Friday, April 16, 2004
lick the sucker, paint by numbers
i could kiss the wounds on you from my leave.
(but i can't.)
natural gas or natural disasters
are never natural when they're produced by our actions..
so maybe leaving isn't the best idea from now on.
burn sore death mute beg.
always the same cycle from the separation.
home isn't a place.
home is when we're together.
there's no place like you.
*bettie* at 9:01 PM
On time,
the moon patiently changes.
The reward for planetary clam
will be nightly
northern watchers.
*bettie* at 3:31 PM
Pepper
Burns my mouth, my throat
And I wonder..
Am I descendant of camels?
I take another bite
Eat away at my dieting plans.
Orange, yellow, clear
Set me free from all those calories.
It takes a bite
Eats away at my mass.
I hope it takes a chunk of myself
With it
Down those long, winding paths to freedom.
Fish heaven.
It eats away at my enamel.
On fingernails,
Porcelain,
Nonexistent teeth.
And my ever-so-guarded heart.
Of course it has enough acid
To eat right through me,
The walls my daddy gave
To compensate for break.
I take yet another of my reverse bites,
Reverse meals.
I’m only
feeding the poor submerged, lost alligators.
I'm only
Providing camouflage for the lost love of perky children.
We take another bite,
Me and my coping.
*bettie* at 3:30 PM
Daisy Chainsaw
breaks
the morning ritual
in light of insomnia-
in light of the sun.
Shave me of
unhealthy routine
with an
organic one-bladed razor.
*bettie* at 3:30 PM
Toybox Ballerina
Spinning sweetly
to my theme:
"Let dead dogs lie,
let dead dogs lie."
She bids me climb
the moon.
each step on toe
pointed
in satin and sheep.
Shed my plastic
and springs
to emerge a
velvet and tulle
life-size Barbie.
"We dead girls lie,
we dead girls lie."
*bettie* at 3:30 PM
I dream of the touch;
a nightly appraisal to
your celestial beauty.
A kiss in sync with mine-
can I shower in your tears?
I wish for your attention,
hope for a mutual love.
Abandonment takes over
a g a i n.
Before you go..
can I shower in your tears??
*bettie* at 3:30 PM
i pine for you
plant a tree
give me roots in you
just don't forget to
grace me, sunshine.
*bettie* at 3:29 PM
you speak to me and i am all ears,
but your words are meaningless
you move
poetry in motion
the way i can only speak
to your deafness.
stand-
stand me up
in your stance of
confusion.
i am all ears.
move to me the way you love me
and i'll recite for you my feelings.
do you savor my words,
so sweet and poetic
the way i savor your touch
these words
in your skin
poetry in motion
and i am left still
only these words
too poetic
i hear your movements
with all my ears.
what do you say
how do you move
when my ears are not upon you?
do you dance to the beat of a different drum
and
shall i give you an ear to keep?
walk me a paragraphic essay
on the way you feel for me
for her
stand me up
stand your stance
and i will watch with
all my ears
poetry in motion
and i am almost
speechless.
*bettie* at 3:29 PM
washing up
washing off
I wash myself of his
wishy-washy entity.
washing up
rinsing down
He bathes me
in acidic deceit.
I wash my hands of this.
*bettie* at 3:29 PM
thoughts
arrive with the sunrise
light
rose-colored
beauty
to invade my darkness.
thoughts
of you
kiss my wounds
shatter my heart
explode me
bind me
a million ways
trippy dali-style.
surrealist slouching
i ask if i may paint you into
a picture in my mind,
place you in one spot
for all eternity.
can you stand
still,
true to me?
be the finger of the sistine chapel,
don't pull away and lose
your diety,
don't come too close
to me,
your fear,
your goddess.
i'll ornament you
in all the ways i wish
you would lavish me.
be my diety?
*bettie* at 3:28 PM
lip stain
catch my hands like
all the others who
catch me red-handed
at the hands
of red lips.
