Poems Or Peons

Decemeber 21st Solstice Bang:

my head is banging just after a day at home i lost myself screaming at my mother they kind of liked it. I'm not sure what to do I went out to get some coffee to calm down, but i've been calm now for an hour so what am i doing here. Sit spinning on a table with memories of who i was in this town, no longer all the same, no longer my one hand grabbing for the past. i know now, all not the same.

mother screams her head off in a room white walls and dust growing on the edges of things. brother sits angrily at desk, on chair, at the foot of the bed, waiting to re-join society, a society he only recently met.

i dig too deep. i tell them all their problems. i yell at them. who am i? what the.

text sketch from GodKiller:

  non servium.

  godkiller?




     who won out
     the devil as honor
      as armor?

      beckons fingers closing slowly
      foaming into target light
      corners making pockets
      make arrows
      with no stem
      make pockets make lines

      all sheds in a glittery fall

      to look like water
      fell sweater reflect
         in boxes, shaking.
         as they
         deflect their origins
         shimmerring/crumbling
                             your face
                       non        face



      curves clutch and dis-appear.
      circles form'd recede
                                  totally
                                                                                                        into clump'd & green wet cloud


i am not.

i am not
i am not
i am not
i am not
the brother is me.
i am not
i am not
i am not
lest i imagine.
lest i imagine.



the man makes no reply
the non-face
they walk around with that
she pulled out of herself too quickly violently
two hands
flayed head
faceless faceform
non-face

i am afraid.


iodo form
idea foam
idea form
ideoform
i.d. or. form
from id,
do or done be born



will you get here soon? take me to the rising room.

for the sake of a single small moon
just given birth and closing again
in some very rare hour
to the sea itself, went flying
all the stars

a different origin of forth form
from then.
(may then. forget all not.that.I am. and other scattered voices.)



Smile Sun.

bitches smiled at everything, past the sun.

illumine the small child
what a
(whetha-a)