bootleg noise

i was your radium-faced lover.
god licked his brush
to make me glow. then, inside my body 
he left a cannibal capsule.
i devour my own time 
without a fork & knife.
the sharks fury at the shoreline.
if only if only. breaking a window
with a brick & yelling
"please be quiet!" the window
is my face. my face is 
a newly painted ceiling. 
hailing a taxi on a suburan street
free of taxis. in this heaven
no one drives. only the station wagon
that collides with a family tree.
drunk of dead apples. i've been
faking it for as long as i can remember.
tape recorder. organ-player 
in the basement. a video camera lives
on all fours just inside the closet.
keeping a diary just to watch 
as the diary sprouts insect legs
& refuses all sense. i had a type writer
i would use to aide in my own
unraveling. typing "please" 
until there was no more ink.
a record player in the living room
singing with the urgency 
of an ambulance. i sometimes
give up on sound entirely. 
wonder what i would have to do
to empty myself of its nails.
how it burrows in every ache 
my body has to offer.
sleeping off the tundra
just to find even my blessings
beneath the water. i ask 
a friendly ghost
to turn the record over. 
alas the other side is worse
as it usually goes. 
i fill my mouth with pennies
& walk as far away from 
the gramophone
as i possibly can. 

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