Multitasking Poem

It's important to be efficient so I write a line every few minutes

And eat only when my mouth's cold and wet

And calling for the death of something beautiful

Like the ant-army drilling little caves in my little legs

In the late quiet of an early morning when the movies have all gone to credits

And your palm's only a little sweaty

From the feeling that you're really an otter from Australia

The realization that there are scissors in the drawer

Comes as you buy more scissors

For the scissor-pile you will bury tomorrow

When all hope for a corduroy jacket has disappeared

And you are satisfied with your parking-lot

I roll around in the kitchen and think about the refrigerator

And the vegetables there waiting to be chopped

short poems

You don't refuse to breathe do you


I find you on the center aisle of the corner Target
Holding the digital-watch that will make you happy forever



It's good to have a friend to help you past the monsters on the way


There's a reason why I called you
But I don't remember what it is



I'm a child again when I was really miserable


Burn the beds tomorrow
In the hugest pile
The carpets will hold us
Carefully in their tufts



I was in a loaf of bread shaped like a camera


There are many ways to warm the kitchen
When you pile the bodies in there

Short Poems

NAKED ANTS


Tooth-brushing costume



THE BEAN-BAG CHAIR STARES AT ME ACCUSINGLY SO I HIDE MY EYEBALL


Nobody wants to eat me today so I go home



THE COOKBOOK MENACES ME FROM THE KITCHEN


I hang it from a tree as a warning to the others



EMAIL


The pile has a knife



DISOBEDIENCE


I will pee in the elevator probably tomorrow

*I wrote these poems in five minutes. It was a race.

'I never want to see you again I'm cold and wide in the esophagus I fill slowly with sawdust'

I have another request please I'll ask without hope

How wide's your esophagus in centimeters please

Or provide the volume please I'm calculating

Densities of sawdust I test sawdust

In my esophagus without hope or expectation

The kitchen-tiles are white beneath the sawdust it's 6 AM

I love the kitchen-tiles and fuck them

I'm hungry and eat windows

Carefully I eat little glass-cups

You love me I think we could overthrow

The US government

And eat Washington DC

I'm busy tomorrow I have Pilates

I'm lying you're beautiful

We could microwave ourselves again but

The microwave's too small

Please

Please taser me I want very much to be tasered I'm bored
And the cereal's somewhere it's March
I have a question
Will you please taser me? I like electrodes
Am hot for electrodes
And would fuck electrodes on digital-video for the internet
I'm probably kidding I wouldn't assault
Forty-thousand beta-fish for
Even one-million dollars
Or spread myself across ten oceans
Until you taser me or double-taser me
With one-million electrodes on my forehead
Or inside me and all the electrodes
Inside me there are two-million electrodes
And you're holding them there tightly
Triggering the electrodes in my stomach
My spleen my lungs which are quivering
Widely for them and the taser
Which is so so beautiful
And I'm thinking of tasers in helmets riding horses
And rows of tasers and ten-billion electrodes
Attached to me inside and out
You're triggering them I'm happy

When I'm cooking I have the feeling that I don't exist so I run into the hallway and knock on the apartment-doors until all the apartment-doors are open and there are people and the people are watching me and I'm moving quietly up and down the hallway and the people watch me until I know I probably exist

I wanted to make this poem better but it's impossible

And most actions are impossible like cooking and breathing and talking with words that have actual and corresponding objects

Because even if things correspond I'm only a body with skin and my skin and body's sometimes clothed or unclothed but otherwise like a microwave-oven I think or rice-cooker or toaster or toaster-oven or something

Which I love because I love every object

I can eat

Which's why I hate myself and want to be destroyed instantly

And without reason

So I tell me neighbors in careful and clear words to destroy me

'It's okay to stab me' I say 'I'll write a note saying it's okay and that I approve violent stab wounds' or 'to be burned now in my kitchen would be wonderful and I'll help you gather incendiaries or something'

And people laugh sometimes until I say 'I'm serious'

'I'm really serious and I'd stab a walrus to prove it'

But nobody has a walrus to stab and the blubber's too thick probably so I cook gnocchi and give it to this guy who lives across the hall and he eats the gnocchi angrily because he hates food and eating and everything

