this poem was rejected by two
Tiles of morning glories,
cold as confession,
here I am again thinking of her,
my one true Heart.
My trousers had pooled
forgotten argumentations,
still thinking of her,
stomach rumbles and starts
tough decisions hums,
pipes and rough squeezes
mind-bending wars
pollution, ecological warfare,
human emotions, lards of bonds.
She is in her current lush life.
Yet i am on an up and down trove,
thoughts of useless and useful stuff:
does she sleep well
does she sleep sanitary
does she sleep untouched by culinary
junk while i rot awake
fat is fate
thinking of her mouth
thinking of me
does she ever think of me
or it as I am blind to see
only hunger
KFC
brisket and treats
hundreds of hundreds of calories
grease on fingers, toenails
lips on salt
salt and hips
would she lick it off me
or laugh
do i disgust her
is this love
or just a body asking
to be remembered
do she find it ridiculous
this bowel reverie
as much as the time
i spend on the toiletry
pants down, phone glowing, marble-rock wondering, praying to porcelain, spraying, endless spraying,
does she flush me away,
does hell want me,
does hell think of me, the way i think of her,
between breaths and love?
I sit on a ridiculous shrine, this white porcelain throne, I spend my time on with my knees numb, heart warm for her, black swan, Palgrave, books of black and white ink with paper roll dwindling my stomach lining, my stomach acid defying my will, and as I feel her crying my dignity goes flying, these punctuations sweating, squeezing out undying lies, conducting espionage and spying for her in restaurants often, so be it then.
Crawl out, my Organic Man,
render me strengthless,
after the five hundred I consumed,
I no longer need contentment
nor ending for all those condiments,
my heart is pierced.
Pave the path for my Organic Man
so he can fight for me in the waters,
fight for me, incense-smelling,
helter-skelter powers,
those testo junkie downers.
Taking this into consideration:
Will you remain with me, my love?