ZLOP!

WORDS,

EVEN THE

BLADDERED

WORDS

OF POETS,

DO NOT

EVOKE

PICTURES

IN ITS […]

MIND.

CONVINCED

IN ADVANCE

THE DRUG

WOULD

ADMIT

IT.

POEM # 23

After the car crash, this hole on  my face  listens to me

recite the  evening’s  menu. A fridge,  a television set,

laundry  detergent,  patio  furniture,  a zucchini,  a lobster,

a jar of  olives,  my wardrobe,  magenta,  & turquoise.  At the

table, I  flambé this hole on my face atomized  books. Wonder

bread helps build  strong bodies  twenty-three ways. This hole drinks less

than its usual gas fare. I want  to go through  it again  with a quail  

egg on top. Balloon  into an  unhealthy  weight class as  to savour the

taste of herds.  A single  wafer-thin  mint sheets  this hole with viscera.

After the car crash, this hole on  my face  is amazingly still alive.

This hole on my face blasted open, reveals spread ribs & this intact,

nagging heart. Do not renounce the glamour of evil, do not refuse the

mastery of holes.  EAT PREY FUCK THE CHEQUE, MADAME.

POEM # 22

In poem twenty-two, what plays Hector & Achilles if not

highway voices impaled on either side of this Pontiac

Bonville’s twenty-two volt bull horn. They look at each other,

look back at the wall of police cars, & then look back at me. 

They smile, & say, “If capitalism drives off a cliff, it will

do so without any help.” I am a man in a dream who

fails to lay hands upon another whom he is pursuing. The one

cannot escape nor the other overtake. In such wise did I

cry aloud amid tears, & the police join in my lament.

POEM #20

Formerly,  the Gods  used to  go to  war with one  another,

then they  became  united,  formed cults.  In poem  twenty

Zeus will be  played by  Professor  Xavier  in blackface.

Trigger  warning  REASONABLY CLARIFY  ALL FEELINGS.

Victims  bring down  the uni  before  its stated  time. Zeus

reads tone in  email, wishes  to speak back  calmly,  “GRAB EM

BY THAT GRATUITOUS WORD.”  Old men make  me sad.  Too warm a  

piss for  the like  like tea.  I've always  wanted  to see

EM beaten to a shit  bloody pulp  with a  high-heeled shoe  stuffed up EMS

mouth, sort of  the pig with  the apple. It would be  good to

put EM  on a serving  plate but  you'd need  good silver.

Poem # 19

Start with  the perfect  omelette which  is made  with two eggs  not three.

Amateurs  often add ambrosia for density. This is a

mistake.  Let it  go hungry.  Tears for  food while  horses

taunt it, neighing “You read about  Taurus &  Gemini.  How they  

only came  here to leave  retrograde.  Neigh, us  neither.  Leave the

poetry to the pandas, the pandas to the poachers.  Neigh, call

us crazy we snorted  a fleck  of the  blue paint to  avoid

having to  listen. Neigh, come back  here you  glum schmuck &  crop us.

You can’t  make an  omelette  without  breaking a  few eggs.”

Poem # 17

I do not work without armour.  No bare stomach saves this body

from my bosses.  Today’s delusions brought to it by parasitosis.

Picking at what’s there,  stupid.  Immune this skin. Dare it, bitch.

Itch when my boss is near.  Dare dare,  little one. Skin thickens post

scratch. Cottage cheese build up.  O Muses,  before this body inurns,

Athena reforms Phoenix.  Miley so hood, she my bosses best

friend. Gregor reconciles toe jam on Maundy.  Scrubs post polished

feet fit for housing. Feminist men really know when their talking

about me.  Got hoes in different area codes.  My librarian

goes rogue. She says, “this space don’t fit your addy,  please leave

Robert Borden  at the  door.” I say  to her  “Librarian,

though you fall  besidethis body,  let none shrink from fighting.”

Poem # 16

As I speak,  I put on  my armour.  Slowly grease  these legs  fitted

with raven  elastic  garters. After this,  I don  my namesake,

Marie Madeline,  milk leather  harness belt  with O-ring  hardware

& studded  rivet  collar.  On this  comely head  I set  my helmet,

with a crest  of boar-hair  that nods  caressingly  above it.

Pace Iona  Beach. Industrial waste, shit, beauty,  airport.

Standing with  mausers pointing at  it. I  express  worry,

The feeling of  spontaneous expression. Pseudo humphouse  makes it

known. Then as my cage  skirt ebbs  the life  out of me,  it answers,

it is not  a secret, no matter  the bluff.  Now, don’t fuck  it up.

POEM # 11

& now as I rise from my couch,  I cum in it for fun.  

The other night it came all over me ina dream.

Spilled this bath tub filled to the lip with dead goldfish.   Should have

seen its face. I gave it a poachable face, akin to salting the meat.

Bacon smile & balut four eyes. My complacency is its best friend.

Fall from its MPV to the earth,  smiting it on the chest with my bills.

Now, so long as this bush waxed &  it is still morning.  Strip the

sheets from off it &  let its hips bare  lies when they fall.

