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Posts Tagged ‘ignorance’

Cupping Tuna Vapors

I am hopeful that I can dispel these false notions

but I don’t know how long it will take

how many lives I’ll interfere with in the process –

paths to be dismantled with my own personal artillery.

Nothing worse than an idiot with a pocketful if innocent grenades.

The cards tell me something is ending and hint that it’s false clingage

i hope it’s my ignorance

The moon says quit complaining show gratitude and let go of olds

old woundings

scores of eldersores

LET GO. STEP ANEW ALREADY

where’s the puzzle peaces falling into place? I’m looking for that lock-click offering

the pads of my feet on the mat

I’m looking for home.           Settling. Alast, rest. Beauty assuredness of beauty

promising not to fear

or schmear

myself too thin

trying

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too many inroads

my brain awash in the dishwater, peanut-butter floaties and no-names leaving skids and skuzz and goop millipeders thick on my hollowed skull basin.

Making friends with writers. Internet fighters. Burning through new karma and leaving what? behind

CONcentrate on trying not to hurt yourself.

distract from the urge to maim

your body’s nothing but a speck anyway

what determines its use for any fewl?

What determines your right to look in the mirror, girl, and to judge what you’ve seen there? Mostly it’s this out-of-body understanding that’s not I. pleading eyes

Yet the shirt comes up each time

an examination of how much has accumulated lately

and why my skin’s noticing the mazecage of this belt\noose

Where’s the rubbin spots? What shapes am I making now. How can I blow

or bust through the rocks of this hard earth. Sinking

sinking

drooping to crispen, a christened burning of sallow cremation

nowhere for these ashes spreading.

I feel even my dishonesty must be dishonest.

Too lies make a truth?

which personage belongs here anyhow and why come none are physically recognized.

writing seems to make everything realness, like I need that recordation.

I get it: everything that happens has a consequence. Con. CON CON CON. A negative. A trick.

the other side

I am a living CONsequence, rife in CONtradiction

contra-dancing

I have CONditions. One in a moment, millions at a time. “Condition.” Akin to disease or rather experience? Guidelines? Condition; Softness.

billions of one suggested coughing-blood cottony incident.

It’s like,

you’d ask me who I am

when the answer’s a constant fluid, ripping through a plastic bag into a fireplace.

not to mention blasting past any hands outstretched to catch

lightning in the sand, becoming then an iced sculpture skulking saltward, ebbing out.

Or an answer seems not to make sense

because the opposite seemed also to be true, simultaneously.

How unusual and unlike lifelike (.)

what a damn nuisance it is to be ignorant –

or greater, to have knowing and deal with the ignorant. Tolerate them. Mistakenly love them when their naivety prevents them from weaving a net underneath you in return.

Is that too simple?

what frustration. More, what ache. What selflessness to take the hand of some dirty girl, embittered and caked in the cum of wrong-cousins

spider-eyed with doubt that one can ajar minus defense.

Boy, I don’t know. I just feel tired. And seeing that this love’s developed in me and a crater in you, like I scraped your earth to shape my own thirsty pyramid-

scraping, with a wooden spatula, the man’s tongue clean out at the dance-hint of a threat. Like he was going for an imaginary gun, truly just a statue inside a stranger’s car: a tool for lighthearted relations.

If that is what I have done, (and I have, but perhaps not finitely) I wish you’d pirouette away, wispy-dancing in the clouds like you belong amongst the pink harnessed satins and richness of beyond. A Gate to that place. The OUT sign: exiting a fence into an open field, where cows and folks and caterpillars merge together steaming like the bed of a forest floor

coagulation

congratulations

you’ve BecOME.

I just wanna be a pile of leaves after all. exhaling fermentation

I just wanna crouch down mid-dancing, catch a bloody baby in my arms while crying tears and bouncing

smoothie up the coming placenta

and gullet it one swift popeyeGulp.

I just wanna clean my bowl with soup

and drink my urine on repeat

till I’ve sweated-breathed-hoped it gone.

Then shrivel.

disappearing with a trebling PUH of a leaf letting go; the dried up umbilical cord dropping off and getting snapped up by the next wolf who manages to scrounge by.

I offer this to the hungry ghosts; all centuries of them dwelling inside of me. Those which I transferred to you when we pricked the insides of our elbows and pressed the mothersunspots together

harmonizing

hurting

throbbing and cantankerous sexperiments

Chemistry.

I am sorry we passed more than blood in that bodily exchange.

maybe if we’d known we wouldn’t have opted

to drink all the sins and gas from centuries past.

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