You love fish more than me because fish don't make disagreeable phrases or faces when you stab them which is the true test of love when you stab everything you love with the knife you carry in your arm in the special pneumatic-compartment in your arm the one you can open with a wrist-twitch or something before you stab me and stab me again until I begin to slowly leak away

Don't worry

This poem doesn't mean you have to call me or send me emails about the beauty of each living-thing that moves carefully along my bathroom floor or spiders or even the beauty of automobiles and the people like little green brains within them who watch me through windshields when I ride my bicycle across the Columbia River

Just buy me some fried-chicken

Or buy a chicken and we can slaughter the chicken and fry the chicken together

Because there's nothing more fulfilling than killing chickens

I think

I could be wrong because I didn't graduate high-school and am currently studying at Everest-College to be a nursing-assistant because I want only to help people and not hurt people with scalpels and swabs

During recess you tell me about my legs

Because my legs are beautifully long or something about insects and arachnids

If I had a twenty-megaton thermodynamic nuclear-device I'd only destroy the countries you've never visited

'Cool' you say as though people tell you about twenty-megaton thermodynamic nuclear-devices every day during homeroom and before we make the cinnamon-rolls

'Eat me' I probably say

'Raunchy' you probably answer

Until I cut my finger from my hand and hand you the finger and run

Because inside the finger is the nuclear-device

And I lied about only destroying countries you've never visited because countries are stupid and only waiting to be destroyed I think and that's why you don't bet your life on humans or human-emotions

After the fallout

The animals evolve and think and destroy humans or enslave and rule humans

Until the revolution

Where humans create one-million Wal-Marts forever

And live within the Wal-Marts in space where there's silence and wide black spaces and we fall into these spaces and are comforted by the spaces and love the wide empty spaces which are beautiful and perfect in their emptiness and where we're silent and cold and calm and composed with the spaces and holes and black-holes and we're holes probably now and

Take your screwdriver from your toolbox and dismantle your television then stack the television-parts neatly on your deck and lick your television-parts and suck your television-parts until your television-parts love you more than love has ever loved any thing or object which is what you are when you are here with me

I'm boiling raviolis when the TV tells me it's had an affair and has lewdly fucked one-thousand men with gigantic penises and what it remembers most about the penises is how they lovingly curved for it with tender static-y flesh and then folded softly inward

'Bullshit' I say or think I say

Because the water's supposed to boil now but isn't boiling and all I really want's for the water to boil so I can slowly toss raviolis into the boiling water but the water's placid and smooth and when I touch the water the water's warm and tepid and the water moistly invades my fingers so I say to the water 'I'm not water'

Which is when the police-officers bust my door

'We're sorry' the police-officers say 'this's just practice'

'For what?'

'In case of war or crime or something'

And the police set there battering-ram on my kitchen-floor and begin cleaning the wood-splinters with brooms and dustpans and tiny dust-busters they wear at their belts

'Fuck me' the TV says

And the police-officers become nervous and clean faster

'Fuck me now'

'Turn it off' the police-officers say and one police-officer drops his dust-buster and the dust-buster breaks so the police-officer begins to cry quietly and with his face hidden

The police-officers remove their uniforms and sit quietly in the corner

So I go outside where it's cold and bright and sit on the sidewalk and think about the sidewalk and wonder who made this sidewalk or invented sidewalks generally and there's concrete which was rocks and dust but was pulverized and mixed by people who pulverize and mix stone and water and even the TV's really one-million people and I'm one-million people today

And clothing even and all objects are one-million people or more people and I'm sitting quietly afraid of my clothing and of the sidewalk and everything

Fuck you, kill everything, including your lawn and pets, resurrect everything, put the resurrected-everything in a boat in the Pacific-Ocean but move

'I eat people' I say to Madison after the penguins stage a cage-break and disassemble several children from the kindergarten field-trip

And the penguins stack the child-parts

In neat piles

Near the beach

'Help me' I say so Madison helps me string the children together and dump the children in the ocean where they float woodenly away and when the penguins return with their knives we run and are under-water which is where Karl-Rove says, 'Don't run from the penguins,' and points and the penguins have knives in their beaks and are swimming

'Make love to Karl-Rove' Madison says under-water

But the penguins have him as we swim away

'If I had a bomb' I say 'I'd bomb everything even myself until the everything was a nothing or something'

'Stop'

I stop

'If you bomb everything into a nothing then who will you eat?'

