(sugar mill)

i kept sugar under my tongue while we pecked
out each other’s eyes like bags of seed - bread for ducks
and (i) always thought of you (as if)..in a butter dish (from goodwill)
hunched over and melting
but keeping form
they kept their arms up like score cards
like anti-satellite weapons (like choking victims) (mouths full of hour glass)
this vacationed beach this popular mud puddle and pond swamp support no moon
no sky to duck under
he pulled out his money eyes
they were full of green-mold and flaking
each thing he said - different
from what he’d heard (piling up like snow (like blood in a pile)) (fall flat on the tissue)
memory was like scab on fresh incisions (cleaned with alcohol)
divorce cut all the sofas in half covered the piano with bandaids
the music was the place (the amount of floor) in between each sixteenth note (no one danced in)
(we’re only fresh meat on the hook) about to fall off
beat the money to the chase to a bloody pulp (to a pile of skin) to a fiction
knew we were always sleeping dreams made of skin and bone
(falling from my fork)
like an always shot one way pistol or germ (domesticated)
like boils on the cook
butter under his skin
he pulled out his choked up deer
explained himself like he was still in the headlights
words were full of gum were like candy falling out of their wrapper
held his tone like bags of seed (like his adam’s apple was held by his throat)
we held our own like butter melting out of a lopsided dish
like sugar not mixed into a luke warm mug of tea
full cup of face we sat sharing steam rent on the grill
ready-made-morning from a can take my plans out of the freezer (choreograph my twitches)
she makes my smile frost-bite my meat well and my sugar crystallize
before ,i chewed it raw slept with a cane ate with a sign
cardboard and peanuts i said it all like i was talking in my sleep
didn’t really say it
i slept with sugar under my tongue my mouth and all my teeth under the pillow
like surrendered pistols -only ever shot at heaven -only ever held up the clouds
with my head awoke well under the ground (swept under the debt) they color green (and mow)
i’m mold on the bottom line
muck in the eye on the moon
bad judge on the brix and trash on the separated clock parts
working for the sugar mill slacking off on the job
like clogged pipes
under the foundation


plunge like kisses
sound like clogged sinks

a few collages from 09

eyes like dirty water rapids