Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
Don’t make me go not down there where tacks rule the floor donkey carcasses everywhere Not now. Not yet. haven’t finished my last punishment yet. Still plucking each hair off my body. For carnal sin, for decadence Please no. So dark. So lonely. I imagine scuttling crabs all around me. Read more
Ghost imprint in the wall holds a hand shape Small boy presses into brick and mortar to disappear Invisibly thin sucking in his air – forgets to release an exhale No noise invisible boy becomes fresh paint As he dries on the breath of someone who should not— have touched Read more
In my tunnel of a fat woman I only hear songs Do u really want to hurt me Do u really want to make me cry To be thin as a bird No extra fat, one can fly I would die 4u Only if u want me 2 Farther than Read more
For Olds… for Bruck We aren’t shaped things like our moms’ hairdos So round so golden so smooth like this guy’s ego He says better not have that cheeseburger better not have that chocolate malted — And your thighs chafe like hers… so what — so, skinny is Holocaust rated. Read more
i’ve never been close to knowing how high the roof might be, before it could take my head off, until it will scalp me tomorrow evening shrunken heads go on and on laughing — can’t stop ‘em for Christ’s sake i’m obliterate here people! rolling through puke — wet linoleum, Read more
I wonder about fistulas and how a pocket of flesh is made from violence / how a coin purse of feces and urine and discharge holds the effluence of rape / who holds the run-off of soldier’s semen’s war-crimes / who holds girls’ hands’ tremors when the fingernails are gone Read more
Alcoholic secretary smokes a pack a day. Hides in her car at lunch puffing shame fags alone – Hangover Betty – she is a sorry case. Too bad to deserve a pregnancy – God recognizes this type – this type with veined and reddened face. Pathetic fat Betty; at thirty Read more
Hours slip by ticking Out cells of my eyes One laborious, one Yogurt, wet, heavy Slides thick like thighs Waitout the drumlike Dance of blood upon The water plane, a Would be quenching If it weren’t for the fact Of saturation—one cannot Force a toilet filled red Any more wet Read more