Wednesday, September 30, 2009

the last day of september

what is the reality and consequence
of existing in such a state

the prehistoric locust leaves yellow
as does my skin, glazing sallow and waxen
cold as a lizard, the chameleon, why
shouldn't i eat only air

the sun warms only one of my hemispheres
who ever said such a thing as a horizon exists
when it always does, but still never
my edges and insides co-mingle, lungs

crumple and soon i will open my mouth wide and
keep opening and split down the middle as
a succulent fruit,
sometimes sleep lets me forget
i am an illustration of a pomegranate
in an outdated encyclopedia

i roll cigarettes for mice, sometimes
losing the paper in the crevices of my

young carrie fisher is my wife
she does lines of o.c. off my hip-bones
and sucks them until they are pink

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