Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes)I don't remember if it was a wedding or a funeral, only the flowers...Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes) by Bark
seemed like millions of them
Soft, sorrowful, white flowers... roses or orchids?
I don't remember now, maybe magnolias...
You smiled a thin smile, your face pale, washed out.
If it was a wedding, I wasn't the groom.
A funeral, I wasn't the guest of honor.
I never could get things straight, somehow.
Morphine DaysSepia world, barnstorming, brainstorming, building up, looking outMorphine Days by Bark
Of dusty cracked windows to see it all happen, now, again, bold
Into the empty yellowed skulls piled up around the old church
Only on morphine days, though, when we fall out of grace
God, look at the crows, how many pilot their way across the sky
Obscene noises through the dust, shitting on old rusted machinery
Abandoned throughout dried-up, smashed-down stalks of corn
Here, to the left, the foundation of a house that no longer exists
There were good days here, once, weren’t there? Maybe not…
99 DrumsThere were ninety-nine drums in the line, speaking loudly99 Drums by Bark
about thin white blankets, bedsores, red Jell-O, disease
About the sky cracking and falling to earth in sharp pieces
About the old nodding out more frequently now, their
bodies shutting down for the last time, faint groans and sighs
The buttons have been pushed in sequence, no return now
Crossword puzzle books and Uno cards abandoned, TV
unwatched, drums drop out one by one until at last only
Not even shouting down the halls, but whispers
I remember the trees were just beginning to turn when you left
And how a hard driving rain swept across the grounds
The sky cried all night; I took your dreamcatcher home
in the morning; there were no dreams left
Installation PieceIron thorns push through skin, I’m part of an installation pieceInstallation Piece by Bark
Flesh and bone, metal and stone, electronics
Wheeled in on a cot, phones for eyes
That never ring
But I see how they look at me; (they’re thinking)
How lonely it must be to slowly die alone
They smile anyway, good at faking it
After all, it’s their job
One day the artist will be able to push a button, and I’ll spin
My speaker-mouth will sing about snow
Only one more push allowed
And I’ll spin into space
My last human thought will not be of you, but of us, together
Sitting in the cold morning, coffee and cigarettes
Back before they began assembling us
One at a time
Dancing in the StreetsMy brain needs food, maybe peanut butter flavoredDancing in the Streets by Bark
Something to jolt it into gear, into inspiration
An old 45 on the Invictus label, or lemonade stand sun
Maybe the Necronomicon, maybe crow-dancing
Something to awaken me and start a fire downtown
Could be you, your hand grazing my cheek gently
But more likely something old and iron found in dreams
Something besides the wavering headlights in the fog
(Where the fourth line of this stanza just disappeared)
Maybe a ghost owl and a near-dead crow in a duet?
Places I've Been You Wouldn't Want to GoAn oil-painted robust cowboy riding beneath epic Western skiesPlaces I've Been You Wouldn't Want to Go by Bark
But a dark cloud passed, a tumor grew, dreams rotted and festered; yippi-ki-yi-yay,
A dark court of one-story apartment buildings, hazardous, broken
Decorated by a rusty tricycle, mops on back porches, dead dolls
Fear of the one-armed man;
An old man with the smell of disease about him lies in thin blankets
A faucet is dripping, a clock ticking, a dog howls mournfully outside
Empty bottle of pills;
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Crab-like thoughts forming.My hands are like the ocean.Crab-like thoughts forming. by maslowmassacre
Saline; forever crawling about,
like crustaceans on eight legs.
Like crustaceans: eyes on stalks,
pulp of internal organs, mouthpiece,
And nature is most certainly aberrant.
What a world to be a crustacean.
I dig one thousand holes in my lifetime,
Each stands a testament to no-time.
Sea birds pick at my eyes and my legs.
The sun broils my insides.
Gravity has ground me into the depths of the earth.
"I am demonstrating against gravity.
Every day to my end
And then to gravities.
Under the ocean, the gravity isn't much.
And your feet so easily slip into the sand on the bottom,
Like slipping on shoes, gloves or a raincoat.
As natural as fighting gravity, they slip into the sand on the bottom.."
tarwaterpeculiar eyes.tarwater by silklilies
the grinding pressure his hips influenced on her was the most infinitesimal thing she would have noticed. the taste he presented to her, the introduction of a most constructive heroin, much more of a thing to remember. she became lost in the spidery grip of his hands, made her tongue perverse and weird for him to know. snake, his fingers made slow, hour-shedding work of her legs and torso. trailing, breathing. saliva hardened and became a waxy skin casing, shining on her breasts, neck, dabbles on her legs. her hair was a black river of tar in the pale of her skin, oil spill, disgrace.
her mother had been so dissapointed when she had dyed her hair, her beautiful pale hair, such a dark color. the void. and her father would have been so sad and scared for her if he had seen the men and the needles and the cocaine.
she did a line of cocaine to wake herself out of a drugged sleep. it did wonders for her headaches after a long stasis. she made dinner and ate
sweet plum, apple and peari'm going to rip your tongue out and keep itsweet plum, apple and pear by silklilies
relic i want it, i want you and your eyes. i want to squeeze vitrous and aqueous humor inbetween our fingers and dabble you with blood. you are the most sickening person.
i want to pull at your hair until i find the roots and when i find the cities lurking in the madness under your skull i will, i promise,
carve out every single follicle with my nails and spit in the dirt and climb in.
your hips pistoning, your mind boggling.
bones and cerebellum all asking of me and faith will find me.
(last year you promised. you promised me. you told me i would be out of this place, you promised i would be wearing blue and red and whateverthefuckiwanted. not white. white is too virginal for me. do you see my hands? do you see their color? white. i am as pale as the gown and i told you i would rather die than live forever masked in a color i cannot come out of.)
on the car ride to michigan when i was ten years old i knew that i would be insane someday. i