3 Poems

who's to tell

don't concern yourself w/ why i fall
silent in the dime store dressing room

i'm simply considering what the cops
could tell about me from my corpse alone:

twenty-something / female / nailbiter
a ham in the bedroom (groomed pubic hair)

poor circulation / chronic disease / purple knees
eats amitriptyline, cyclobenzaprine, daily b.c.

forever not ready for... next of kin? forget it
just a long procession of indiscretions

one after another, who's to tell whether
she fell in love too easily or not at all?

subliminal scars traverse wrists, shins
chief inspector thinks stigmata, then chokes

back his unchewed dogmatism, spewing out
baptismal-like onto the parking lot, rinsing away

all forensic evidence of foul play or wtf
i was last seen trying to say, choke me

only long enough to make the ceiling blur
to make the mad forget their self-inflicted

sores, deep inside the drawstring pockets
of the body left to rot outside your door

fucked up firsts

out of my whole palaceful of taxidermied teenage boys
you’re my favorite, pissing eternally on the rubber moon
perhaps we never rly landed on the perfect NASA snap-
shot of the kennedy assassin i'm down here wearing as a hat
as if it's just another tourist trap inside my dirty film debut
there's no one actually inside me but a b&w tequila worm
they green-screen the erection in later, pin the tail on the 
imaginary friend, play pretend we were each other’s fucked
up firsts, redeeming the worst virgin daze of our lives
thinking sex on the beach wouldn't hammer sand straight
through my hourglass physique- yes, i see this year
it's chic to misremember, tremor, have too much to drink
but in the long run who will recreate, cosplay the deadbeat 
dungeon master w/ his feet up on the back of daddy's seat?

alphabentitus

psycho junkyard varmints got me magically bat-shit bankrupt by meat-juice o'clock
like fuck there's nothing left but our asbestos back porch & fat guest room cigars
on & on          oh no she didn't         roll credits for jesus         rape a rainbow in its sleep
I'm verifying my own virginity w/ a magnifying glass until the sun starts to burn through
I been thank-you-much baptized in ape shit & jungle funk since the day I was first misconstrued
I still feel it running out the raging parties of my undies: reefer dens          mushroom hells         lazy
underage keg stand's embarrassing back bend of death          why don't we maypole this day trip
into pagan outer space? like some unstudied workweek rerun of my favorite sci-fi show on blow
I'm not changing my street name this late in the game          not taking any rides downtown
just to powder my ashes over the village oil can          or snub the upchuck cuties on the corner
for asking why my robot buttons glow no longer          short answer: my ALPHABENTITUS
JUST DON'T GO THERE tear my clumsy stunt double          a new uptick esophagus
suck the noxious tusk melt from my slutty mirror skirt          at mid-dock I should have said it
sure as my former den mother is now an orthodontist          sure as shit is getting out of hand