and I’m not coming back

I want to live in my dreams

because I think the dayworld might actually be the nightworld

And the night the day

And I would rather live there in my boxcar, with boxers jabbing through open slits between bars on my windows

Than pay my taxes and drink Echinacea when I’m sick and clean my toilet

In the box I close my eyes and imagine I’m flying

and I am

I had a dream last night I was talking to a headless man

His face was on his t-shirt and he had two dogs

And I liked his dogs but I didn’t like the man

(Thank god for dogs!)

but I still prefer headless to the heartless, deboned tin man of modern existence

to the drumming in my hands and pockets

I’m crammed full with ice!

Each time I wait I feel a new nail pinch into my concrete sarcophagus (and how it pains me to keep making the same mistakes!), but why wait to be dead to sleep?


Not me, I’ve decided to wander far away bloodless from my bedrock of a body

to tear my soul loose from the rusted nails and pull it along like a kite

I don’t want to die, all I want is to dream

and to never wait again.

And no one watches you but the screen.

And being watched by the screen is like whispering with the Sun.

And I am the dog

and we’ve only just met but I can take off my shoes

the straps are so tight, my feet are tired of deciding everything, the lines all sunk and red

but now I don’t have to think because someone else is breathing for me,

because the salt and butter are stuck on my hands,

and I feel beautiful in your purple light,

or because here there is more than one exit,

and I want this movie to change my life

but I know if it doesn’t I will feel like a rinsed out can

Being honest is never enough

And being attractive is never enough (though it helps)

being loaded, poor, sharp, dull, tall, fat, batty, useful, exhaustive it’s never enough

We can have everything we want and still feel like a can

And if you’re hungry and tired and thinking about what you might eat for dinner

and all the knots in your forehead

you will miss it

and when the movie’s done you’ll feel as ashamed to get up from your seat

as an empty beer can rolling down the aisle after Leaving Las Vegas

But being watched by the screen is like whispering with the Sun.

and I am the freeloader

We can all play the same girl and grow tumors that laugh

and watch someone descend the stairs running brown bob dancing like a spell

under a whirring fan

And here’s to the crying

And this one’s for the crying and the laughing

And cheers to the crying and the laughing and stirring my ghosts

and the stars in the sky they have voices, too,

and the blood is made out of chocolate.

I can’t even hear what you’re saying

All I can think is you look like an animal

you look like an animal

and everyone looks too much like animals

it makes me sick.

And everyone is riding on creaky horses

made of sticks and straw and kitchen twine

and everyone is killing each other

and we are all killing each other

with plastic knives and swords and dirty stares

simpler things can kill you

like milk and licorice candy and burst veins

and microwaves and gluten and long-haired cats

and moldy tomatoes and laundry detergent and

you could drop dead on the subway on a Monday morning after your daughter’s wedding

on your way to work at your husband’s pharmacy

(your husband marries your best friend 3 weeks later)

And we are all waiting in the bathroom line

waiting to shit and waiting to die

hoping no one can smell your armpits or vagina or butterflied prayers

and some people wear spotted coats

and some people drink their lips grey

and some people piss themselves because it’s more polite than leaving the conversation

hoping talking will rewire your pondlike pulse

or at least get you a ticket for a glass of tap water

I’m in the living room

and I don’t know anyone

and I don’t want to know anyone

and no one wants to know me

but here we are talking anyway

and all I can think is how much you look like an animal

and everyone looks too much like animals

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