*bettie* at 3:27 PM
free world
free speech
free flowing
free hands
free genitals
we are a country of
freed apes.
*bettie* at 3:27 PM
over the top assumptions-
let me
make the move
and send to you
size seven insults.
our house
playing
spinning
whirling
do you obey?
do you obey?
idolize the obnoxious,
let me control
your moldable
corporate-oriented
adolescence.
apology plug pulled,
spitting venom
would have been more
polite than
the twinkie theory.
do you obey?
*bettie* at 3:26 PM
Barbie sits
too near me,
her translucent shirt
settling checked patterns
onto her
fake-bake skin.
Boredom at
Shakespeare,
boredom unless it is
her of
Swan Lake.
My feathered friend,
I beg you
give her ballet feet.
Give her boredom
with
perfection.
*bettie* at 3:26 PM
all the time, checking that
bee log
for the slightest change/
movement.
she stands here,
she stands there,
she sits down,
she takes a stand.
i blanket myself in her awe,
wrap myself up in
her
transparent fears,
preserved sandwich
in cellofane..
eat me, eat me, eat me.
she sits down.
*bettie* at 3:26 PM
the music wafts in
like faint smells of christmas,
a reminiscent tune
i cannot recall the name of.
piano keys softly
calling to
my dizzy head,
whirring thoughts
along with the bouncing
time signatures.
in my thoughts,
that tune was written solely for me.
*bettie* at 3:26 PM
scrub the semen stains off the lining of
my teacup
spinning round in the
middle
circling an oversized plate,
alice style.
in fact,
go ask her
about spontaneous
wondrous tracers-
to the point of no return.
you come,
and we spend the hours
carelessly
as if we had so many
to drop.
smiling and fancy free,
rich like moviestars
in time instead of dollars,
tipping the busboys
in
seconds for change.
and all those
hours,
spontaneous and undecided
to the point of no return
where we can't decipher
what we've done.
it doesn't matter...
all i know
is that i like the way i feel
when
you leave.
my memory is
of us giggling,
you smiling through so much
eyeliner
and laughing
painfully,
to the point of no return.
and there,
kung-fu
operating
the action-packed plastic
ben stiller monkey,
the tracers must
make
his arms so interesting.
all so...
random-tandom.
my love
for you all
spins round the room,
alice-style,
and you know...
it's to that point of no return.
*bettie* at 3:26 PM
i hate
finding out about myself
the things
she must've known all along.
she hides me from
me
like precious treasures
among the thieves,
steal my own knowledge.
my own throne.
*bettie* at 3:25 PM
they pop up everywhere,
small and angular
in their
assorted means of
linear structure.
so nice to find
new traces of mind,
so nice to know
i still think.
*bettie* at 3:25 PM
she whispers at him
through her tears
and
gravity-free red locks.
"go away."
faced with the
oncoming introductions
of evil,
she must look like
nice bait.
little mermaid,
maid of mer,
made me do it,
made me do it.
*bettie* at 3:25 PM
i am inches
away from the computer screen and
wondering what it feels like to crash my
head through.
i am inches
away from the edge today and
wondering what it feels like to let my
self go.
i am inches
away from my hairclip and
wondering why i took it out of
my hair.
i am much too far
away from you and
wondering why you can't be here
with me.
i am inches
away from the telephone and
debating on whether or not to call
you.
i am inches
away from admitting that i want to be
with you,
inches
away from being yours.
i am inches
tall when i'm next to you,
inches tall with
guilt
and gravity.
i am inches
and all those inches
add up to
much too far
away.
*bettie* at 3:24 PM
blue
he called my eyes;
"they're beautiful when you're crying."
oh dear,
if you were only to see
what they do when you
aren't near.
graceful
she called my tears;
"you just don't stop them from coming."
if a point were to be taken from that
it is
ballet must make you
a better crier.
