it comes from somewhere

probably from the bellybutton or the shoe under the
bed, or maybe from the mouth of the shark or
the car crash on the avenue leaving blood and glass
and memory.
it comes from love gone to the goat stable under an
asphalt moon.
it comes from the flush of piss and shit
and the drain of dirty bathwater whirling.
it comes from screams stuffed with cotton.
it comes hands without arms
and arms without bodies
and bodies without hearts.
it comes out of cannons and shotguns and old victories.
it comes from parasites with blue eyes and soft voices.
it comes from under the organ like a roach
it keeps coming
it’s inside of sardine cans and letters
it’s under your fingernails pressing blue and flat.
it’s the signpost on the barricade
smeared in brown.
it’s the toy soldiers inside your head
poking lead bayonets.
it’s the first kiss and the last kiss and
the dog’s guts like a river.
it comes from somewhere and it keeps

you tell me what to do
and I’ll pay your first
six month’s rent.