Keagan Moore, Contributor
Oh fuck it the body is liquid it looked like drowning in the floundered attempt to get up and off outta here so graceful and unattached
Sink into the spit teaching bite upon bite upon bite upon bite
Open my skin, I am not in leave a message. Touching a scar a handprint tears dropping on pores, sweat swimming, melted meat.
I am you, not I you with me without me I am not you alone and alone and alone.
I want you, I want to, I want to want you, I want you to, I want to be like you.
Tongue-learning, yearning in breaths between the rest = noise
Positive/negative hand holding glyphs in the notion of myths in speech talking backwards in no direction dialogue diatribe
Me and you and I don’t know who
Does that make two?
Goddamn the lover’s spit shit quipped out and ripping the walls
Drool is like a mirror
I’m gonna gotta be reflected
And detected
Infectionate and affectatious
Not a name too numb
A numb name searing tongue and speaking slowly mumbled
A numb name like a bruise I wear it never heals I feel it always
Like a little rock inside my sock
It sticks to me, it bothers me, it does not know me, it does not open
A name is a numb thing, it is dumb thing
It is idle it is unfortunate
And I was born without it
And I will leave it behind when I die
My body does not have name, it has little fame, my body loves the weather when it rains
Drops of water cast no pain
Mountains within me
Where are you
We are lonely
Cracked act the mirror went the black the lights slid down and out of sight into the night breathing beating bleating
Slipped bone back to shout and twist writhe and rye and lips so dry around chipped teeth mouthing words I’d rather ignore
Sometimes you just have to stop talking and start screaming and moaning and yelping and yawping and breathing and weezing and panting crying and sighing and howling and
Rush of blood to the face I fake it limping down mainstreet up on hill down another don’t start the fire don’t start me
No one sends me love letters. Or love emails. Or love texts. Maybe a love poem once, but who knows. There’s just something real sweet about holding an envelope in your hand with both of names on it, right? (I wouldn’t know)
Being lit on fire is not fun. But it’s true sometimes. It’s honest. It’s a quick thing, a flash, a fleeting feeling, fucking abstract hard to grasp, I wouldn’t ask for it again but there it is, brilliant in a blissful way.
Gonna bleed, gonna spit, gonna sweat, gonna piss, gonna shake, gonna cry, got dry skin cold weather mean air clean and crisp and I feel it all over me in me within me I’m breathing
My body wears a bruise. It is my name. And every name it has known. Theses names used to sting.
