Friday, May 7, 2010

February 2008, Near newly Eighteen.



Arm out wound around gravel, laid down cross Jehovah Witnesses' spat gum.



This guy, this guy named Happy.
Named their daughter Sunshine, he says because that's the only way to light up the world. Oh god. Piece of paper says she was alive, tween thumb and forefinger, like all delicate but we can see there's old Skoal spit on the corner, eyes so red can't find iris, mustache caked in snot, you had these black fingernails you wanna know do I want an ice cream? She's dead, she's dead, she wasn't even seconds. A puzzle piece falls out of the armpit. We're in the middle of the street. It rained last night. But you've got four fingers down your pants already.
And I know Sunshine stopped these small breaths right 'fore the canal. I had been stalling.
Been stalling.



A little dried jello encrusted in the inner ear.



"My mutt's so beautiful Susan Lucci'd fuck 'em."
Asked me if I ever saw when a dog bit a muzz. Want to know did you mean muff? Because this is where you were looking, on me. This reed is itching my leg. This dog is red between the legs. This dog is being held taut and back by harness wrapped around his wrist, but freckled skin's bubbling out from the tangled rope, because there's no more circulation. He is trying to get at me, one of the eyes is bulging and crusted, he is pulling out towards me by the neck and wants to gnaw.
Sick 'em. Sick 'em.

12 easy bake oven boxes, folded or torn.
8 roach hotels, stucked bove stove.
3 mattress stacked, two bloodied, maybe some other fluid gesture.
Or jester.



Black pepper in the nose.



This is your Godfather,
And he's got shingles.

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