*bettie* at 3:23 PM
access not excess
i give myself
as an excuse to relieve
the guilt trip.
but still i am
tripping on guilt,
falling that long, embarrassing fall
in slow motion
in front of some notorious crowd,
as always.
a step up on previous ways.
i am still short
of that graceful walk.
someday, in shoes that fit,
i will glide through my notorious psyche
on rollerskates,
with swan arabesque
70's disco style.
until then,
excuse all that wasted time
in slow motion.
*bettie* at 3:23 PM
everything aging- all passengers having lifetimes just short of expiriation
in my constant personal merry-go-round.
store another year on the shelf,
we'll call it progression,
we'll call it well-spent.
**
Lifetimes as clocks-
constant expiriation
measured unrelentingly in dated magazines...
a reminder of eternity in minutes.
marked another "inifinity"
off my personal calendar
today,
mutely chortling
at my impending perishability.
**
infinite desire
towards personal medicine;
i found everything expiring and dated,
an eternity of aging milk
laughing at my
curdling
modes of cure.
*bettie* at 3:21 PM
infinite desire
towards personal medicine;
i found everything expiring and dated.
an eternity of aging milk
laughing at my
curdling
modes of cure.
*bettie* at 3:21 PM
internal connections made on
withdrawn midnight thoughts-
love disperses
and rehearses preconceived spills.
a silver reflection of face
lines that tell tales
starting with
"before we were marred..".
too tightly i held on
to a jealous nature that
wasn't even mind to begin with.
and all that's left
are those sketchy outlines of
him,
gargoyle-posing,
in that little church garden.
after all these dog years,
broken through the glass,
i found out why he wore
only that
tshirt in the snow.
hello, is this the returns desk?
i'd like to send back this information.
*bettie* at 3:20 PM
*renovation remodeled*
ancient walls into
more heavily sought monuments-
an uncertain aging process
that betters in years.
make your buildings out of cheese,
of bottled wine,
and later on they can matter
(like me).
*bettie* at 3:20 PM
winter's templates too uncertain-
pailing pale structured possibilities.
gleamy dreamy irridescence
snowballs away my
snowy spite.
pointilism landscaping...
one tedious dot after another.
no certain order,
they fall-
each "flake" of ice piling
heavier here than there.
it's some random unventured flow,
a laid-back
way of laying perfectly.
i yearn for more moments like these.
*bettie* at 3:20 PM
you'll patiently awake
this desire drought
and
reward my shock
with the most personal
tingling intimacy.
anything elsewhere couldn't
compare with tonight.
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
break the chains on your mind box
give you keys to the broken locks
and i'll offer up myself
for your scapegoat- escape plan.
comfort.
new life radiates from my
fingers.
come now, child,
time to touch
free you.
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
joy burns
i give..
my gift of
lush heat
eating at you
exposing your core.
don't you
love it?
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
green hope-
he lies
lays
in pool rain.
my eyes read the braile decoded
sour-sugar pain
in his clear death-laden skin,
pulsing blueblack impossiblilities.
i take him through the sprinklers,
this time.
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
forget that i'm alive tonight
abandon all my little fingers
and
enjoy beating down envy with
join.
elegancy was not
enough
and now i am here, with too many
little fingers.
little words, little promises.
(small talk).
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
thoughts crossed, we
laugh instantaneously
at the way that love
found us.
disgusting cheesy romance novel-like.
i adore it-
give me all your stomach can handle.
*bettie* at 3:19 PM
scrambled ramblings in the morning
let me slave away and serve them to you
in place of scrambled eggs.
drunkard conversing,
fast-food mind track.
scraped knees, backs
and the scarring reminder of
what we do with our FREE time,
when the clock lends its hands to us
and glides over the moments
we're free of watch/responsibility.
rewrite our write ups,
resurface forgotten memories.
i'll be sure to put a tally on you
for every time i want you
to remember my
touch,
the way i
egg you on.
