A Breakthe sound a mind makeswhen it breaksis like a watermelonbeing hit with a mallet,fuses blowing out,a skipping recording,the crunch of dead leaves.it smells like burning haircaught in the dryer,looks like an electrical stormora cherry in the dark& it feels liketrying to fit into jeansthat have been too smallfor years.
Lessonsi.you are a miracle splinteringlike logs in the fireplace.you are jumping from terrorinto sleepthen back into terroruntil you make yourself get up& face the setting sun.you are trying to crawl intothe marks on your first love's back& set up a tent.& you never met a drinkyou couldn't manageuntil four days ago.ii.bodies are kept warmby the rhythm set in motionin prehistory,before man & beats.nightmares come in threes& begin when a mind skipsinto a repetition,expecting different results.the weight of scarsis measured in pounds of flesh,when curls become marring.& when you throw up beforethe shot is even in your stomach,you know you have a problem.
A Portrait of a ComplexThe music plays softas the freeway humsbehind the rain.There's a guitargently weepingin the next buildingits cries & whimpersreverberating aroundthe shell of vinyl siding.Every nightthe buildings grow eyesflaming like jack-o-lanterns& you can hear the screamsof the haunted housearound the cornermelting into the train whistles.The leaves fallinto their winter beds,all the flowers misplaced& gutted in preparationto be replaced.Somewhere they're carryingdead bodies into a nursery& cremating them.There is nothing left to fate.In the morningthere'll be nothingbut the sound ofshallow breathing& new lives on the freewayall waiting fortheir turn at success,waiting for more seasonsto float into history& leave them aged.Nature leaves no one left behind& we're all spinning undergod's great indifference.
For What It's WorthIt is 1965& we are not even sperm.Outside people are leaving suburbia& their parents old-world woven roadsfor Haight Ashbury grass,walking with mud daises on their kneesto Woodstock,dropping out to tune intothe universe's voice.There are tears rollingonto pine boxesin cemeteries acrossthe wavelengths of rock & roll,boys circling carcasses likeemaciated vultures,girls pulling out their eyelashesfor boyfriends who resemblesmeared ink portraitsof their former selves.In basements,the kids are listening torecords backwardsto find the meaning of life,pressing brown paisley squareson their tongues& burning draft cards onwastebasket funeral pyresfollowing white rabbitsinto the abyss.In parks & on campusbudding eagle-eyed revolutionariesare singing crisis"this is the end,this is a field dayfor love & loss."Clapping & gunshotsare heard over speakersthe mutilation broadcastedover the ocean.Two lovers hide fromthe law & the rainin a truck
DetachmentYour voice isgalaxies awaya tinny buzz talkingabout madness whileI'm picking at my own,pulling the strings.I have to remindmyself of thingsI am a smoker.I know the shapeof my bodythat mole near myshipwrecked hips.Outside the windowpeople actually existthey are not god's toys.It astounds me.My mother asks,every morning,how I am.She knows the illnessof sitting & thinking.I cannot explainthe removal ofmy moth holed mindfrom the atmospherehow it floats,unwarranted,from the baseof my neck likean anemic balloon.You say theycannot save you& I am blowingon the breezeoutside my windowa dress on a clothesline.
SolitarySummer's ending.The loneliness has melooking in store windowsat mannequins getting marriedwith mountains of cleavageme, smoking in the corner& feeling my age like a worry rock.I'm walking through crowdsto feel the shouldersof a man who resembleshealth food & an eagle's wingspan.Drinking with friends& spitting psychedelic patternsacross the treetopshiding the recognitionthat I'll only be touchedwith the ache of a snakeI dated as a laughing,ripped painting.I kick at the tartly amber leavestelling fossilized secretsto my shoes.I feel nothing but the lossof eerie atlases whereI circled homes for the futurethat'll never be anythingbut a long gone songI can't form the words, anymore.The mannequins kiss like strangers& I'm nauseated with griefstaring at my edited life.