Friday, January 14, 2011

Maps (Part 1)

To find love in the eyes of an undead sympathizer is
to let black cats live among the southern swamps of the apathetic heart.
Allow our coffin to be the purgatory of the road-
Here's to the Dewey decimal exits from Jersey to Louisiana:
(Oh, she likes it a little dirty)

The queen of New Orleans leads us to the land that makes her rule great-
there are eagles and pterodactyls in the bleeding golden sun.
The river has gators up there too;
below us they laugh and sharpen their teeth.
The sunset of my life, mirrored by Twain's pisswater.
Behind me, the etiquette of crackheads is addressed,
subtlety in beauty, of course.

Weeping branches scratch at my mermaid tail-
tunnels from here to you.
These streets have sleeping giraffes under majestic oaks,
elephant trunk ladders under pollution planted, graffiti painted skies-
Brad Pitt's wet dream.

Poor boy stomachs and a full tank of gas are what drive the French Quarter-
cigarettes are cheap too.
Hawks are drunk and screaming in our ears,
but the city is divine.

Bougie friends explain string theory wrapped up over
teenage pregnancy and the looming apocolypse,
all while a cigarette lit from the wrong end hangs from her lips.

Alabama carries handbag puppies and blueskygreenwater roads,
speed freak anemics here in Dante's taco hell.
Antique snowstorms and pickaninnies packing pepper-
miracles on the shore today! Flying fecal foliage-
walking on water is left for the clever lepers.

The night ahead is effigy of the sun in the west,
ask Mississippi and her factories,
they can tell you louder than me-
New York taught me volume is truth.

the relax inn

hard to sleep with a roof so freshly painted
amphetamine afternoon means starting novels in bathrooms
and purple toes
my book smokes and I watch it blow rings-
quietly as to not wake you, you a princess
in a king’s used mattress, pushing sheets off
like a graceful drowner
on the doormats of men to whom whiskey cures kidney pain
I read literature on the shitter
lid closed, no tongue to bite
useless hours, up in smoke
the shower’s clean, boy, take a look
balance is twisted, the pill’s in me
my tongue’s been hanged, but the cable’s free
ashtray bedrooms in a tortoise shell
have some sleep, man, help yourself
I’ll stay up, read some books
watch the lights, my eyes are shook
the floor’s real cold, my palms are wet
like a penguin being paid to sweat
bring the sun, and then the road
and I’ll have seen all that you have showed
you are no angel, my dear, they’re dead
you’re alive if I can see your legs
warm me darling, mutter and coo-
these cold hands, they beg for you
cotton lips bleeding through
do to me what you want to do
need my skin or pray, my voice
lose yourself in every choice
bite my teeth and call my name
nostalgia is vile to those strange sane
crack my bones, the marrow’s good
stay the night, I think you should
keep me up with smells and sounds
in love, in a bathroom, in this strange town
sunflower eyes, follow me, please do
I’m the light if you are the truth