poetry

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waking up,
I see demons
licking my toes

i held the greasy forehead of a seizing junkie

the cashier asks if i need a bag for that as he scans the vodka pint

i have fucked
the plum
into a pulp

michelangelo sometimes felt self conscious while carving or drawing dicks

In the spirit of the season and movie,
why don’t you write a farewell poem to the world,
the nurse says to me.

Bring out all your saved copper.
The salvage men are here!

a visual poem or some shit

at the kennedy space center
you can touch a piece of the moon the apollo astronauts brought back

wiretapped phone-booth
routine virus scan
automatic profile update
fake location pinned to
cold war era radio broadcast station