I love this dick, but I take it out of this mouth once in awhile.

Wander the lemon field,  prying the best lemon succulentfire.

Bite its rind, squeeze its juice.  Though this fire won’t give, I lick its flame.

Virtuous lemons shank sad tibia.  Nothing is a sign until it is. 

Poem # 10

for Hélène Rytmann

It takes it  out on me,  attaches  jingle bells  round my neck.  As it kills,

Canada  announces  the obsolescence of the  penny from

the coinage  system. As it kills,  what will it  give me  for my

thoughts. Great head  rolling in the dust while I  have yet to  think freely.  I lay

before it on  my back.  As it kills,  proof of the  pudding is  in the  

eating! So  what! Like ideology, I am aware.  It strikes  me with its  

bow, for it  forgot  its whip  in the  MPV.  Don’t I

hate when it  happens.  As it kills,  I wait  for the porntunity

to relate  to it  while kept at  arms length.  V-shaped, cram techniques.

As it kills,  fix it  dear Henry.  As it kills,  fix it,  dear Henry.

Recognize it as  merely a  bigger cat.  Gives me what  I like,

as it kills,  it wants  to fuck me  hard on the  sink. Uh-huh Henry.

SOK!

I'M LAURA KIPNIS, 

I MAKE

FUN OF

[…] WOMEN

BECAUSE I

HAVE LOW

SELF-ESTEEM.

I DON'T HAVE

THIRTY DAYS AND

THIRTY NIGHTS

TO SHOW YOU

WHY ALL THE

HOOCHIES

SHOULD DRINK

ON THE

FIRST DATE.

Poem # 6

Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh. Cicero.  Lipschitz.  Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.

Cicero.  Lipschitz.  Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.  Cicero.  Lipschitz. 

Repeat after me.  Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.  Cicero.  Lipschitz.

Thus did it plead, it is no God worth believing in. It doesn’t

have to tell you. You know it. This image of ships.  Ni moneda,

ni poema. It is capitalism’s most impressive conscription.

Wave the card like beads of fuck. Let not be left alive but forgot.

How it ever thought it could live so large and leave so little for the

rest of us.  Dactyl rent a fuck.  Projectile.  Where it lands is not far

from your squeak. Spare no abortion jar, no barren wasteland.

Jazzercise.   The revolution called and you didn’t happen

either. Your  supine self spoons  yourself,  draping your forearm as 

though another’s reversed organism.  Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.

Cicero.  Lipschitz.  Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.  Cicero.  Lipschitz.

Pop. Six.  Squish. Uh uh.  Cicero.  Lipschitz.  Repeat after me.

poem #2

A depressive writes about the future,  everyone laughs at it.

These ten lips and ten mouths.  Count how many tongues cash gold.  Pull one

swallow the whole framework’s hole. My heart would surely break if I

were not impaled by the ongoing urge to gut it out fist first.

Gorgeous breasts sway a brain or two.  It is disgusting, release me sow,

graduate with charisma. The real drive is getting it just right,

straying from one sext to the next sext. What I mean is

either way I lose.  How long is now? What I mean is,  sad sex.

Close both buttons on your back, honey.  While in establishment, shut up.

By the authority infected in me, I pronounce it, 

perfectly alive. What is mine is not yours unless you take it.

poem #1

Rage, it belts  like a  rooster’s cock.  Just another  seismic  layer.

This attempt  to wage  war on it  as if  it were  overcome

with contam inating  things all too  foolishly  in the  name of

cucumber  fulfillment.  Hesitate  to say  what it is  instead

kissing and  licking the  buckle  of its  wallet  over

and over  again.  Instead  liking it  like a  surgical

hand scrub. Skin  bleeds out blotched  puños.  Too many  layers  gusta.

This is the  fashion and  like it or  not its  in me  and you   

Few of us  forget  this factoid.  I’m going  to spend  everyday  of the

Rest of my  small life  killing it  liking it  over and over again

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

WOULD I LIKE IT

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

DO I LIKE IT

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

COULD I LIKE IT

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

WILL I LIKE IT

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

SHOULD I LIKE IT

IT LIKES ME

IT REALLY LIKES ME

WOULD I HAVE LIKED IT

It came in my door. Ashen

It couldn’t help it. The way my shape lay there

Asleep with the twins castor and pollux in my eyes

Breathing on unconcerned

Too much curb. Too much prattle         

Cavalierly gets me off to the   

Duration of this porno

… cum in me, it is fun. I will perform it for you. I will expose it in a way you won’t miss it. I will give you

a glimpse into seeing it as I never see myself. The other night

it came all over me in a dream. Pronounced it narrowly done with me. Dichtermut spills forth to join a bathtub filled to the

lip with dead goldfish

Soul fucking. Want any help. Help provided unavailing

Nowhere near as fun as self-fecundation. Noone gives it to me

as hard as I do. My complacency is man’s best friend. I recognize

man as merely a bigger cat. I will eat its face whole when it dozes off. I love my dick, but I take it outta my mouth

once in awhile …