*bettie* at 3:18 PM
not gonna pray with your back facing me,
no not gonna pray with a frown on your face.
sentimental scented mints
and days on end of a dead arguement
you've gotta pray,
gotta pray,
gotta pray this out of your system.
beg forgiveness.
not gonna pray with your back facing me,
not gonna pray with your gaze at my feet.
some kind of
far off call to what religion was suppossed to mean to us,
worship a deity who
doesn't even have eyes to look deep into.
we've gotta pray,
gotta pray our way through differences.
not gonna pray with your back facing me,
not gonna pray with your panties inside out.
perverted reflections of the one who was lost to so much jesus,
choking on
the most high of semen seas, shove it down her throat a little more.
so much and she's screwing the altar now,
she's fucking the cross and sucking off the communion rail.
you've gotta pump this demon right out of you,
whore.
not gonna pray with your back facing me,
not gonna pray when it's my only time alone.
call me devil the times when i forget where you want me to stand
there in the choir loft
there in the acolyte robe
call me devil for skipping steps and walking that path, pave the way to your hell.
embarrassment.
not gonna pray when you don't mean what you say,
not gonna pray when you're a lying little fuck.
you gotta flush this outta my system,
you gotta pump jesus into my stomach.
holy std.
*bettie* at 3:18 PM
legends at vaudeville,
pasttime of the sleaze in a past time.
it's a burlesque world these days,
pride in prostitution,
props in sex for sale.
one day in vaudeville like a few weeks in disney world,
anymore.
when all those princesses are only
a more recent brand of sexy
strippers from their day.
ragtime rags
wear all that you can't,
wear all but your clothes.
it's hard to wear your heart on your sleeve
when you haven't a sleeve to wear it with,
so let your organs fall out
and give your heart away,
sell your soul for a second of glamour.
we're here in this
perpetual vaudeville horror,
a progressive society of bad taste.
how long can softcore porn entertain the masses?
not long, apparently.
not anymore, at least.
*bettie* at 3:18 PM
it's night time again,
and i'm here alone petting keys with my wired fingers and
wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
no, it's morning time again,
3:32 to be exact
(though i don't believe in time).
the surrounding rooms snore with
giggling dreams or
sheet-kicking nightmares,
so many things that i can't have
during my lonely awake time.
the words can be my friends, the cricket-like buzz of the computer,
and we'll giddily sail off into the land of
cheap poets who obviously smoke too many cigarettes.
let those high pitched waves invade my mind,
take the space of all the
real-people friends i've made and
satisfy me with the quiet,
the dog ear beeps.
my words and i can be happy.
*bettie* at 3:18 PM
sudden hellos,
unproductive reintroductions
to a difference you can call yourself.
a far off time and place
you want me to think
where you regathered, regrouped
and came out better than me.
only to come back and rub it in my face?
or was it that you realized
i was the best fuck you ever had,
the most entertaining,
maybe?
tales from hell about sleeping with
nameless drunk girls
and some kind of resurrection;
try to spark my interest-
you've been more places than me.
a sort of travel through your head,
backpacking through your psyche.
i don't regret staying right here,
i don't regret only dying to you.
and your penis is something
i got over awhile ago,
thank you..
my cunt is DICKless, now.
*bettie* at 3:17 PM
go placidly
it demands of me
on the yellow-dyed fake parchment.
feathered goose tress
and exotic spice fees
provoke thought..
what's more placid than THIS?
*bettie* at 3:17 PM
shimmering shades
darkened beyond bright blissful bubbles
cascading shadows
scented with dish soap.
detering detergents,
i break out at the thought.
out on my skin,
out of my shell,
out of this glittery twilight.
cancerous, cantankerous sun
miscolor my skin,
infect me with blind rays.
spots.
*bettie* at 3:17 PM
organized misery-
it waits deviantly in each measured-out square.
every single one eager to squander
my freedom.
a time here,
a time there-
time slots that don't run on MY time.
i'd like to take them down
but the loser here is me.
all the days already lived before its
morning;
i'd like to live my live
but i fall slave to my own creation.
