Enjoy Thursday Head hurts today… Decay of the third eye…again… Choke on my tea…fold into myself… The pills aren’t doing it… The pills never do… Enjoy Thursday Don’t ash in the typewriter… It will get dirty when you fuck it later… Burroughs was right Time is a weak capsule for truth… Spilling over all things… Enjoy Thursday

Alpha-methyltryptamine Melting epidermis flowing into me Planetary evolution Involuntary inspiration Uninhibited concentration Hindered movements of quiet Splitting atoms Accidental arrangement Pure chance The blood of conception Stains the blue tiles Directs the fetal prethought that lubricates The ‘need’ to survive The residue still poisons with guilt Lost in the vessels of your mind Come find me Filaments perpetuate infection And bind the sun to its unreality

Blah For the d and the b When you have been off playing with death in rural America I am sedated on the couch… Staring at dried out carnations and a life-sized yoda… But sometimes you call with tales of tails and curly laughter… And I laugh under my frown… “every night I dream that I’m bald and have no teeth. I think it’s something to do with sexual inadequacy. My tictac dick, is that it”… And, yes, that is it. And in that dream I had… Where he was trapped in his house… Bloodied and frenzied… He couldn’t see me… He was years away… States away… But I was still outside his door He had large calves… I always thought he just bought pants that were small at the bottom… You never really look at someone’s calves…or eyes… And he randomly meets people of great importance at coffee houses I hate… He claims the encounters are random, but we all know he spills his coffee on them and uses apology as a clever introduction… He doesn’t like ‘dick’ or ‘fucking’ jokes… (some things you learn the hard way…) Or vodka…really… But for the most part…the fucker loves everything… Or at least likes… I almost wonder if when he falls he thanks the ground for catching him… Or thanks the sky for not pushing too hard… I think I must have met him on a mountain… Analyzed him over the wide terrain… With dual-turned backs and a dharma-bummed whistle that said ‘I’m not like you’… And I laughed under my frown… And I never thanked you for putting your earplugs in so you wouldn’t hear me puking in the bathroom… And for pretending to be sleeping when I walked past you to get to the porch… Where I would puke again… (over the railing this time…) And frighten that family of squirrels… And it makes me wonder… Where o where would I be without the d and the b… Greatest asexual threesome the world was to see…

And we’d talk all night about nothing…about what had happened in the months that we hadn’t seen each other…how you would trade me your ninja turtle for skeletor…how the twins didn’t even know what skeletor was… All the running around at craft fairs and flea markets that our mothers brought us to and buying up all the marbles and rubber band guns… And how later they would regret making us wait while they looked at shitty pieces of wood that were glued to shittier pieces of painted wood… When you were 7 and I was 8 you had a bed like a cage…a bumper bed…I threw all the stuffed animals that you owned in there with you…so that you wouldn’t feel lonely when I fell asleep…though you always fell asleep first… The first time I met you I was 4 and you were 3…we had just arrived for Christmas and my mom took me upstairs to the bathroom…she closed the door…and there you came…bleach blond hair and a bowl cut…opened the door…walked right in and said “are ya poopin’”…”yeah,” I said…”can I watch?” you said…as some random adult called you out of the room with a stern tone…and the door shut again…and so you know…I would have let you…but I don’t think I was even pooping…I think that was a lie…I did just like to sit there sometimes…I still do… And there were hard years where all we could say was hello and look at each other like two pale monkeys in a 5ft enclosure…and there was that year you told me you liked ska and how you got yelled at by some old guy, because your friends were dropping fireworks out the window of your mom’s minivan…and about the relationships…long and difficult… And how you made me watch annie hall and introduced me to woody allen…and how you gave me your only yoda figure and your necklace from space camp… We were twerps with hoodies and forts…making fun of everything…making time go faster….we talked about college and you said your friend went to reed and that they grew pot there…so I thought I’d check it out… Well, you were right…they do grow pot there, but I wouldn’t go there if they gave me a morphine drip with wheels…I tried to throw away a few bites of rice and some kids that had grown up in a white suburban starbucks-infested neighborhood grabbed it from me and ate it as part of a quest to stop rice-wasting in their community…there was a huge spider web made of rope that the people would sit on…and I remember you said your friend had left….maybe it was the spider web that did him in too…

The drink It’s not in the mushrooms, she says Or the dope Can’t cope, can’t cope You gonna take that line, she says Take it for days Why is that powder pink, she says Nod and wink, nod and wink Think I’ll stick with the fucking drink

Sir Math Ah, Abusive, relentless, Sir Math… Can’t think, don’t want to… There is no common denominator and shove that coefficient up your ass, Sir Math… I should have seen you coming… I knew all that cross-multiplying would make you hard… And how you’d stalk me for weeks… I saw the decimal move several times Sir Math, I’m no fool… And I almost fucked you, after the dirty talk about the factoring… But you blew your sum before I could… And that is why you are Sir Math… Because you fucked me and I didn’t fuck you back.

Silk shavings Words ripped open and smothered with doubt, We’ve lost the things that settled us before. The spilling bottle with let me get out, So swallow the chalky pills little whore. Shallow democracies force expression, Open teeth of obligation stab down, My resources continue to lessen, Hidden in the daylight, the darkened frown. On hidden masses my dreams destroy hope, And force the mind to gouge skin to mesh. Inching submission to the bloody rope, Watching platelets rub against broken flesh. The metal shavings that I made from silk Soothe my body like your mother’s dead milk.

The lost dream life of the nonexistent Could you hold my head While I vomit up this world When they were shoving remains in front of us Waiting for us to slurp it up You stood up and looked down the table Right in my eyes and asked if I was in agreement That this shit had to stop That this place was not made for us That we were not made for this place I’m lost and Thanks for not Making me find Myself Thanks for letting Me find you You chubby bastard

This has been revised. I didn’t want him to see it My weakness How empty I’d become How empty I always was How, like him, I was a fraud How, like him, I was a run-of-the-mill living quirk He told me that he had seen his death And that he waits patiently with his things by the door I wait for death too But I know when it comes it will still be unexpected And I will run like a weak, terrified child with wet stockings (not a pompous pseudo-intellectual in flip-flops) I’m on my back Staring at the holes in the ceiling Playing with a rubber band And I’m waiting too For my broken thought My distant mind My minute in the mountain

Writers block Can you fuck in iambic pentameter? Can you take your grip off that pen And move it onto me? Because I need your time Not those words you’re whoring Spread out on paper souls You’ve confessed all you can Thought I took the low road But I’m still up here with you Blue eyes and little blond hairs Sweeping eyelashes over bare stomachs Engulfed in the flames that fall from your lips