brought to you by the prefix a-

a sick fluttering of my
pulse
like
the beating of a moth
missing a wing

all day I have been throwing
myself against windows
searching for
thinking about
away,
away,
away

out.

you politicians
with your lipless mouths,
fat
lovingly folded
like laundry
around
your chinless chins

the things you will do in God's name--
sacrifice firefighters as burnt lambs
then
go to church

sit heavily in the pews
on your
milk-fed organic
rump roasts

feel righteous

tell the public you
cannot do your
job-
it's Christmas

whenever I open a newspaper
I become Lee Harvey Oswald

paraplegics have more nerve than you,
you and your spineless
spines

scrambled eggs

the last time I saw her before she died,
my grandma dropped an egg on the floor
she told me to hold the frying pan
just like
that,
wrist loose and a nice grip
like I would a tennis racket

I've always been terrible at sports

I kept my wrists rigid like
branches
she dropped the egg on
the floor
and there was something
pretty
about the way it crumbled
into itself

like ashes
from a crematorium

every time
I see an egg I imagine
my grandmother inside
red lipstick
reborn from
the fireplace

people are always telling me you're toxic

you are a little puppeteer
everything in the room
connected to your hands
by invisible lines

bring the beer in your
hand to your lips,
and
someone jerks their head
drawn to you like curtains

shift your weight
and the weight of the world
rests with you
the gravity of being the center
of the universe heavily sits
on your right hip

your eyelids must be so heavy
some mornings
how do you lift them?
how do you get out of bed with
so many strings attached?

above your bedroom door
all those lines knit themselves
into a Charlotte-worthy spiderweb

it says
SOME PIG

it's like I'm Betamax and you're VCR
and somehow
you have pushed me
out of the infinite loop.

damn,
wish I could upgrade
to DVD or something.

because I am constantly vying for the computer

in my house, I will only be writing my poem a day on the blog at novicember.
Sorry for being lazy, sort of.

a rounded edge

Western civilization is all about squares

square house,
square rooms,
square painting
behind which is a safe with
a round lock
where I keep my fears

all these squares--
I forget sometimes
the world is circular