A Conflicted Poem for My Knife

I want to whole-heartedly
give you
to someone else.

Hell, I don't even know
if it's you we're talking about
here.

I want you to become
a part of someone else.
I want you to twist up
their insides
when you break it off.

I want to always
look at you as something
better than sandpaper,
or hand-to-hand combat.

I want you
to always shimmer
when we go out
at night.

I want everyone to
know you're there.

I want no one to see
you loosen up
when we're under pressure.

I want you to stay
tight, together,
stable, unnerving.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can stop feeling so...
-i don't know-
compulsive about
this 1-way relationship we have.

I want you to be
your perfect self,
to hold you in place of a pen,
to hold you in a place
akin to the esophagus
of a putrid mammoth
before the bulk,
young & needy valentines
in corporeal envelopes.

I want to buy you a sheath,
to polish your skin
with japanese waterstone sets
& Shapton mineral oil.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can see the flash
of NO FEAR
reflecting from
the rodent's eyes.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can learn to finally
fear DEATH.

-photos & artwork via Meth Lab photo/art-correspondent:
Pantifesto's Porntastic Phunhouse-

I don't know what's worse- the copyrighted picture of an alligator's dick, or the face of the guy who ate it?

I don't know what's worse,
the copyrighted picture of
an alligator's dick, or the
face of the man who ate it,

or the sound of JOHN FOGERTY
defiling my wife's retarded
cross-eyed Buddha with an
Australian bush back-up band
& waaay too much emphasis
on the strings,

big outback jug tempo barbie dads
screaming like pariahs/pornaholics
caught in the snuff rack aisle,
discotheque in the exposed underbelly.

Heart attack, aisle 9.

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