Which is true

And why I keep spare people in my closet

Short people and those who're bored and lonely and who hide every moment from something which is me and why my closet's always stacked full and sideways

I love to make love to Karl-Rove on the pile of closet-people

And to disassemble Karl-Rove and mix him carefully

With the children

Who aren't crying ever and are silent and cold

'I love Karl-Rove' I say to Madison 'I love like Karl-Rove and am and could be Karl-Rove today and at the grocery-store'

'I decorate Karl-Rove with diamonds and love him and love him and I wear Karl-Rove and skin Karl-Rove and wear my Karl-Rove skin'

'I love diamonds and children'

For awhile but the penguins are with the children with knives and I'm holding my knife and the knife's cold

Recycle poem two

At every desk in the building is a dead-body
I try to remember the last thing I did

Aaron pulls the gray handgun from his waistband and aims the handgun and pulls the gun-trigger and the security-guard falls and the security-guard-radio falls and there's an echoing sound and little splatters of blood on the ice

Because my car broke down and I'm evil and you're evil too and your parents devoured live gazelles on prime-time television until they were elected co-presidents of the United States of America. So I quit my job and bought a guitar because I wanted to be a zoologist and murder grocery-stores

I touch a dead-body and the dead-body moves strangely, rollingly, and the dead-body makes me step away and look at a different dead-body, but all of the dead-bodies look very similar, with similar colorings and clothing and teeth

You put me in the room and the room was old so I didn't do anything for a while

Instead I poked the half-raccoon with a stick and flipped it and inspected its fleshy holes and jagged bones and the little pink muscle-tears and everywhere the thick black blood. With the stick I hooked and dragged at tendons and muscles and other things and the little raccoon legs flopped and waved in a slow-sad way

I say, "It's not right to wake up surrounded by dead bodies"

I'm in an office. I'm on the floor looking at acoustic-tile-ceiling. An alarm clock beeps. I sit up

Went grocery-shopping, I think. Needed cows-milk and ice-cream and apples, know I needed apples

I watch the dead-bodies like I expect the dead-bodies to say words but the dead-bodies don't say words and after a while I walk to the elevator. I take the elevator to the lobby. Music's playing in the elevator with no words, but there's the feeling like there should be words and the music's terrible and stupid and I hate it but I can't explain why I hate it so I hate the music and hate it

I find the boy and we build a fort in the grocery-store which is empty and there's no milk so we steal sodas from the stockroom and hide behind a stack of pallets and the dead-bodies are gone with the music and there's no sound so so so

Recycle poem one

"The dog is small but dense" someone says
In the garbage-bag, the dog
And the garbage-bag turns slightly and slides
As the security-guard removes his security-guard-radio from his security-guard-belt

Then there's a car and the car I'm in and another car and as I sit in the backseat with my head rested softly against the cold window, the car, the other car, and the car I'm in converge in slow-motion and from my seat which is firm and in which I'm firmly belted I map the car-paths of each car and mentally place myself in the point of car-path-convergence and imagine the moment from this point when all three cars meet

I think 'I'm a thing on this mattress' I stand

And each house has similar white paint and middle-aged people with the similar lives and jobs and the similar televisions and microwaves and each person in each house has goals and motivations and thoughts and desires

So I imagine things I desire lined up in the hallway of an old white house or sitting softly in my closed hand, but when I open my hand I don't know what these things are and my hands and the hallway are empty and old or something

"I'm sorry"

I say

"There's no snow and anyway I don't ever want to see you again. I'm moving and I don't have time for you anymore. It's not your fault. I became evil and something happened and there was this parking-lot. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going for a walk for a while and I won't see you on this walk or see you ever again and I'll move when you're somewhere else and wherever you walk I'll walk perpendicular from there and become invisible, okay"

