fish out of waterThe sky is falling and her umbrella is getting ready to abandon ship. But she's too wayward to build a permanent shelter.She's been caught sleeping on the living room wall three times this week. She's too alive to sleep horizontally.She's a fish who refuses to breath the water, because it dreamt it could breath air;A fish who refuses to use its fins, because it dreamt it had wings.
overlord overkillwe planted our flag in fruitless soil, the fabric waving over the stone-cold gargoyles who lay half under mud, with no head-stone to remind those left alive to recoil.proud to raise our colours over barren dirt, crowned with the red gravy, we marched the empty streets with our sneering military, no parade to meet us no open arms to greet usbecause aside from hate, there is no passion in rape, aside from the crumbling buildings and the bullets and the tape, there is nothing left but tyrants on this landscape.we hijacked the aircraft but we gassed the passengers;we captured the body but we killed the soul,we reaped control, but we dropped the gold,we took the acres unmannedall just to say "This land is my land. This land is my land."
endoskeletonCindy's fatStretch marks slither over her skin in shortcake earthquakes.Tina's hotBoys like stabbing her with their dicks a lot.Mindy's on crackAnd heroin and E and smack.Kristina's smallHer voice is a little rat giving up in the maze because the walls are too tall.Belle's a bitchAnd a snitch and an itch that bleeds when you try to scratch it.Mark cut open Cindy and he twisted open Tina and he marched into Mindy and he crawled inside of Kristina and he bit open Belle.And he found in all of them: bones, blood, beauty, and a brimming wishing well.
pornographythe flowers in the garden of Eden peel off their petals.the lens chews on their stamenfilaments of self-consciousness slide up and down their stems up and down their stems.how pretty they can be when well-watered.Mr. Caterpillar slides his mass out of his cacoon sack and slides it into a butterfly.fly, fly, fly, flap, fuck.they do it for the money.
pickuptheir laughs weave in the musicthe lights over their dancing bodiesmy slurring under empty bottlesthen your eyes through the smoke ...time to leave, you and me
milk and eggsI went to the grocery store today. My stomach was hurting really badly so I fastened a heat-pack to my abdomen. It bulged out of my coat a little bit, made me look fat. But I figured the eggs and milk wouldn't mind.As I entered the store, I received a series of suspicious looks. This continued as I pushed my cart in procession down the isles.As I neared the check-out counter, I felt the heat-pack loosening in its stirrups. The lady working the cash register looked at me with the same dubiety as everyone else. When the heat-pack fell out of my shirt and flopped onto the floor she was the first to hit the deck and cover her head with her hands. "BOMB!!!!" she shouted. The entire mass dropped to the ground and did the same.I stood there waiting for someone to lift his or her head. No one did.I bent over and picked up my heat-pack, pseudo bomb, and headed for the exit. People began standing and sighing with relief, so I pulled out my water gun. And all hell broke loose.