Thursday, February 26, 2004

Just relieving stress

cocoon swoon
i don't give
a shit
these numbers
don't exist

still they stare
gotta be there
still they stare
gotta be there

you'll never grow up
to be celebrated
for your fame
you're never gonna
find your name

identity smears
handprint on my head
number's been said
social security death.

i don't give
a shit
this education
is tedius. . .meticulum. . .
doesn't teach me well.
it's hell
it's toiling on me like a bell
it's digging in me with its shell
imago buttefly we make love
because we can.

sever die leave,
gonna not give not see.
don't touch me.

long monsteclaw
nails stroke my head
whisper it's okay
and the nails go in
puncture skin
bleed then

another nail
stokes my head
goes in
punctures skin

two halves
of my brain
held on the wall
hurts me more
numbs my head
can't feel pain
already dead

panoraming out
you see my all
my brain's on a cross
my eyes are holes
i'm crucifixed by you
imago in my cocoon
stabbing through

growing wings
screaming buttefly
metamorphasize
transfixed the crucifixed eyes.
monster got me hypnotized
eyes spiral down
black hole brown
dirt deep in extinction's crowd

bury me now
sick weary hues
and baleting smooths

there's pain in my head
humdrum it said
like steel needles
rusted hinge
scraping in
my head's tilted
down in the side
tetanus shot coming in
the needle's eye
circumsized
homogenized
pasteurized

i'm a cow
black spots, white skin
my udder's being sucked sore
milking my blankness
making me dry
rusting down this time
lips O a sigh
only you and i.

a brawn machine
with an iron lung
and hands of steel
and tendrilling feet
that shimmer in the sun.
the diamond eyes full of cold
hands reach me rape me dry
sucking me inside
machine fucks my all
embryo dead i fall

i don't
give a shit
about this tedium,
meticulum, this
rot-apple-core

i don't give a shit
about the earth
that's held
in the palm
of smart asshole's hands
groped and felt up
and i can't understand

the smart ones
are the dumb ones
and the dumb ones
don't know what they know
but they know more
than the smart ones will ever know
in this rot-carcass-show
we call living on
the earth.

i don't need
no education
i don't need no
shit to hear
i'm sick of the hubrance
and the know-it-all
and the want-it-all
i see.
i want my fucking hands back
i want to be alone
i want to see nothing
and blow.
make the tangled mess i know.

the candles
on the cake
wick their flames
to my eyes
and i blow and wish
and happy birthday goodbye
dreams i said won't answer me
they're tumbleweeds in the road
that die.

fair-weather man
no more of this
i can't stand
i don't need to
understand

there are no flowers on
my brain
there are no flowers
on my grave
there are no flowers
on my chains
there i keep chanting
for the forgotten names.

i'm a slave
and i tredge along
i sing my song
and i have work to do
in the fields
time to till
the education seeds
time to till
the working seeds
time to till
the fuck-me-over seeds

time to feel nothing
but see
time to feel nothing
but be
time to do it all
but seethe
time to do nothing
but grieve
time to feel chained
and believe
time to fall down
but catch myself
with my sleeve

encouragement is far away
left to the bay on the open sea
the blue bleeding heart of the water's steed
and the squall is over and he fell in
and reason is far away
left on an airplane and is on the open air
and the squall is over and he fell down
into a building with its twin towers
and wrecked them down
they collapsed and here i'm found
under it all

feeling is here but repressed
stricken down with a knife's distress
and stabbing in my vena cava
the blood strokes the floor
with its fingers, its gropes
these death-eyed feelings fight
dead soldiers in the field of war
boom! scree! bang!
a missle hits the floor
and bang! bang! bang!
bullets rattle my core
shotten i fall down
and i swore.
i swore one needs to win.

there's tanks all around
and explosions hit me down
and bullets slug me by
and my gun quivers in my hand
falling down but i feel had.
i feel for my hand
but it's not there anymore
the fingers bleed on the floor
the parted palm is holding a gun
and i'm severed.

a hand is needed
to create
a head is needed
to know.
and i don't give a shit
about knowing
i'm dying on the floor
in this war
in this place
from being here in the gore.
i want my hand back,
my severed hand.
this head deserves to rack in pain
deserves to be hit point blank in grades.
an a+ sounds good on my report card.
but i guess you'll have to tell
them i was KIA.
and the homework was a big stave.

imago buttefly
oh it's you i see
but will not be.
and we. . .

we make love
because we can.

we do it all
because we can.
and we hold each other
hand-in-hand.
the lips are wide open.
stroken, broken.
the proboscis tears the skin.

they always win.
the imago is an ugly skin.
a fucking winged grin.
and a fucking enslaving hymn.
don't sing the fuck-over-tune.
it'll put you in its cocoon.
wrap all over you.
and you'll swoon
in a swoony sigh.

and mature inside.
till the lips open wide
like a fucking sky
that wears you high
and rapes you all the time.
and you'll finally be
an imago butterfly.
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