The Victim

You ate a spiderweb with morning coffee

and the victim is wrapped inside

your throat you’re mourning him/her

and yourself of course a part

of the daily routine to make sure

you’re still alive by almost accidentally

killing yourself. Then in the afternoon

you smeared glitter all over your part skinny

part chubby body you did it on purpose

you hate it it’s artificial but you look pretty

right? You’ve gotten past the self-conscious age

you forget that other humans exist the people around

are just representations like the internet.

And you’re a materialist you’re comfortable

with nothingness. You’re going to raise a family

in spite of nihilism so that your children’s children’s

children will know nothing of you until one day

when they’ll ask a Mormon to help remember

for some inane reason and all you’ll be is some

census data released a century later.

So drink/smoke/toke/pray up while you still can.


Reflecting Reflexes

church bells chiming

familiar faces passing

damp feet and strangers

making the best of it


a new homely feel

attracted to scars

no longer



a kind silence

no longer humming

to thoughts

of cardboard


a remembrance

of things yet to pass

body and mind

fairly bartered


not caring

worries no longer inscribed

discomforted animal

emotionless and chaste


above cement

an overcast of

pollution and doves

mask off the face


Humid Death

Sri Lankan atrocities along with pangs

in my stomach make for right now

in the humid


perceptions of moments in non-requital

lead painted tree on a plastic cup


Sri Lankan war atrocities at the zoo

the cages are neglect abandoned tigers spit metal

spots so sullen

no one knows what to do

sinister simians shake

the tiger and I will pounce on you


strip down the child caked in dirt

execute them