Poetry Index
| what
the ducklings saw
magical maw
a matter of ethics
big brother fell through the ceiling and lay blinking stunned covered in plaster dust hole remained for months we didn't couldn't fix it so there it was gaping maw i stared at it imagining huge teeth and tongue and adenoids demanding daily feedings on virgins (my turn would eventually come - this i knew) until one day the great mouth vomited up a sparrow that flew fitfully through the house crashing into the walls shrieking mother and i chased it desperate that it would kill itself and netted the hysterical bird with a towel tossing it outside where free again it recovered instantly and flew away i went inside to again stare at the mouth hoping to see the magical maw that spewed forth birds but instead i only saw a hole and the attic outside you could hear the bird singing illustrated a sniper suit brochure for the irishman and wondered at the morality of assisting some militia nut in making camo gear but he swapped me a box full of bullets for a gun i own but can't shoot what a bargain! bullets! shiny and cool what care i some redneck shoot some politico in a 3 piece i got bullets this time maybe
bitch
foetus twists and writhes snakelike in womb this time maybe last time the pain and blood harboured beginning of the end ended before begun emergency room lights feet in stirrups blood splayed legs doctors instruments scraping to her whimpers too bad he tisks writing pain prescription no corpse no funeral no sympathy woman weeps alone for child she never held this time maybe beat fists against my jutting hipbones their fault for sticking out rage turned inward i beat an angry rhythm on myself rather than scream in world anger in woman equals bitch rage in woman equals frigidity equals bitch power in woman equals shrew equals bitch sensuality? slut empathic? high-strung strong? cunt all bad all wrong all bitch all women in world mad at world beat different rhythms of same song what death taught
me today
for a puff
i have learned that you can die and still be up for harm even though shot killed and buried he was not safe from words flung around by those who barely knew him pale to those who did and all behind his back turned permanently and i wonder why did they weep at his funeral because perhaps they realize someone managed to hurt him worse? the short hairy guy pulled on his dusty cowboy boots and listened to hank williams on his cassette player ran his fingers through his black hair instead of combing it having learned not to bother with a brush hair like his did want it wanted much like he himself did shrugging into his denim jacket he stepped outside into the piercing cold sat on the grey chipping porch swing fumbled a cigarette to his lips and lit it eager to inhale some warmth after his smoke he shuddered inside and tossed aside his coat disgusted in twenty minutes he'd have to go out and do it again living with non smokers was taking a toll on him ghud said thou
shalt not kill
clockworks
this from the man who razed sodom and gomorra. methinks perhaps the rules that apply need only apply to us he can justify claiming creator's rights but i believe he may not be able to prove it in court i am older than he and definitely recall crawling on the belly of the sea before he was ever believed into being but he has followers and i have ashes he will win he always wins i am sister to the cyborg his red mechanical eye unblinking steel fingers arms toes legs his humanity a portion of brains and guts my metal is harder to find i hide it inside a facade of flesh when i die and they cremate me i will be found out they'll know when they sift my clockwork heart from the ashes wrought in iron covered in soot his long spidery
fingers stroked
ducks in the bathtub in the bathroom
i am afraid of
through her cascading hair every touch a violation and she shuddered within but outwardly stoic she sat at his side he with long spidery fingers and she with her cascading hair shuddering eternally internally the glow of the jesus night light is green and always present keeping it at bay- in the bathroom. whatever it was. a ghost, a bad feeling, something. the fear the door would close behind me and if the light went out, whatever it may be would have me at its mercy- i was afraid of the bad feeling but ducklings were in the bathtub so i have to go in and take care of them no choice no other place for ducklings peeping amid the bread crumbs in the claw toed tub but the bad feeling is still there i feed them quickly and leave knowing they need to be elsewhere thinking there is no elsewhere later one dies stiff already stiff fluffy dead duckling squinting eyes i took it to bury quickly naming him so it wouldn't go forth with no name to answer to when the great duck deity called and the others lived in the bathtub in the bathroom with the bad feeling then one night the baby woke up crying 'the ghost in the bathtub kill those ducks!' i resolve to move the ducklings in the morning i check the lock on the bathroom door most locks are on the inside this is on the outside keeping it from us i hope but the lock is intact and inside as i somehow knew the ducklings are all dead i wonder shuddering naming each bird as it enters the hole i have dug later the baby leans over the side of the bed and says 'oh the dead baby duck is crying' i see nothing but i look at the bathroom door and grimace is it a ghost? the bad feeling locked behind the door kept at bay only by the glow of the jesus night light and i have no ducklings alas poor ace,
i knew him
behind glass
horatio, a dog of infinite jest my dog long dead resurfaced with the rain his bones struggled forth from the soil i'd buried him in the rock hard dirt sobbing my dead dog dug his way out freedom at last for his body (what was left) and i pulled the skull from the mud gazing at mud filled sockets that once housed deep brown eyes and apologize to him for coveting his skull and take it inside art from death a concept i question ace's faith in so the captured snake in the pet store strikes the plexiglas- having always been free it has no concept of glass or cages or transparency bloody snout it wavers and the birds, they too caged, squawk and complain and hearing again what should've been prey the snake strikes the plexiglas another example of futility before me an icon i purchase the snake lies
peeled back the flesh from my face
the kid pees the carpet and when accosted claims innocence "pugswy did it" pugsley is a dog and while she does occasionally pee the rug, i know she hasn't this time "don't fib" i tell him but he doesn't relent "pugswy did it" at 2 he's already realized that no matter how low you are on the food chain there's always someone lower staring at the rictus grin in the mirror slung the skin against the wall it stuck there momentarily then slid to the floor with an unpleasant schlupping sound left it there to see if anyone noticed but no one did eventually i returned to reclaim it but it was gone so i moulded one from clay didn't dare twitch for fear of cracking it but no one noticed that either perhaps i had never smiled anyway candles
i spray painted butterflies on
under passes
burned candle after candle emblazoned glass with mexican virgin maries placing the spent containers on the shelf one after another in succession and still i lit them with the shelf full i had to double stack them and still i lit them one virgin sacrificed to the great dead husband ghud and yet as much as i sacrifice to my unspeaking deity i received no succour but in eternal faith i lit them and burnt them and stacked them mexican virgin maries their brief lives flickering on the counter i exchange one light burnt out for another and i am too cowardly to let it go out stinking of acetone with cramped fingers i snuck about at night festooning brick with large bugs bright wings and huge antennae and finally expectantly i was caught the bloke stood with a lantern at the railyard where i had just polished off nine cans worth of tint on a giant monarch realizing i'd be going to jail with criminals and rapists and worse so naturally i began to weep he had pity on me and sent me walking i became aware that tears were a weapon and i was tired of butterflies my days of vandalizing walls were over i began stealing roadsigns instead never apprehended i haven't needed escape but i know what to do when the time comes like a modern tower
of babel the building shook and fell
i was delighted glad for no reason except its destruction the rubble the dust the passer-by staggering from the blast blow it up like convention toss it aside like your dignity rend it asunder like my fingers tear it down like one last hope i hate it the lines the glass girders metal steel and wood i hate it phallic upsurge inorganic and unyielding i hate it tear it down up out tear it away over out tear it shred it unmake it the building must fall they all must fall we all will fall we all fall down
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