Jennifer wrestled her friend playfully to the ground
infront of the snowcone stand and began licking at the
girls eyeballs, as if they were sugar cubes. Their
bodies convulsed and flailed with an almost seizure
like intensity. At times their pale limbs seeming to
shift back and forth from one torso to the other. A
crowd gathered almost immediately to watch these two
girls tie and untie their bodies like a pair of
pit-vipers. They were confused, or concerned, or
shocked, or aroused, or all of the above. But no-one
dared interfere with the performance. Jennifer's long
ashen hair hung down concealing the girls face like a
curtain around a hospital bed. No one had any idea
that the girls eyes were revolving under her ruby
tongue. "This is disgusting, it's pornography"
exclaimed a pasty slut white woman in a fur coat,
vanilla ice-cream smeared across her double chin like
a money shot. Counting a balding professor type in his
mid-forties, his left hand stuffed crassly down the
front of his pants "No, no, no. This is beautiful,
this is art."

"Semen tastes like gunmetal", she said, smiling,
The arms of boys drowning in fire, reaching for the rungs of my rib cage.
These pills I take in the witching hour.
I imagine I am swallowing you.

They heckle the gunshy assassin.
Led away in shame.
The chameleon is my favorite animal.
I learned that boys in dresses are ok on the last day of school.
There was a rainbow like a halo over the world.

Half in darkness she stands in a dress of shrapnel,
Smoke and torn flags.
Dragging off cigarettes of human skin.
Eyes like cracked eggshells empty as life.
Her index fingers drip mothers milk like hypodermic needles.
She stumbles through my veins high on ash
And dry semen fiending for love.

Fingerprints on my eyes like ten tiny maps to heaven.
Or ten rogue angels torching the house of god.
I fell something pressing against my kidneys.
Maybe a pair of wings.
Maybe the ghost of a bullet.

Stitched together into this beautiful monster animated by starlight.
Pose like a fashion corpse and shed your denim skin, my love.
It is just a skull full of chlorine in the septic tank.

Religion in the corner of my eye.
A peeping tom and a hole in the sky.
The last stall on the left as our makeshift confession booth.
Your parents will never know.
Stalked by a child's nightmare.
The promise of the serpents in the tall grass.
Mother, I've been raped in the shadow of the watchtower.

To use once and then destroy

Happy birthday, you broken child.
Of the barbed ribs and the poison heart.
I would show you the view of life from the floor
but the knees are as far as you go.
I give you exhibit A.
A country girl bludgeoned by an elephant tusk.
I give you everything I have wrapped in a shy kiss for you to use once and then destroy.

Androgynous we are.
Ancient statues deformed in desert winds.
Dead children play in mapplethorpe grey.
Midnight orgies at the school for the blind.
Learn to feel all over again.
My name is anonymous.
I taste like everyone.
Medication blurs the last five percent.

Certain things fascinate me.
First I went blind, and then the sun went out.
The way you hold a match, so steady.
How heaven is collapsing under so much joy.

Lovely body twisted into code.
Saying something profound, I'm sure.
She went off like a living firework.
Trauma is sexy.

Once colorful dreams now swing like dead paratroops from the naked trees.
Your sky lips and snow skin are sugar for the carrion, sugar for the carrion...
Perched high atop the naked trees.
A flower on the bed of brittle leaves.
A mass grave of tiny angels fallen from the heavens from the naked trees.
Rot, beautiful creature, all lifeless and serene.
A patch of scorched earth, naked beneath...
Naked beneath the naked trees.

I sneak a sniff of her live wire hair.
It is bright red with random sparks.
My bionic sister teaches me inhumanity.
Parting her silver thighs and making love obsolete.

I dream sometimes of a brother in red.
The first unborn.
Perhaps the son of god, aborted,
and tossed in a garbage bag.
Life is like black comedy.
All slapstick and vulgarity.
Life is like black comedy.
Unworthy of the name.
I still remember where mine went so wrong.
My last night in Sodom and my first morning in hell.

An entire year of you in a single speck of blood.
The gun smiles your smile and the razor whispers your name.
They are just frigid hands from the other side of the world...
The gun smiles your smile and the razor whispers your name.
...leading me into winter.

Dyed red hair, a forest green dress and a pair of kitchen knives,
It was the last time I ever saw a rose.

My skin has atrophied.
It has been so long since the last touch.
The maggots play their dead instruments for me.
Devour in the key of E.
Like a symphony of throats and piano wire.
Like explosions in space and prostitutes of fire...

This is an advertisement for the skin machine.
Paid for by the people that supply the lash for these pointless acts of self-flaggellation.
The vultures are made up like mockingbirds and they're circling.
It is very important that I make for a thin chalk outline.

This is an advertisement for the skin machine.
Paid for by the people that supply the lash for these pointless acts of self-flaggellation.

Traced in wet sand her name in perfect cursive.
A love letter to the crescent moon.
"By tommorrow it will be gone", I told her.

"There is no tommorrow", she said.
I can feel her in a bikini of coiled snakes, dancing to the hiss of the wind.
Postcards from a paradise in flames.

She used to be so right.
So right about everything.

Dear everything.
Today I witnessed a crucifixion in pink and lavender and gold.
I've heard people say that beauty is in the details,
but I don't think they have ever seen you.
There were mortal wounds inflicted on the sky
and incriminating blue stains on my shirt.
The shirt you bought for me.
Christ, it hurts.
Like stars in my belly going supernova.
I feel like a zombie that refuses to live.
Haunting the junkyards and cutting myself on scraps of you.
The other day I masturbated to pictures of you at your birthday party.
They were the only ones I still had.
It felt so wrong, just like my life.
I hope I'm dead by the time you read this. I love you.

My knuckles are bleeding on your front door
and these flowers are wilting in the rain.
They were for you and now they are for no one.
They are irrelevant, like mercenaries in a time of peace.
Like smoke twisting off the lips of a movie star.
Here is a boy with paper skin who longs to touch the girl of broken glass.
She loves it when he wears his skin like that.
In tatters.

I see you headless with me caressing your neck
My personal nightfall
An eclipse of the sunflowers
I feel so invisible
So unknown
A coffin of dust
An illegible tombstone
They finally buried the gravedigger in the sky
I just need to shower in your amber and bathe in your earth

Everyone quickly hushed up and took a step back as
Jenifer rose and stood over the girl,
Examining her handiwork.
Her heart laid motionless beneath her, seemingly dead.
Her eyesockets dry and empty.
Her heels and elbows sprayed and bloodied.
Some on-lookers gasped in horror.
Some swooned and fainted melodramatically.
Most just stared in disbelief.
Jennifer reached down between her thighs and pulled
The crotch of her bathing suit to the side - exposing
Her vagina.
The other girl slowly sat up and began sliding her fingers into Jennifer.
A few minutes later, her wrists were in, then her elbows.
Eventually she would completely disappear into her womb.
Jennifer tilted her head to the side curiously.
She heard the sound of a rickety-wooden roller-coaster in the distance.
It's passengers screaming in mob terror.
She knew that sooner or later they would realize that the
Ride wasn't stopping and they were all going to die.