you make
me want
to vomit

vomit out
vomit out you
vomit out every
memory
fuck
kiss
feeling
purge, purge
purge you from
my system
you make me sick

A personal Van Gogh

I have an AXE, and I'm ready to use it.
thwack thwack
I do away with my left leg
send it off
send it off to stand on the four corners
connecting
Utah
Colorado
Arizona
and Nevada
At least part of me will be in several places at once.

Now with that AXE.
thwack ThwACK
I do away with my right leg
send it off
send it off to China
to a village where they will
plant
water
weed
and care for it
at least part of me will
offer nourishment for many people at once.

The AXE in my right hand
ThWaCk THwAcK
my left arm is freed
I send it off
I send it off to Eastern Europe
to some back alley sex club
where people will use it to
fondle
pet
masturbate
and torture themselves
at least part of me will be
able to satisfy somebody for once.

The AXE is dull, I sharpen it
thwack thwack
My genitals have been removed
I send them off
I send them off to a girl in Sudan
so she can
switch out
be whole
be a boy
and cry no more
at least part of me will
give someone what they could never have all at once.

The AXE is now in my teeth
my right arm is no longer
I send it off
I send it off with a work VISA
to build
to paint
to sweat
and to earn something
at least then all the work
I put off will be completed for once.

I leave the AXE behind
my teeth bite the ground
I drag myself off
I drag myself off to the desert
to lay
to think
to rest
and to turn into rock
at least I will provide shelter
for insects and other beings for once.

The AXE rusts in the rain.

take it to the stage.

wrap it up in crinoline
tie it together with
several short strands
of dandered tubing.

dip it seven times
in a solution of
mink blood, fink flood, reticulated smeek mud.
takin' on the fjord with more scicillians than mitsubishi eclipses'

Are the birds singing?

because I can't hear them.
I hear the wind.
I hear the hope in my
head of a hand giving
a gentle grasp of my
thigh letting me know that
this thing isn't over.

I hear the answer
before it is spoken.
before the question
is asked.

Not a question even, but
an inability to accept
truths which have been
ignored in dire attempts
at stability for so long
that they are now too
real to swallow.

I can't hear the birds sing.
Because i don't want to hear them.
I'm jealous of their meaningless song.

They make a mockery

of my body
these instruments
of such
alluring
desired
terribly
destructive
pleasures.

the bird took off for parts unknown
the vultures came to rest in its place
picking
scratching
pecking

my arms
bruised
red
burn

but lights light up
that which was once dark
to mark the birds return

when once again perched
will bring pleasant smiles
to my sullen face.

things that make me happy

an attempt to list:

- silent conversations of shared space
- two chairs outside Stumptown
- aggressive passive aggressive
- passing notes
- unexpected guest
- menthe
- Plaid
- VooDoo
- New Orange/Yellow plastic chair

Cosmic Collisions
and dogs that bark
harmonious discord
in back alleys as Johns'
treat their ladies to dinner
at midnight.