and make a vomit mosaic
vivid and bright
laid out until there's only
the sweet brown smell of rot.