Miser
well, i could always kill someone famous i could cut open a pig and find a prize inside but it’s more likely i grow up to be a dinosaur and the air smells weird these days, fetid sweaty impure, almost like old coins, or people fucking in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. i don’t like it. and it seems like all the restaurants are Chinese these days, have you noticed that? spiritually, i mean. sometimes literally, too, i guess. my point is everything is in fucking decay look at the way the plates are wobbling on the poles. listen to the sounds scraping off underwater, just off the perimeter of every major city. i have to worry about all these things now, things i don’t even know anything about. it seems like everyone is saying “oh, that’s all going away soon,” and who am i to doubt them? and seriously, it makes me feel uncomfortable the way you’re looking at me. i wouldn’t mind so much, but i can tell exactly what you’re doing. you’re pretending you’re undressing me, and finding nothing but clay underneath. it’s not that you’re the first to do so, but i’m only getting older, and honestly, it hurts more when it comes from you. i like our long conversations and i like the way everything feels possible inside of them, but i can’t be a bridge to anywhere. it’s all fucked. i wish you would just tell me what to do.
Asthma
It’s a walk-on tonight. A dog wearing clothes, like a real animal. My hands around a raw throat, the sound of perfectly natural necklaces pearling. Please go away, stop perceiving me, I don’t like the spotlights anymore, the breeze blocks, the harmless piles of kidneys and blood. Sad clown with a swirled face. You’ve seen the documentaries, and so much else besides. It gets to a point. Concretely: the plants need to be watered while I’m away, and the thing in my closet should be ignored entirely – that’s what it says, at least. I’m not really everything I might appear to be. There, did you notice? Some grease just dripped out of that car, some pus just splattered our dinner party. The beautiful people, you know, they’re biting each other’s fingers off. They’re lying on cold tables, thinking of Rome. It’s a smear on the window, made with a rubber hose and some young people who didn’t know how to say no. Once, I thought I was different than that. It was okay, I thought, because there was all sorts of air in my lungs. The things I held onto would stay there, they would plead to me desperately, panting, about how they wanted to be turned inside out. But later, it wasn’t so simple. I had to see it more clearly: my life simply wasn’t about anyone. Please, just fall over quietly. Don’t get lost in the script, don’t try to run.