exocerebral: dolly green dream

all heart shaped things all color
sit stagnant in the skull that doubles
as a bowl of porridge now a black olive secured 'tween my thumb and index or maybe it's a black widows abdomen i can never tell and it doesn't matter

i had a dream about your tits

and they were a nice pair of tits the light tan of your areola that i have never seen the color of your freckles your cheeks riddled with sex as unfamiliar as your new name

i could stare at the monitor the cursor blinking in morse code saying awful truths about me i'm sure but i would never find you today not one measly picture it is shiny steel coffin knobs in my thoughts twisted tightly to the right turned until they can go no more

it is dead things in boxes like time capsules to be exhumed one day how dead things do not stay dead how things do resurface and if the day should come i will forget every gorgeous curve of you every beautiful smile that came with a set of dolly green eyes every subtle movement as we lay asleep together as you'd drool a little on my chest every anything anywhere anyway

or at least
i suppose i would try.

extroversions: things

you imagine yourself
hanging in a meat locker

and like a telephone receiver
hanging there

with nothing to say

you were

of the machevellian chin
of the nietzsche brow

a dead arab
the burning sun
the unchecked hell within

and a hook through the abdomen

killgineering

and just like that
it begins again
almost on cue

and he reaches
with his invertebrate touch
his mollusk fingers
weak

but able
to grip the revolver
squeeze the trigger

the hammer comes down
and it goes "click"

no matter how much liquor
he pours down his throat
he cannot fall asleep

stress level
genetics
bad memories
mental instability

or dogs

"bark bark bark"
"click click click"

the bullets are
standing upright
in a small box on the kitchen table
neatly arranged

"feed their babies to the sun"
he scrawls on the white board attached to the refrigerator door

pausing,

contemplating,
the felt tip of his marker resting on
the board

"remember to pick up milk",
he writes

"bark bark"
"click click"

the living room walls are illuminated by the television static

and it really is much prettier to watch than any game show or sit com or sporting event

scratching his forehead
with the business end of the six-shooter

"bark"
"click"

he tilts his head to the side
gazing out the window
glaring

the neighbors dog
"sadie"
is there
barking incessantly

at nothing

an enigmatic ruckus
a foreign language
a strange pattern of noise

like morse code

maybe sadie is asking to be euthanized

...maybe sadie just wants me to kill.

berkowitz
had nights like this...