after my entry where I said that xanga is stupid and all that, I realized I was stupid for using it. New site: meaty's psalms

i will miss the album feature though.

I know xanga is stupid (gay, retarded, etc.), but its free. So while I feel like I'm trying to write a novel with crayons, please don't treat this like a xanga site, or a coloring book (not that there's anything wrong with coloring books, in fact I love them, but they have no place in novels. [or maybe they do...]) And don't think me an arrogant bastard for saying that if you are a big xanga user and participate in 'blogrings' and all that crap. Chances are, I don't care enough to insult you, so let's leave it alone.

Also, xanga let's you post lots of album art, which is half the reason I'm here (the other half of the reason being its free).

Bloody Stilts

sweet valencia photograph
wherein the care is inescapable
I take offense: torched limb
I wish I could say more,
writers never die, so spit it out
(I'm sooner choking)
mmph your [vomit]
has regaled my senses
(I miss cartoons)
and I wish your teeth would talk.
We've been raised by fools
(congenital hues)
in Grenada they balk
The man bought a cup of coffee.
parrying king turtle ties
crows go
Straight for the eyes.
The woman bought a cup of tea.
ameliorated cotton peculiar
chap-toed
english blanket jeweler
When you point that gun I'll cry:
Woah, its me.

The Microwave Did It

Sleeps of sores fighting
under cover
everyone of us is
brazenly alone
I'd love to stop
who I am
douse the fields smother the fire
uproot those god damn snakes
and walk home with my hands in my
pockets, whistling all the time

there's an ocelot in my bathtub
a hand gun in my shoebox
and paint chips in my bread
let's get this party started
by morning we'll be dead

When Rebecca Wolff (of Fence books) asked me if I had a blog, I absently told her that I had started a xanga last night and that I wasn't entirely committed to it or proud of it. Now it's apparent that she's linked to this site from her own Fence blog, and in trying not to look like a bluthering idiot, I feel the need to post some poetry I DO feel proud of.

Hence:

Textually Active

if You do not like the things written,
imagine: I am stuck thinking them
and god laughs at my bleeding nose
Stuck thinking congruous is never shamed
if I ever make sense I’ll be dead
(write that down)

gawking seniority drooling hysteria
not fit I wasn’t at all I
see the red inks fade pink but
in sense they don’t I
don’t?

You,

Are,

On my side. Let the dog get fat.
Intravenous flush small shark high tide’s diplomat,
(I though that)
Inks candied like a school girl crush
I let my dog get fat I let him shit where he must
(nod your head)
whose pink face on the inside of my
there’s a
his umbrella borrowed doesn’t blush

rot, Molly
rot


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Canine Sensibility


and if I could just lick your ear...

I am dying
to break every mirror
live life by hands and feet
and here glass across the floor besides
thrown stones

The Liar lives on the second story
pulling hair from his head
and fucks with more honesty than you


--------------------------------------------------------


Hail


I thought he was going to cry, that
stupid bastard

I've never noticed how obnoxious I
thought it was being smart
smarter than those who don't find me
obnoxious
smarter than an unrolled ball of yarn
when mine finishes coming undone, it will
do nicely to choke
when I am finished rearranging my toys
they will reign like fire
among straw

stuck doing chores, I have not worked
in years
stuck with this ink on my skin
MY skin
that keeps me warm under clothes
that keeps my hair from falling out
it is lucky to have, and so I haven't
shredded it
but soon
a cancerous vein
and it will peel like petals from a flower
the fire having already burnt the dirt
and the wasps dead in their nests

Again
winter rolls in
and nearly ruins us all

but it left our cars great shuddering filthy
miracles
and ourselves, you and I
not touching
face masks donned
nine of my fingers pawned
because I am throbbing dead weight
abroad
(you only have one button)

And don't you dare
put me in my place
I am sleeping to the sounds of unbridled
affection

Open me up; I want surgery
and you're certainly better than my last
doctor
who touched his finger to his lip
and talked about anal sex with his
wife
who always begs for him to put it in
which always makes him think of
work
and particularly,
of dragging knives across chests

blunt, I know
but I am sure it is better than
being fucked

----------------------------------------------------------

At the very least it will give some substance to this site.