psychosis in the young…

too good for you

these are the killers.
i play with them until the last one
dissolves in liquid or gets crushed.

this is the savior & the
savoir faire; bringing back
my waterdowneyes,
inveterate temperature
changes called out
of time. i’m told it’s math/
seems more like
chemistry straddling some
randomly chosen border
with biology.

re: our shared fluid;
disavowed by noon,
lied to earlier; speaking outofturn
’cause waiting to find
firm detail takes too damn long,
snakes too far;
junkies ain’t got

we’re smokin’ dope
with the windows open &
i’m out of ideas;
dependent on those big-
fuckers. in the sky,
brownbirds circle
above carrion meaning
than a good meal
& entertainment & death
& life & sex & birth & love.

i play with ’em until the last one
dissolves in liquid or gets crushed.
trashed by continual application.
big boys big muscle
until recently hammered in shape.
resolved, fortunebest of
what’s available for ahand-up.
good enough
if you are
thirsty or
too good
for you.


Dedicated to the time-wasting Mrs. Danger. You know I know you know, but I wonder if it registers. The only one I fear more is the Butterfly Bitch, and you’ll find out about her in a soon to be posted poem tentatively titled “Lessening Impact of the Butterfly Bitch” and already retitled. Will you notice it then? Doubtful. Shuffle by in time, as always.

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