I have this knot in my stomach that wont go away, like the butterflies before a performance, or swimming carnival. But its been a week.

Its Not You , Its Me

 for Allen.

I saw the best skin products of my generation destroyed by
mundaneness  ,overfed and hysterical to
the light faucet of Ginsberg on the television .
I had a vision,
dragging lumps of drunk girl through Pitt street ,
counting the rap-tap-tap of ecstatic nike airs
still an eternal night air ,
four weeks of eyes like rubber
necks craned like cranes above the forever distancing city
of nothing,
four weeks and two nights in the backroom
with but a glimpse of self awareness.
I saw the best lines of my forehead tattooed upon layer
and layer of A3 Moleskine™  paper ,
each word
two nights
in one month
of a moon a little less bright than the last , 
burning the nightmare with vague wet dreams
without sperm or love but a dirty hooker with breasts
spawned from a bored adolescent cock in math class
burning the nightmare with frowny face lollipops
before it burns me
before every Morning is Monday morning on the sidewalk
with fresh brains draped around my fingers pleading with strangers
for just a few minutes more minutes of mobile Facebook.
I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by the wormhole of waking up 
forget your madness , forget your James Franco
I saw something beautiful and I’m leaving you to 
 fight for the last chicken wing.
 

I bought ten pounds
of one liners ,
they gave me three shitty poems
and a goon sack with the initials ’ JC’
entitled in permanent marker. 
” we’re going to die anyways”
sung the choir of corpses in the hot air balloon
” may as well have some fun”
I scratch my chin, for contemplation
and watch the balloon get higher and higher
whilst I’m at ground zero with a pocket full of aspirations 
and that small light in the chest , with the real pretty lips that says
” don’t worry you might wake up dead tomorrow”
and I thank him for his optimism ,
the balloon gets higher and the smiles get finer
” we’re going to die anyways”
sung the choir of corpses from afar
my stomach cramps up as it does
I keel over and see god as the picture becomes
large and obnoxious in my imagination 
 ” hey fuckers!” I yell impulsively
” you forgot the fuel” I say
stroking the glistening sack of wine .

Pick up your gum for chirsts sake.

The bus stop can be
quite hideous as
pretty girls expect patience
and my shoes
being the sexually deluded creatures that they are
enjoy gluing themselves to the cement
until satisfied.
she asked me why I smoked
and this irritated me so I asked
her why she made such
cute jokes
and captured them inside
such empty rooms
and it went quiet.
her lips lingered words
and I thought I heard 
 ” to pass time” 
and I agreed buzzing at the tip
of my tongue and decided we had
a lot in common after all.

I attribute my success
in the alley of your
alley
of your drug money
of your leathery grip
of shampoo and banana skin
draped along mountain slopes
like curtains to the foot holes .
to being one of the few selected
audience members
in the projection of
” half a slice of true beauty”
i don’t know if this ever happened ,
but i’m still hungover.

there are words
I assure you,
millions all aligned
like soldiers awaiting battle
they are too dirty for you
I can read your mind Its not debatable.
you whispered in my ear
your breath so warm and convincing
as I  waited so patient
watching words
like clumpy balls
of pubic hairs
spreading crabs
across my notebook,
finger down my throat
preying to god that one day i will privately vomit
 all over your heart.

A spider crawls along
the clay stove
one of the vertebrates
of reality
unlike the festering monsters
that fill my shoes.
its smiles and is young
and it reminds me of the small cat
my mum cherishes.
my mind
is an ugly place. 

I have an appetite for
dessert is that so
wrong ?
I could dismantle cathedrals 
with a pen
if the sleepiness
would survive the self centred
flow of movement.
I could tear down each and every lousy
arch of foundation that separate’s
the void from your mind
if my stomach wasn’t
always just about to evacuate .
I have an appetite for dessert
because I was born with
destruction flowing through my body
like a thick shot of heroin,
such ecstasy but I know what I want,
an ice cream sundae
with a flake.

We share small glasses
of mediocrity with voices
like cassets of trees blowing.
she always has a headache
and I just stick around because
my chest is so tight.

The dog ate my
ADHD and farted out a love poem
miraculous lines
of silver and grey and
sprained ankles.
The random wet marks
of tears like hearts
drooling ink all over my page.
It’s 12pm and me and the cripples
exchange nods of fried eggs and current affairs
like silent steam bombs we all know wont explode.
I always wondered
what else the dog
ate that day.