(reformed version of an old poem for DC's writers day)

poem general feelings about space ver. 2
(a crazed session about JW Veldhoen and Jared Baxter)

if it gets out of my head
its gone forever
i live on it like a flea

i was listening to the music of

toads screaming fear from a swamp
a chicken gutting an earthworm in a field
with patafores
your dead babies still in the womb

the music
repetition
ascending patterns of
rhythm guitars massive drum kits vibraphones
building upon

100
1 000
10 000
1 000 000
1 000 000 000

(its important to read every digit in this case)

life persists as scraggly gray weeds holding on in the cracks of concrete being trodden by 100 feet

i tried to tell you i love you but
i bit my fist and the blood filled my mouth and made me mute
and it filled my skull
with 1000 liquid teeth that
filled my eyes
and constant building pressure
burst from my sockets
onto the floor
with 10 000 ringing keys marbles silver knives

black men have it easy you said

the worst crime you could commit
is being ugly
and loveing someone attractive

said the butterfly

and the toad answered

the worst crime you could commit
is being beautiful
and being disgusted
with the ugly ones who love you

thats why i walked
and i walked
and i walked
and i walked
and i walked
and i walked
(its important to read every line in this case)
not until i was dead but until the
sun's concrete mud
devoid of scraggly gray weeds
turned my feet
my bare solemn feet
into stone
into stone
into stones
that beat the breath from
that could take your spines
1 000 000 spines
your claws teeth unbearable heat
that made a path of of you

until i was ready

the waltzes
the 1 000 000 000 walzes
i loved to dance
to waltz with you
with theodore roethke's father
the happiness that each of the bruises you left
the glee of glancing

blows
oh father

so i finish
my love has drilled its way up your unsuspecting anus
and the liquid teeth
the billion liquid teeth
( i cheat so that i assure failure here)
race their scraping
gnawing
screaming way
up your intestines
to your throat
and burst out of your lungs
out of your throat
like
a last angry
heaving
cold breath

exasperation
nulls
everything

i
am
null
set
void

(cliche but yes so is desperation and self loathing in this kind of setting)

thank you
for not
caring

insert (favorite flavor or home town)

this poem should end with the imagery of pond scum
viscous dull green slime
on the edge of mud goo
that
flies accustomed to shit
would avoid

methane

end scene