Elaine Kahn

I laze about, deranged and unafraid to godly kiss you, kiss the pharmacist that whipped you, undilute, to dilate high your animus of lime and lye. I know of an upstairs hell. A creamy, vascular thump through bonus years of things that pass and things that do not move. Your cellular mouth. Your mess of inattention. Now that none of us are good looking I think that/they are right. Strokes of light you taped across my nipple. Patterns staked to fake the love we cannot feel so slick the miser of your hand through my bad heart. Genius, you are blond enough. Once in a while. And in the end, when I sweep coolly up and will not be drawn back, then I will tell you of it. How I can. In writing, I am making an attempt to depict my beautiful nose through imagery. I will tell you of it. Once in a while. I will miss you. And the tape. To be flung down, petals from a balcony.

Rotten, he says, motherly how could you miss that Like a ragamuffin with no eyes his body has a dark spot Like doing laundry all day long he is being nowhere Cottage cheese runs out his mouth Another one and another one that doll can crawl his insides like an awning Motherly if mother mother as if spread If I could break the hymen of his ear with I can't stand you I won't say a thing and I won't notice god you are the softest kind of jerk and yesterday is gone and I had nothing to do with it

The innocents all dress the same Their mouths open Their mouths close They flush and bleed and wonder where they are Happy to be leaving Hesitant and unprepared for the departure when it comes to them like penicillin Are you pinching yourself? What I want and how I want it That is what they told me They were right Skin is just like fabric All violence is in defense of something I lay on my back and wish I do that now I wish for good things, all the good, good things Why not Fabric rolls out like a cloud of paint A moan into a square of gauze I don’t know and so I write about it I care about life and the ones who never say a thing We are in the hands of providence who is unqualified There are those who would protect us from the possibility of good

In the damp sick In the dough In the chewed on chew of faces of expensive car owner faces chewed ons of the world: I do not fetishize the truth I poke around Holding my bland sandwich in my non-dominant hand, I think what could be worse, I think what could be as bad? To feel the thing you want to feel and not to care To be a wet road in the dark I'd like to thank Toyota, like to thank my parents, esthetician Ritalin Clonazepam internet TV weed my beautiful dresses