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...

r/enucleate

when we are
overly pituitary

the mind-code thrives
on an "unlike"

constantinople eyes
new amsterdam skies

what lies to cut ties
with reality

give us
a wick to light
the world around us...

rhy

you could watch the life
disappear
from my eyes

the beast in me
doesn't make sense

how easily i drain
from this body

how easily it consumes

disembodied as angels
or demons
or whatever

watch
as the world bleeds out
and that we are the red cross collecting blood
like rain water
in the backyard kiddy pool

no

imagine that we are

peter kürten
achieving orgasm

yes

and you could see
a beast
with its glazed-over eyes
and how its head
might not miss
it's body so much

control
is a nice idea
but an idea

nonetheless

watch how meat
graduates to the sky
and how sky does reign

watch how the lips of machines
drip ferrari red
for the promise of affinity
a glade of the greener grass

watch
how i
tilt you
up
so that
you might drain
into me

the idea of you

the alcohol i consume
in these late hours

i imagine sometimes
that
it is you

valley of stalagmites

in some outlandish dream

a portion of their souls
mushrooms up into the sky
billowing up with the blast from the bombs

the resounding boom
a multitude of goodbyes
thundering across a once
vibrant city scape

an otherworldly exodus

and you could imagine
the climate changing thereafter
killing off most living things

the world turning
some sickly tinge like an infection
the color of rust and water stain
mucus mixed with congealed blood

fall colors abounding

dead tones materialized
autumn glazed over every surface

it speaks: the end of flowers

the absence of god,
or maybe the ever presence of god;

but it doesn't matter.

because the world
perpetuates.

because the world

simply

is.

a vera

death, see
how she
did stroll
of the blue
eyes
like little pieces
of the sky
her crystallized
iris'

i
was mesmerized

and you
were so goddamn
beautiful