Gimp Porn

By Cerebella

one man explodes forest fires. another dies licking
a piggy bank worth a
paranoid housewife. strawberry lips

giggling dust bunnies to the clouds-

he’s got forty dollars in his pocket
worth time with southern gentlemen.
ouzo. self-help books, too.

they
spread and whisper to themselves.

we’re on a
road to a dead end, to the

wildflower mating fields
making out with

question marks
so i sometimes worry
i’m going to smell like insects to

my sex life
a ship. a rooster? a furbee!
presents my reflection

to the sky as a sun-dial,
a tense game of transference-chairs
with ego, taking shit seriously,
around the patio

table

i want to rest in the 1800s
with fairy godmothers
as a crescendo of

leftover karma(
wooden cradle
stained neon-hot-glow-in-the-lambs-blood,

creak like
tiaras
stained
nail-salon, tacky like
congregated people stained sheep-herding.

and a
butterknife stained
pill-karate-chop
equals dysfunctional family all together.

)exlovers, exfriends, exfamily, magnetize yourselves

around a greeting card.
draw a flower, say you will.
ram into my bumper car with
negative energy weather.

throw leeches at my dumb ass.

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for daisy e, pt.1

By Cerebella

we stumbled upon her, a faint
echo in an avalanche, wasted

mid day to night. she was
shiny and golden like
a dripping

stalactite swatted by sunrays
in the highest pitch
of a caves song

exploited to yelp out
word salad on the spot, when her
ass was whipped

and
sizzled
with
new boils to
bare

in the roots of an ashy tramp stamp:
daisy triplets. two
brothers in technicolor &one

little girl, more gray than gloriously white, thunderclaps
peeling snake charm;

i watched her, the lost
photograph, staying shiftless with
time, in her diary-musty in
the 1930s-

and forever a caterpillar cocoon,
crushed by the weight of
dysmorphia recall
guts i could never scrape off my mind

the devil
sometimes makes me
stare at another corner of my bedroom.

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just like honey, just like honey

By Cerebella

jumping from a plane,
two symmetrical beings
knowing the vanity of being
clinically insane.

here they come now,
through the forest green,
lipsmacking, high and all

rapidly complying with their
shadows defiant crushed velvet.

here they are,
at the window’s pits,
taking tourist shots of the mating spiders.

moonwalking
left to right, cars
steadfastly racing with the sunset

opening their hoods in toothsome smiles
to absorb
a

family reunion, a cat call from a
sailor two docks away,
distant helium squeals in the
supermarket,
soggy feathers, rain dance, back-to-back fucking,
rivers fuming rancid insolence.

an ache to
touch the stove top
and lick grandma’s window sill,

beaten, weeping, putrid iris
a mule. understatement of
a battle cry yelped from
an angel’s first sin.
sordid ambition breaks
the barriers of a sensitive
nature. things like
this are not
as
they settle inside
the bowel movement.
head-static delays the erasure of
reality.anything
dating past a year ago is
analog which means
so many dreams are
no longer current. peeling
bubblegum off the carpet:
one distraction to pogo stick to
from a former fixation.

disarray obeys when emptiness is
sensed most. we’ve
maximized the
proximity of hope out of
proportion, once again. you and i, and illustrations
of baby blue birds
manifest, dissociate, than
scare the neighbours away.

you and i
symmetrical beings
darting back into an aeroplane
on rewind
don’t
forget to wave goodbye
to the cosmic sky
as your memories of me
begin to haunt you.

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hotel-room is where the heart is

by Cerebella

there is a vein-wire
i want to painlessly shrink into

the entrance is a birthmark on my left arm
i try to see if it’ll work sometimes
i taste mostly like iron and such calcium.
i stick my tongue onto it
and wait to get sucked into
my spiraling captivity

i can’t feel myself growing older
i can’t feel any growth in my limbs
i shake it off like a wind-mouth and screw up my
broken pocket watches sense of time

i set free wounds, trapped beneath my bandage trenches
i overexpose my back to the sun
the strangest format of another

timeless-tasting romance

breaks away like the crumbs
on my lap or
the popcorn in my chest
those movie theaters always shake
the yellow pigment out of
my vision
and maybe
that’s why i eat it so fast

maybe if i bought a new wallet
and collected new dollars
instead of saving the funny ones
with a hitler-moustache on washington
or swastikas on lincoln’s forehead

where’s george been?
what’s new with you?

let’s forget about the word catastrophe
let’s fight and agree that
black eyes are a fitting look
for us both

the purple suits the
sky of my inner body
the blue represents
the waves below
treating my organs like
wingless plankton families

pitchers of dismembered bikini strings
lost to the ocean
roaring motorboats going fishing for
dreary constellations

shaped like triangles
and eyelash batting
and the secrets of
night’s handshake with the sun:

liquid rats crawling up
my cities train tracks.

if i were to destroy one day,
i would take the cork out of
your heads pressure
to see what’s going on inside
to see if anything goes on inside

let the sky drop tears endlessly on top of my head
let there be cloud-cry

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