Monday, February 22, 2010


It all looks like it does because things were left behind and thrown out of windows and dropped out of bags. Not all of it is mine. I have used my own saliva as mortar and build with rotten bones and telephones. It's disgusting, they have said. It is, it is. And I love every single piece of trash. I love it.

Thursday, February 18, 2010


Peeling apart my brain like book pages soggy and rained on the letters are bleeding they are ruining my coat. Perhaps I could turn you on more. Perhaps I could be more absurd.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Kitchen, Heart

I buried all the good stuff in the kitchen I picked up the table in the kitchen I told you where to sit and how thick to slice the bread and in my kitchen you kept the cutting board between your sinewy fingers you wound your knuckles around the wood-grain and chipped the knife my mother let me keep in my kitchen as you were cutting out my heart