the perfect me

know that
                 there's a mannequin in my chair

those waxy kind of thoughts
those waxy kind of cheeks

involuntarily replacing me

the shrouded cathedral
                                     draped over melting plastic
resembles my rib cage

the cracked marble
the discolored ivory

the pearl pretending eyes
                                         i no longer have to
eat

he's cultivated all the refuse
                                             hidden it away

inside of me
i can be opened by magic

a can opener
is magic

something soft stabbed into my
intestines
                while I watch for vanished lines

without knees I will walk into
forever places
                       hung with hallowed lights

they will preach florescent

the meals will be of sawdust stars
the wall dreary old cement

I will paint them with the graffiti equivalent
to the years of my life
                                    I will be of plastic casings

a body to sell

until we are washed out
until we are formed into shiny islands
in a retching, gelatinous, blue sea

All these things

A current trend
is when I no longer try
spend all my time
pulling dead bones
across the floor
my dead and dry bones
grind and ache
draw lines of cocaine
sigils on nylon carpets
split and torn on
coarse fibers
lie on back
eyes glazed over gray
follow movement of
ceiling stuck still
unwavering hours like
clouds drifting aimlessly
and fading into still-life
distance of day feeding
night and crickets blaring
heartrending songs earth
depressed sinking into
itself etched by hard
scrawl of my sagging
flesh pieces wearing
unrecognizable i cough
i wheeze become unknown
to even myself
I am without a reflection
there are no mirrors.

Me

What time is it? Jesus...
I can't tell and tho the
light's off I see
everything like shit
's still in the toilet and this
last beer tastes like I'm only
trying to finish it to sleep and
is that all I am container for
poisonous gases liquefied, how
I've forgotten to write anything
but the truth that burns
magnesium bright in tonight,
or wherever whichever how I am
an estranged idiot who works best
as holy spectre, respected only
because I'm never seen walking alone,
I'd drop my head to the sound of roving
cars outsidebeside wide open sky
blue blue fireball ozone thrill, Me
I've many miles to bleed for the horizon
all lonely skeleton x-rayed paradise perspective
like my little boy stoner voice
bewitched bewitching fucked

A Brave New World