spit out and falling….

there’s no hell like your own hell,
none can compare,
twisting in your sheets at night,
your ass freezing,
your mind on fire,
everything is stupid, stupid,
you are stuck with your body and
your life
and it’s all dissolving, dripping away
into nowhere
like the other bodies, the other
we are all being counted out,
taken down
by disease
by just being rubbed against by
the days, the years.
there’s no rising up out of
we just have to take it,
accept it,
or like most–
don’t think about it.

shoes off and on.
holidays in and out.
dress, undress.
eat, sleep.
drive an automobile.
pay your taxes.
wash under the arms and
behind the neck
and get the genital
area, for sure.

pick your own coffin ahead
of time.
feel the wood.

go for the soft, hushed
the man will commend you
for your good

horrify him.
tell him you want to test it for

there’s no hell like your own
hell and there’s nobody
to share it with

you might as well be the only
person on earth.
sometimes you feel as if you
and maybe you are.

meanwhile, pluck the lint from
your bellybutton,
get drunk once in a while,
shake hands with nowhere,
it’s been like this, it’s been like
don’t scream.
there’s nobody to hear.

strange thing, not to kill ourselves.
strange thing, these cities, these trees;
our feet walking sidewalks….
the blood caught inside of us, our
hearts whirling it
centuries shot apart
as you pull on your stockings, slip them
up to your