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I will return when I have something to say about culture.
prickle with sweat. finish with a flourish at the hidden S of the jaw.
creep through an empty mall like a lonely breeze.
I will suck the money from the vault & my mouth will be a vault
& I will spread my lips so wide and tight you can drag a sled
for days without ever finding a source of water.
I will never leave the dirt. repeat the punchline until someone pukes.
I will scrape the plum of its skin & leave it writhing in the bowl.
I will never tuck another chair in so long as I live. tell no one
the new name. I will shape my hand into a grinning fist &
open the world at its umbrus. I will spill over the lip &
stain the table. pluck the crystal straight from the chandelier.
make my escape. this party sucked anyway. I will share
the coyote skull of my heart with everyone on this bus.
I will wash the dishes as they pile. I am awake and breathing.
Mourn for me.
Is my face bloating in marquee lights
the kind of injury where the bone’s exposed
unzip the belly of the sky where it opened
the last time god decided to drown the world
bring forth the weapons attach the blade to nose of the gun
we need more cars exploding like they do in movies
more dynamic lighting more stylish neon cement
strip a song of its politics and start loving the war
we throw our bodies against the advertisement
the problem is there aren’t enough guns buried in my basement
the problem is my story is violent in configuration only
the problem is I broke its arms as I pulled it from my mouth
it’s the era of the perfect slushee and the ergonomic cup
it’s about whatever leaves a film on your tongue
it’s good that your thoughts are not your own
if no one else will make a proclamation then I will:
destroy your history of being god’s dead pet
his drowned kitten his ugly extra finger
Twitter: @JordanRanft