*bettie* at 3:17 PM
sticks and stones-
we must show our bones
to gain any personal worth.
we become stick figures,
stuck in the cycle of
getting stoned to relieve the pain.
stony expressions
and
stone-cold hearts,
stick rocky roads
in our paths
(unprovoked).
you've gotta look sick-
a bone-ified stick-
to ever get 'boned'
in this world.
*bettie* at 3:16 PM
alone but not lonely
i thrive here in my world.
just me and all my poems
sitting in our ringaroundtherosie circle,
i'm the one who lost.
none of them making sense,
clash and contradict
like so many puzzle pieces
from the wrong puzzles.
no composition/composure here.
they sing to me the infant death song,
more contrast in
words of perversion and
style of a child.
perv.
*bettie* at 3:16 PM
Just because you're pitiful
doesn't mean
I'm storing away any pity for you.
But you wait
like on some particular rainy day
my conscience will get the best of me
and it'll be there,
in a shiny little box
witha bow
just waiting for me
to present it to you-
so many "sorry!"s for your sorry ass.
But it will NEVER rain that hard,
not if hell froze.
and I'll give you your minute
of 'suffering silence'
before you come crawling back to me
on pushup hands and knees
breathless,
arms shaking
the way you came in me before.
You expect so much 'maturity' from MY PAIN, martyrdom.
Well, I'm NOT ashamed
for fucking up
I'm not ashamed
for fucking you
and my only regret is
not truly
fucking you over.
*bettie* at 3:16 PM
Now
in quiet morning
(silent night)
it's one of those moments where
you just want someone to
love you
but you don't know how to ask.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
midnight-
our special time when
the big hand meets the little hand
and we're holding hands
(my little in your big.)
the middle of the night
it's the middle of our time
and i'm wishing the sun would never come
and burn away our beautiful eve.
yours eyes meet mine-
'how'd you do?'-
and it's always the first time, for me
with you.
time stops, parts
and we sit in the middle
with your hands like my canvas
i'll pain you with mine.
your hands round my middle
in our meddling, this night.
you can paint me beautiful, and
i'll grow to even up.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
and there is a place,
I want you to know.
There is a place i saved especially for you.
on the tips of my toes,
the heavy line of my lids.
the zzzz bubble of my pretty little head.
and and i know
you know
i can't as mysterious
or
graceful
as i want to be for you, sometimes.
but but i want you to know that
i don't give myself away
to ever guy i fuck,
i want you to know which part of me
i snapped off and and
presented to you.
the parts where you sit in me
when you aren't present.
save me away for yourself,
for me.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
there are so many things on my mind right now
but none worth saying aloud.
i'd pay the price
(just a few dimes?)
to scream them in your face.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
NO-
my words don't belong to YOU.
so get them out of your voice-
and put them back in mine.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
sometimes all i want is to love myself,
or better yet,
for you to love me
hardcore style.
*bettie* at 3:15 PM
i am
bulemia in little girls, the way sweet darlings vomit up pearls
i am
open wounds in dolly arms, the way all their gashes ooze childlike charms
i am
the tiara on your teenage whore, the angles that sparkle up from the floor
i am
the blood spatter patterns lost, forgotten reds with shimmery gloss
i am
the come stains on your dress, colorless mystery i effervesce
i am
the sadist making you scream, drowning you in vanilla ice cream
i am
everything you'd never want, but all that you dream of-
the prettiest cunt.
*bettie* at 3:14 PM
Tea party,
Tee me off-
pour me gentlemanly cup and
send me flying
cross your aplomb.
Tie me up,
sir Ty,
and force feed me false flattery in tea bags.
collared shirts
and white afternoon gloves,
ladies forbidden
(we only accept sluts).
Proper piss off,
tea for two.
*bettie* at 3:13 PM