an ant colony of tissue paper peonies, little death rattle
underneath the fingernails, push the bruise a mote past due,
breathe like hurt happens without love for the forefront,
fathers of monsters ten aches tall, brilliance postmortem,
brilliance is underwater, keening pop-up lagoons,
a cellophane mariner, a scotch tape yacht,
hot glue binoculars, felt letters spelling out of gas,
a cesspool birthright, ninetyeight break under gutterfuck soul,
hurl scripts at the wall till something falls down.

my name isn’t anything you need in your head.
my name isn’t anything worth all the skeletons you’ve said.

electrolyte word search scramble heart eggs,
dredge exalted concubine, a thread of mpreg.
the point of survival is to fuck everything right in the face!
right in the face until it screams bloody more!
breathing green text hurts when you hit the clarity harder than you’re supposed to,
a little bright in a cold nothing, kill cops, unmask the ruin of american soil- hold up-
welcome to Tabernacle! hope you’re hungry.
give yourself a date and time a little shlick shlick,
ruin family teppanyaki for yourself real quick.

my name isn’t anything you need in your head.
my name isn’t anything worth all the skeletons you’ve said.
my flame isn’t isopods hatching from the canopy above your bed.
the same isn’t absolutely anything better off dead, but I’m better off dead.

Rest all your thorny crowns on Wakabayashi’s headstone,
O great Saturn breastbone, build the pylons till you cave,
reach the firmament before it dare reaches back,
a honeybutter mermaid in a destitute town,
from the waters from the edge of motherfucking glory,
underscore the symphony with every last fruit bat,
chiming save us save us, why haven’t we been saved yet?
Hollywood or Wendigo? decide when you’re ready.
I’ll be just behind the stained glass backdrop.

my name isn’t anything you need in your head.
my name isn’t anything worth all the skeletons you’ve said.
my flame isn’t isopods hatching from the canopy above your bed.
the same isn’t absolutely anything better off dead, but I’m better off dead, better off dead.
HELL IS REAL! i’m better off dead, SOUL OF ORANGE PEEL! i’m better off dead,
don’t know how it feels to be better off dead, but i’m better off dead,
we’re all better off dead.