1. |
||||
|
I’m fucking a void, a concept, a nondescript impression of residual warmth
the face doesn’t even matter
I’m fucking the addiction itself
it rages at the borders of my brain
but at least I’m doing nothing to hurt the world
and nothing to embarrass myself
|
||||
2. |
not in the
02:49
|
|||
|
not revered, but used to feed a head.
I can’t reconcile!
I can’t reconcile!
not revered, but used to feed a head.
I can’t reconcile!
I can’t reconcile!
not in the crisp October field.
not in the sun-slashed oak.
not in the lines or the spaces between lines.
not in my own face when it’s blue-midnight beaten
with a hot magenta mouth.
not in the photo an old classmate posted
of kudzu vines in the nearby city.
not anywhere! not anywhere!
if I try to conceive of it there,
conceptually it’s limp, it’s tired, it’s pale.
I recall the general form of its taste, but the defining edge is missing.
(I think there may have been someone who once spoke to me-?)
|
||||
3. |
little attentions
03:16
|
|||
|
always one moment they save you from burning your tongue
then they leave the room to get the bolt gun
|
||||
4. |
parosmia
02:49
|
|||
|
dogs sniff tiny patches of piss
like 40-Watt locals tuned into Vic’s
confessions like goddamn social feeds
I learn to deprioritize pleasure
growing powerful ugly and gnarled
learning to shuffle carefully
fold spread
scrub plate
climb stair
populating chambers with new characters
the only ones that I’m allowed:
the church and grocery store people
the hope chest and tablecloth people
with morning shows and rutting
and ruddy babies flung to and fro
|
||||
5. |
look to the stacks
02:04
|
|||
|
I keep locking locks and unlocking locks
flipping and shutting lids
boiling water in the same one pot
for tea now soup now tea
I walk by a reflective surface
glimpse myself old from illness
I hope these cells will renew soon
look to the stacks for guidance
test an alien cadence
stop staring this infernal spiral down
|
||||
Sold Kingdom Charlottesville, Virginia
Soothingly brutal bystander balladry
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