I'm probably a saint or something

'Shootout in downtown Seattle' I think
I don't mean it and I feel guilty later
Which is what I tell my daughter in ten years
After I abandon my career
As bank-robber
Which was saint-ly or something I think
Because to have money
Is better
So I train my daughter to rob banks
And the FBI agent agrees
When he reads my email correspondence
On Sundays or late at night
At Denny's with Rock Hudson
And Leonardo DiCaprio
Who we all love so much
Because we love and love
And there are so many people to love
That I watch TV for ten hours
It's not evil or anything
To take steroids or human growth
Hormone because it makes me a better
Writer a better person a better house
Wife for the thirty-million men
Who love me at nine pm
Eastern-standard-time
So let's just murder everything
For hours extraordinarily with
Blood and knives and milk

Tongues in our stomachs

'Is there carbon-monoxide in this room'
I say and the health-inspector
Licks my grill
Until the grill slowly removes his tongue
And places the tongue on the tile-floor
'Talk to me' the tongue says
So I put the tongue in my pocket
Drive my tractor to Portland
And give the tongue to Madison
'Stop my body' the tongue says
'It's eating itself'
I chop the tongue in half
And in half again
And there are four tongues
And the four tongues simultaneously
Tell us about bureaucrats
Or meaninglessness or something
But Madison and me are too busy to listen
And we eat the tongues
And the tongues are in our stomachs
Talking to our stomachs
Until our stomachs eat our stomachs

Poem for Amber because she's fucking awesome

Amber rescues penguins from

Guatemala

Resells the penguins to discount-zoos

In Belize

Which is more beautiful

Than ten thousand paper-clips

Clipped together

In Akron Ohio

Where we drank

Fifteen bottles of wine

And recycled the bottles

Before feeding the bottles

To homeless television

Celebrities on our

Movie mini-series

Where we double-stabbed

William H. Macy impersonators

And ate chocolate-ice-cream

^{This poem is for Amber.}

The little ant-people

My bathroom wants only to
Kill me today
With the blue shower-curtain
Probably
Or the tap-water
Which slowly leaks from the tap
Crawls through my nostrils and crawls
Through my brain
Through my eyeballs into my lungs
Which are connected by rubber-tubes
And separated on the tile floor
My lungs in this corner
Eyeballs hanging from shower-head
Brain on the toilet-seat
And the little ant-people
Swarm and feed
Until feeding bores them

Little Red Leaves

is a new online journal and it has my Suburban quadricep exploding cyborg poems.

Hugh Laurie eats dead children

In my art-brute short-film
I slowly comb the fine hairs
Of the mutant-plastic alien-mannequins
We stole together
From the X-files soundstage
Hugh
You're more beautiful than antelopes
Or buzzed-naked puppies
Why did we dissect
All the family poodles
Meanwhile
You filmed your trip to Target
And put it on a commercial
During the local news-report
Which became pet-food murder-porn
Before the political-debate
With mental-telepathy
And starving shrimp-cocktail ice-sculptures

Vladimir

"My friend soon I shall die"
Says Nabakov
Which is when I cut off his thumbs
And decorate his thumbs
With magic markers
Before my Swiss tutor
Asks about Waterloo or the Spanish armada
Or something
Then I go on Surivor
To form the naked alliance
Because no naked teenagers
Will ever lose an election
With forty-five year-old cannibals
In Spider-man costumes
Who terrorize potato-bugs
In Phoenix, Arizona
Before my state senator
Assigns twenty-thousand
Horror-film kill-scenes

Selfishness

I selflishy stab myself and remove my arm-tendons
Leg-tendons and neck-tendons
I carefully tie my tendons into square-knots
And with my tendons I fashion
A small hammock
For the tiny remainder of my human-body
I lay on the hammock
Swallow raw fish
And snap photos of straddled amoebas
For pornographic magazines

Fifty-nine robot-pets

I want fifty-nine robot-pets
Because robot-pets
Are mechanical and perfect
And don't shit on shag-carpet
Like meat-pets
Or eat from bathroom trashcans

I want robot-friends
And robot-mates
Or maybe
cyborgs
I can program and control

"Exterminate my meat-friends
And meat-mates
And all the meat-people
In the meat-world"
I say to my robot-creation

Which is shoddy and grotesque probably
But that's wrong
Because I'm a liar and lying
Is the only moral thing in the moral-world