Right Hand Path

My gut is burning.

My intestines are in a frying pan

The edges sizzle and the grease sputters.

It’s in my fingertips now and these digits are uncontrollable.

The capsules around my eyes are bursting and the vessels, like roots, are spreading.

My muscles cramp and distort my limbs and I think about what it must look like.

My teeth rear forward and protrude, staggered like an abandoned church organ piano.

Take it all without a word.

Devil, please, find something for these hands to do.

As above, so below.

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Such Is Life

Perpetually sitting at home in my party dress.

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Everything Mattered

Sometimes I want to lay in bed all day and sometimes I do. I spend a lot of the time with the covers over my head. This is an attempt to escape the idea of that and it hardly ever works.

It makes me sick to my stomach.

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Tears by Allen Ginsberg

I’m crying all the time now.

I cried all over the street when I left the Seattle Wobbly Hall.
I cried listening to Bach.
I cried looking at the happy flowers in my backyard, I cried at the sadness of the middle aged trees.

Happiness exists I feel it.
I cried for my soul, I cried for the world’s soul.
The world has a beautiful soul.
God appearing to be seen and cried over. Overflowing heart of Paterson.

Artic, 1956

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Hard Times

What the economic recession means to those who were poor to begin with:

At the beginning of this economic obsession my mother came into my room, leaned on the door frame with a rag in hand and said, while dazed towards my television screen, “you know, this recession is terrible and all but it’s no fucking different than how I’m used to living.” And it was true, it’s not.

I’m not sorry that your family can’t take their annual vacation to a tropical resort.

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I’m Happy, Are You?

We are a greedy generation of kids that pretend to not be OK,┬áto attempt to find solace in everywhere but where we come from. Where I live serves as an escape for someone else. We search for relief and happiness in every crevice, hoping that it will one day we will have some sort of revelation and peace will flood our lives like some sort of metaphorical tidal wave. Some of us are not OK but we’re OK enough.

Eternally dissatisfied.

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This Will Never Be Spoken (Unless I Bring It Up)

Get rid of that chip on your shoulder, even if only for me. I never should have cried once in front of anyone because now I am nothing but a joke.

The irony is that when I am older, I will want to be young again.

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