The Gary Heidnik of all your dreams
is eating at a buffet in Chinatown
The meat is all the cats, all the filthy cats
that live in Slaughter, the wickedest town ever
the cats, mangy, diseased that they are
we’d never touch stray cats on the street
but they make those cats into food at the Chinatown store
and you can eat [...]
Why Is Everybody Always Pickin’ On Me?
The Perfect Heidnik (pt. 1, rough, “Perfect Human Cycle”)
Gary Heidnik sits alone on a barstool
No ladies are attracted to Gary Heidnik;
he is a murderer of women
See Gary Heidnik as he moves
between two worlds
See Gary Heidnik as he moves
in a room without boundaries
Gary Heidnik is the master of tools
His deft hand crafts sharp angles
and beautiful arcs
He is a worker in metal and stone
All the [...]
Intermittens (for M)
Handy love, the stopping and starting
of gloves, rubber, latex, nitrile
with the fingers off,
wooly bags and not-
on our hands when cold
and taking off when smoking,
answering the phone, breaking
up pot, and to hold onto bikehandles
feeling impending weather,
when our fingers rot
from freezing winds and better
Leaving warmth in the park
for some asshole to find and
defile, stretch out, toss aside
coming [...]
The Hasheaters
Their preoccupation is their hunger
in Hassan i Sabbah’s parlor
On plates of pure gold, their eyes stare blindly up
at them, the New Gods
who revel at the bitter taste of flesh
a consolation for mortality, humanity
The taste recedes, they wrestle, laughing
Their seduction is slow and precise,
a chemical prelude for metaphysical reaction
lounging on bedless matresses
Making love like sleeping dogs
Ode to Molly, Elegy To Grow Old
crying from necessity
sharp nasal straining loving
numback throat
smack like a hand
reaching downward
like a glove
pockets of air
opening up inside the skull
like lightening
emptying out the head
like wearing a hat,
the pressure is so strong
from nose and throat and base of neck
and straining chemical choke
Innocence, Negligence
of course (of course)
Attachment
and Depression
I want to consume,
to fill, to empty.
I want to fill with
something [...]
Untitled, archived during hospital stay
I am in a box within a box
separating the pain-body from pain-mind.
Happiness is rejecting flesh for soul,
and the Discriminating Mind for a Singular Mind
free from choice, free from the illusion of destiny
Free, a bird, blown by distant winds;
cutting the air and making one’s own path
Paths already tread by possibility
Cutting flesh, shedding blood to cleanse the [...]
Elegy for Sheryl Lee
Wrapped in plastic floating down the lake
your fiercest smile and most eloquent mistake
Laura Palmer, you were my heart’s truest fake
I fucked your lover atop your grave
tired of taking what you never gave
fire walks alone, you’ll never be saved
You outgrew the drugs and the sex and the lies
while we still sit and sift and surmise
what we [...]
Tarot Card (The Trumps: “The Magician”)
His miracles are in dialogue
in obsidian he found an egg
which only he could see
he hatched it by keeping the reflection warm
birthing an image on stone,
one that walks away and returns
on whose image anyone can be seen
upon encouraging words
When he wakes, flowers bloom
he collects bouquets with the roots still in
populating our skin and becoming like suns
Tarot Card (The Trumps: “The Fool”)
He awakes growing in a tree
not knowing where he’s been
The roots he touches to his face
feel soft against his skin
The bark is shedding like a snake
adorning new saplings with armor
He follows suit, a new body with baby fat
naked and walking unperturbed
working off the extra layers
Hopefully his skin will also shed
and he will consume himself
His skin [...]
Technological Age
I’ve checked my email five times-
out of convenience-
waiting for you to write an angry email,
expecting digital hellfire…
I am constantly left wondering:
if someone read that thing I posted?
if someone understood?
Did anyone I know see that picture?
that poem?
Will I get a response?A commendation?
An exile?
Will I be patronized- or
vilified, expatriotized-
deified? Will this be an
adequate measure of my soul?
for [...]
