Let the words flowI am losing my grip on wordsEven now, my fingers hesitateat half-formed sentences that seem likea chore to finish, instead of a pleasureCompleting the last stitchestying the last knot of the latestpatchwork-poemsuddenly makes for much less satisfactionAnd my normally almost-empty penis now overflowing with too-much inkCreating ugly splotches on the starved paperthat greedily soaks up my mistakesin deprivation of proper wonder-wordsPlease, pleaseGive me some overdateliterary sushiLet me put my fingersdown my writer's throatA N Y T H I N GAnything at allto once again make mevomit wordsthat smell not of sour(cream&onions)but of,of course, what else butfreedom.
My mind is a photo bookMy mind is a photo bookFull of memories I'd rather ridA yellowed printOf paper decayed by the yearsShows a sunhat, linked hands, a toothy smileAnd I'd almost forgottenbecause I do images not identitiesMy mind is a photo bookWith scrapbook tendenciesA frayed ribbonA lipstick-kiss pressedin the corner of my memoriesThe fragrance of your hairAnd just this one's a PolaroidTo forbid me to forgetDecorated with one wordcarefully slanted in thick ink:"you."My mind is a photo bookAnd quite the sadist that way
AbberationI try to catch you through a thin disc of the most fragilemost wonderfully powerfulglassBut as I waited for chemicals to form your imageand make your vision mine forever I sawyou had escaped me once againClick-flashes could never capture your -your varnished violist fingersYour beautifulbreathtakingheartIt took me yearsyears stacked upon years like bricks building the home I meant for usto understand why my photos of you were always blurred:It was never meyou were looking at
FREE MANFREE MANfor ElectricAvocadothey used to saythat for every newbornanother flame flickered to lifea booming baby boy's startled cryswelled hand-in-hand witha freshly-lit candlesturdy, but not too long(it wouldn't need too long)you don't get a guide for thingsyou need to learn for yourselfit was a good thing then she thoughtthat she was born to be a motherthe baby she had created (all on her own, without the help of you goddamn useless people she could handle anything on her own)was g r o w i n gtoo quicklyinto something with a mindshe just wanted a baby,and nothing moreher baby (her beautiful baby boy, the only thing she'd ever had for herself)didn't suit big boy clothesor big boy bitesand learned to pleaseand mother went delirious with praisefor the boy that didn't growtill even her lovingly made mealsdid not pass his teetha candle that was lit by a little boysoftly
letters to homeDear mother,I take up to three hours to do my nails, and I like it that way.Only just this Wednesday, they were an electric blue, and when I held my hands in the air, they blended with the sky. Two days later, the flowers could find themselves on my fingers, pricked with great care, though not as sweet-smelling.I can stay up till sunrise, then sleep the day away to see it sink into the deep-blue sea.It wouldn't surprise me, if you have never seen the palette of a fresh day, firmly painting over that of the dark night. Or sat on the roof with a tambourine to play along with the sounding of the great church clock.I have never been this happy.My hands are perpetually stained with the colours you've forbidden. The entire house is full with the sounds you've closed my ears for, and that makes me appreciate them all the more. It makes it a bit like.. suddenly regaining sight after being blind from birth. There's so much to see, and you have much to catch up on so it comes in enormous,
Trophy wifeYou took the stars out of my eyesand traded them for diamondsShoving them over the counter withyour eyes on only the prize'Cause what the hell could beata good accessory?(nobody cares for that sparkle in your eye just make sure your thong matches your purse, doll)You knocked the breath out of my lungsand took it for yourselfGreedily gulping it down like free wineon the party of the yearAnd who would ever carefor the name of the birthday girl?(music louderlouderLOUDER you won't stop dancing and I'm still on the ground gasping for air)You ripped the hairs out of my scalpand watched my muscles flexRealizing somewhere far-away that theyworked the same as yoursWhen, we wonder, did you forgetthat I was just as human?(when I bleed it's red not golden but you forgot those unimportant details while making career)You stole the heart out of my chestand kept it in a small cageTightening the locks as our parents saidwha