crumbled and rolled

nausea 11/28/2009

Filed under: gender trouble,readable — paperslightertext @ 3:38 am

caught in the gullet,
one sliver of silver bullet,
gangrened septic sentiment
choking up in spite of itself,

searching for a slip to trip on.
it stings, pulsates like a phantom ring,
like reliving days of pain-lust confessions
at scarborough mall. the conservative men who
rejected me: tousled, tossed back drugs or switched
to lifting weights in the name of said men everywhere

who drove plastic box-cars, politic parades, motorcycles made of motorcades,
alpha dogs drink lemonade on the sidelines, scrapping,

snapping, writhing, my whining cage one of electrified otherness
fencing in the sprawling dreamscapes of
the fawning lion your zoo was ever so small for

a petit fours gang midget bridage, twinned, airy,
two fire lions clashed, one burned, the spurned fairy,
twinkerbell syndrome rots the heart from outside in
retroactively it saps the power of the fondest self-kindled grin

fire, build a wall.
the bridge it may have burned
but the tower never falls…

inspiration: do you ever wish facebook had an eternal sunshine option, so you could check an option, “no thanks, do not show the posts of this person, ever, for thinking about them is too painful. please render them virtually invisible to me by censoring their comments on the pages of mutual friends.” when will technology adapt to our brand new twenty first century gossamer egos? so tender! even the digital shadow of a painful reminder of past sadness is enough to fracture them terribly.

perhaps the mentally unstable should be separated from the internet altogether. it only leads them to post embarrassing poems, or photos, or worse. (and no one wants to see that.)


meateater 11/25/2009

Filed under: gender trouble,readable — paperslightertext @ 1:41 pm

like the looming limited building
that lurked near my childhood home
my public display case is fronting
the process of my work in progress.

& do the springers send me on my way?
the daisy chain which breaks my fall,
my endearing femaleness which paints me, fey,
my deviousness projected on the wall

for i’ve entered a serious arms race
a parabola peaks, my age disintegrates
proportionally to the way my voice breaks:

and if it hasn’t yet morphed into a sacred fat cash cow,
i’ll slaughter it, gut it, devour it- live in the now.



Filed under: readable,silliness — paperslightertext @ 2:26 am

waltz from the coat closet to
make a gaffe in the dining room

stoke your pipe and find
as you drag, swig virtual rum
that man is never kind of

unless he has some other kind
of virtual pipe to stoke, & smoke,

in which case rob him til he’s broke.
(and that ain’t no joke.)


contrary to popular belief, 11/20/2009

Filed under: gender trouble,readable — paperslightertext @ 2:00 am

a crown of curls, sheepish,
cotton may as well be thorn,
a glittering sheen of parabens,

which makes them stay in shape,
and bounce, and coil, and snake
around the contours of a rather sheepish face…

which hides an innocence so coy,
it’s never ceased to stave off any sheepish ploy.

i have a secret- this i must admit,
i want it rarely, for my sheep it has a love- my kitten.
(no matter how flea-bitten, i’m smitten.)
forgive me that entire soppy aside…
what the masses in me deride, i must uphold with pride.

this quote has been stuck in my mind lately. “the deep secret of innocence is that it is also anxiety.” kierkegaard.



Filed under: gender trouble,readable — paperslightertext @ 1:47 am

her next hit single:
“i’m constantly being tortured by a musical in my mind”
made popular by that similarly titled musical
constantly being authored behind her eyes

barely warbling, demented with rhyme, scaly tongued,
dry and serpentile… perpetuating
the hope that keeps me giddy.

as long as the bevy of fresh faced characters stays afloat,
the watchful fox will never have time to mope.


seed spilled 11/15/2009

Filed under: readable — paperslightertext @ 12:46 am

turn, chant, repeat,
perhaps the process is invisible.
once i witnessed academic value
attributed to the ability to forget-
maybe sacrifice is inevitable, as

aborted ghosts of poems shed
easily as three-bagsful of respite
swung an arc, slam-dunk in the dumpster,

suffocated, far from the virtual tank where
swim their envied, living brethren,
memes against the streams,
currents of digital seas,

may even one of them weather it.



Filed under: readable — paperslightertext @ 12:33 am

isn’t that how it gets you? jowls burrow
slurpingly into some wormy nook you never
knew you had in you, & they eat out
saccharine filling, granulated, paste-colored,
what a juvenile gustatory hankering! yet it conjures

follicules you’d pruned, rakish kitten tracks on your
canvas upholstered forearm, hundreds of geysers
all over your old faithful- i mean, coming of age
means growing pains… and haven’t we all
been smacked round with that particular insipid refrain.