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Sunday, February 15, 2009

I've searched my eyes to the bone

“I’ve seen the best minds of my generation
destroyed by madness”
- Allen Ginsberg

I’ve searched my eyes to the bone for the umpteenth time
Stripping rubber-wax coatings off live wires
Denoting the areas where childhood molestation
Bubble in the mind. I’m not supposed to mention it
Which means it didn’t happen
And doesn’t keep magnifying like the circular lens-click on a sniper’s scope
Like the gravity of the world as you lay in the grass
Breathing through a hastily torn throat, somehow
In some fashion, a beast collects his energy and feels connected to it all
The rotation of the unseen, the magnetic deflection of an earth’s axis

I’m dead feeling my pulse, it skips. It skips. I’m skipping
And unhappy, smearing chalk, outside of the lines
My foot falling to the left of the box, foul, start again
Repeat the mistake, because I do what I want to, which is why
I’m no longer invited to the game.

I love women too much. I love them before they meet me.
I’ve searched my eyes to the bone and wipe blood from near
The globular pulp of my eyes, know me through my poetrys
And I assume the windowed door to my insides is wide
Open, I’m a shotgun house, see the backyard where my soul
Hoists empty hammocks for you to ease into. Just for you.
I’ve searched my eyes to the bone for an unexplanation, I know
Too little too much too well. My atoms know the women I love,
But I am returned to sender sans SASE. Locations. Fuck location,
Split a carbon and it’ll do what it do
No matter the telescoped swirl of its sensitivity. Carmen San Diego?
May I live with you? No one seems to find you. I like it like that.

I’ve searched my eyes to the bone
And found a surplus store stocked: 50 caliber machinery
Well oiled, the veteran Air Force clerk
All his limbs, not a scratch on the bastards
And I ask him how he came through so intact, I ask
If he spent all his service in a cockpit breathing reused air
And he yells to someone in the back to stop boiling his egg,
Then turns his attention to me, “I killed about twenty men.
I can see their faces clear as yours. Never was able to use
My pistol on any of ‘em. Used a knife on a couple. Wait,
Twenty-one. One of those was a boy ‘bout this height, yeah
about that height. He had this bomb looked like a cat.
I shot that kid cold blood. He’d of killed me and the fellas
I was wit, but still… you kill anything and its cold blood.
That’s war though ‘cuz my sister died when she went
Over there and said she was one of us. That’s war though
‘cuz my mother died in Japan when she was doin’ chemo,
Some experimental shit they can’t do here. Treated her
Good, too. Better than where we’re at. That’s the war
Everyone dies, if you ain’t die you’re dyin’ so
You gon’ buy something or what?”

I’ve searched my eyes to the bone, scratching at the frontal lobe
Its this MK-Ultra, I’m dizzy, I’ve searched my eyes
And pulled out Jim Jones demo-tapes, fisher twine inch by inch
Like angelhair spaghetti from my nose, but I stop right there
Scared to witness the prize at the tip.

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