death of the poem

Alive I stagger

To the innards of my ganglion galaxy

Dodging to that sound

Like someone is burning him

Splinters of silver germs

Going to my eyes

Warming my cold semen and tinting

The purity of my albino soul.

Alive I beg the hard buccaneer as my screams become

The light of this masturbating world

And the lovers of Jesus Christ from the Light Rail Transit;

Let me die now.

Let me die NOW.


About this entry