Tuesday, July 31, 2007


"Birth mother, heyy birth mother," she says through leathered lips.
She wraps a Toothless Frown around a hand-rolled cigarette.

"The mail's all for you, kiddo." I make an unwarranted snide comment. I continue life as Bad Daughter.

from the cave urn

So right, I'm gonna die, well! When I die. When I die, I'm gonna fall asleep in a field of poppies. Get that opium bark tongue taste and wither like my father. MOther father, pliers, feathers. Pretenders.

And I'll die with a bunch of clean sheets. wrapped up and rescued by a surprise date!

My cave windows have shower curtains and waxy shawls on the window sills. They do an excellent job of bow tying the ambulance flickers.
I live across the street from a hospital and LOVE IT

As morbid as it mayy seem, it's really just in case someone dies, and how I can just take myself and my combat boots to their IVs and HIVS. speaking of HIV fuck project red.

TThe napalm hippies of the nowayears, they're just plastering ole Che Guevara on their organ backpacks.

here is why:

la censura

All you idolators--
we will begin
the pious riots and thick picket ticks!
rickety fences picked clean.

And to the idols and idled:;
to porcelain embryos
and porous memories
I leave the PAPER SHACKS]
our treeless soil.

the surgeons!
injecting, fermenting, cementing
our mirrors. why
skinny teeth and chapped lips why
perky tits and tundra smiles.?