TYPE GUIDE
crawls out of a wreck flickering monochrome flames a crashed rocket ship
the sort of vessel you’d expect to see plunging into the moons eye
chiming bells clanging see inside the porthole wails hear the sirens tale
somewhere far away over the crook of nightfall past the glowered orbs
can you hear the sound hearts of galaxies crying weeping milk and light?
a warbling codex of hazed phonological representation
in a meager pouch she keeps back spacers, delete keys, portable jawbone
she’s often survived on nothing but nibs and pens she pisses in black
guilty of murder the blood of a typewriter all over her hands
it put up a fight small holes from its many teeth have scarred her knuckles
feels them vibrating waiting to be born again hiding their magic
landed in these bleak heaps of disposed exertions stinking of sadness
almost anything half worth its paper thin weight must pass through here first
junkyard of heroes bulky mounds of shabby capes discarded face masks
pits of rotting verse unwritten compendiums illusionist meat
this is where the itch lays down to give up the ghost or to become one
a schloop in the muck things moving every which way under hero rubbish
there are faint voices coming from under the heaps cheesy pulp maxims
cannibal critics lurking in the damp rubbish surviving on quips
first degree weasels these are true soul sucking finks deep throated golfers
serpent headed thumbs that come slurping out of holes slack faced jowls snapping
all they want to do is suck every golden drop of hope and beauty
she gets it, she does; her great thirst of purpose wants to be fed too
it wants paper planes, velvet curtain recitals, and warm warm biscuits
it wants a coastline coiled around a summer field like a mama cat
these inhuman finks each have human like mouth holes muttering slogans
offering her vast schmoozing book deals for sex dates hard-ons in Dockers
she escapes their coils but just as she’s on her feet one snatches her hand
strikes like a viper latches her left hand with its teeth and rips it clean off
retreats with is prize they fight over it like dogs snarling dumb lackeys
her stump is gushing rich fountains of black and red memories and pain
those who knock you down they can barely stand themselves this she knows is true
she gets to her feet and clutching her jetting stump she struggles to walk
they’re coming again these jaw snapping slithering bastards on her heels
an unsettled storm inside her deepest nowhere something is coming
gurgling bellows even the weasel finks stop at this ugly noise
her belly tightens the skin visibly shudders rippling in waves
there is pulsating subsurface neoplasm under her belly
the retching comes fast sick with too many dark dreams giving birth to void
it pushes upward feels like her chest will explode pressing her throat wide
she hunches open heaves from her lowest black guts and out come the woods
a stream of tall trees shoot one after the other flooding out her mouth
an endless black flood spewing out a dark forest of vast crooked limbs
groves of long corpse arms spat onto the horizon filling every space
stones vines and rabbits saplings and babbling brooks bears in winter dens
even great mountains spew from her gaping wet maw pooling around her
there is this new vast remote melanoid fallow uncharted landscape
every direction something that had never seen naked light of day
