Trop Bonne Pour Toi

my brain is not like it always is,
like red jell-o in the microwave oven!
it's sharp now, but my insides are hallowed out.
healthy body sick mind, sick body sick mind.

Under The Skin

bitten by chaos! star struck! star fucked. the moon is hanging low and loose in the sky like a red sliver, a slice on a bitten lip blooming with blood. a piece of change poking out from under a snotty tissue, rumpled plump clouds. gettin' all nimbus like on a night like this. on a night like this, on knees like these. falling asleep as the sky bleeds.

-mesa.xx

Yeah Is What We Had

i'm dreading packing up my things.
but that's just me getting way too far ahead of myself.
there's other things i could be doing right now-
other than staring out at the melting snow.
running like piss through the parkinglot
into the sewer.
it's been going like that for 3 or 4 days.
i know, i keep checking.
draining away the swampy waters.
leaving a syrupy mess of the grass and the feilds.
like mother nature opened her mouth to yawn
and heaved up all the rotted messy carrion that the earth had to offer.

Congenial

life is the lusterous coat on a dog laying on a warm rock in the sun.
a coat with not a tick on it.

Pretty Girls Make Graves

her face was a soft white front of gently
muted beauty
like a window pane,
wearing drops of condensation towards a
silent and still interior,
while outside,
fighting against the scald
of silver sunlight dancing on snow.
as if inside hiding
some warm, moist and sacredly obscured secret.
oh, her pretty face!
outside, the hoverphonic hymn of winter hydrated every
little piece
of matter around her.
an icy glaze,
glinting.
forcing her to become aware- yet
encasing the world in one indistinguishable and
unmarked
little ice-littered grave.
layers upon layers.
building up
as winter goes...