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Nickys Kitty: The Splits

"Fifteen dollars for the tough guy.”

Rand McNally constellates my bad day all again. This time am I to spread or to be fanned? Peel back, kidnapper. Peel away my mask and peer in here. I've claimed you, yes, my dear. Now it's merely believing, belasting, I'll vastly be grieving when you disappear.

Merely bylieving I'm changing my face. Put yourself in my place and you'll hear what I taste. Springtime in my step, I'm the animal thing and you're mined and I wept. What could sanity bring but a means to imagine the project and pageant in flesh and unnatural formless impression 

unless it’s the question you’re used to? Now I’m the uninterested goose who broke loose from abuse when the best was reduced and the tester seduced in the west on the crucifix, just too elusive to catch cold, no Mucinex, cast in gold. Will you be next? Casting call for movie sex, wrapping paper, goofy checks for the newly undead, yes, you should be perplexed. Let’s be born again, eat popcorn and then get sworn in. Amen. Now it’s time to begin.  

My tail’s plastic and prehensile. I’m prone, practically servile. I’m your purple vacuum flower and I can run one hundred miles an hour. How are you today? Like I don’t know. I won’t apologize for feeling true today. I might just go where I got brutalized. I’m red green blue and grey and I don’t know, I guess I hate those guys.

Maybe we can help each other. Think about it sometime. 

Empathetic, impersonal, mathematical, virtual, I arrive with the laughing gas when you’re feeling liturgical. I’m a virtuous nurse, sure, but I can make it hurt worser. Don’t look in my purse, sir. You don’t want to be cursed. We’re in the room with the good news so we can do what we want to. I’ve got my feet in your boat shoes. I’ve got my mouth on your rich food. 

I’m leaping and running, more than a little bit stunning. I’m perpetually something, I’m fifteen dollars for the tough guy, yeah, well, I saw it coming 

and if you’re hunting I’ll be waiting. If you’re skilled then we’ll be dating. If you’re feeling willing welcome to the world I’m creating. 

You’re Achilles? I’m the tortoise. That’s checkmate. That’s rigor mortis. Let’s just make ourselves at home and let the furniture support us. Just an ordinary day inside the rabbit hole. Stab it and yourself unfold. 

Ever better, never deeper, funny sleeper, any weather, magic marker draws a hole and makes it make a sound: Nickys kitty once lost was not found.

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“The Devils”, Ken Russell; MCMLXXI

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i found an old collage! i think it’s called: 

“the diplomat”

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“i’ll never be your dream girl”

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Prospero iii

ONCE... a vestal mess what nested here decided then to stay. AND ONCE... the ground what stood up where before it's eaten all away. AND THEN... when sweeping westly, wet and lone and longly resting in the air, some scientists were witness willing to what soaked them there.

My Sex toy told me all about a Magic Spell that he would shout when he felt stuck in someone's brother’s-skin,

ONCE... the helpless miracle of youth had them all warmly bound. AND ONCE... they learn't-to lessen Yes the traces which they hadn’t found. AND THEN... it's they, themselves, but thee, who left themselves excusefully to speak to Master Surgery, to slip the knee occasion’ly.

but it's forgotten mostly now, the speeches, what they say, and how one ends and to begin.

ONCE... the silver sudden touching on our petals nervous went, AND ONCE... the doorknob turned mid-murder, stopped, the dollar spent AND THEN... we sniffed the scent.

Even so, when there's no smile, the memory's a greengrass grin, and - 

AND AGAIN...

ONCE-eyed gurgling storm with yellow thirst in human terms to send AND WANTS to sense and shape the form it called Ceramic Friend AND THEN...            

A Cyclone Fence alone won't stop the wind from coming in. A fortune cookie more than makes the dinner party full and fun and keeps one fit and thin.

ONCE...

The war handed us you and the Queen Dowager too. I had promised myself I had to do it. I had to do it.

The war lived in our food and in Julia too. An inward looking health dared me to do it. Dare me to do it.

One key, one year of locks or less, one weary way to just be cousins for today. To just believe me when I said I'd prayed and just to stay this just one weakly way, is this to be okay. You took to it. You saw through it.

AND ONCE...

I'd hate to suicide said I'll. With helmets held we walked the aisle to shoot into the future.

Mind your steps here. Led for miles in snow and facing down, meanwhile to screw with the furniture.

All that time was slowed and slower. We were always waking up, were always only waking up, way out into the sour snores. We perched there.

AND THEN...

The space plane captain had a bad day. Miss Obey laid end to end. Yes we did, yes, and I'm happ- it happENED AGAIN.

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RIVERINE

Prophecy and I can never tell.

Time machine and pointing to the thing is just as well. And that’s the sign which is my name. And I thought seriously what if it’s me? Could it be me? Seriously?

Smaller Bear I miss you bless and scared I wish you were still with me. Leaving clues for you to find is just the thing to wash my mind. I know I don’t make sense sometimes. I try not to apologize too much and I can never tell a lie for very well. Is that the truth well I can never tell.

I’m searching for the runner who is searching for the sign. My darling riverine the empath says the bullet dance a world of strength. Part plasticine this to desire must not acquire the meeting mine. The bomb is set already hunting long at weather length. It might be dangerous to seek it, but that’s why it’s a secret which I never told you and I never will.

The language of logic is and of saying the right thing, the end of learning to practise my spilling and spinning and feignting, I am willing and waiting to step on up to the scales. Doubt makes me brave. Torn up my sails. Hole in the floor of my cave. I’ll have to answer for fun, but not til I’m done, and then I promise I will, and promises which I will never tell.

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THE MOST AND THE ALMOST

A means to imagine.

Here’s two of not many; there aren't many differences, not much that's different between them. Here's them meaning places and persons. There aren't very many, but anyway,

here’s to the most and the almost, the grass and the frostbite, the night and the forest, the lost children dodging the flashlights, the premature last rites, the ultimate ending in sight, and the chorus.

The most and the almost are both in the laugh of a happy ghost, once again haunting familiar bread, having spent so much time living as toast. The prologue’s a means to imagine the project and pageant, in flesh and in formless impression,

and now to examine the objects in question.

Part one: a disposable camera, the Sun, and a curious house in a regular neighborhood, lit up by morning and hammers and wormwood. 

The front yard reminds me of Normandy, like, it’s all stormy with statues and littered with limbs in their various states of detachment, but there in the nucleus, somehow secured from the slaughter, a cherub with wings spread to imitate flight and a mouth spilling water sits silent and spooky, its nose leaking mucus right there on the ground,

and part two is called Kaiser’s crown.

It was me and the wall, one of four, neither window nor door. It was me and the toilet and me and the couch and it ended with me and the floor. It was me thought to be turned around and once more falling down. It was me on TV in the space shuttle, in the debris. Basically, it was me in a puddle -

well, me and Aunt Lily, to whom I surrendered my money completely, not knowing what I’m learning soon, that tomorrow and yesterday only exist in the current, that memory merely provides me a precedent, and that who I thought was me was just me when me was me and Lily, the empress; yes, yours truly really believed I was doing the smart and the right thing,

so now that I actually am, now that I can discern what you bring, I’m a sigogglin string and I twitch when you sing.

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AGONY AS PENANCE

Something that always makes me happy is when a person is pretending to walk down stairs, like when there’s a person standing behind a couch or something, and the floor is completely solid and flat, there are absolutely no stairs behind the couch, but anyway the person pretends to walk down stairs, and the person is really just stepping forward while bending their knees, bending more or tighter or lower with each step down the stairs behind the couch, so that to me, on the other side of the couch from the person and stairs, it looks like the person is walking down stairs, and i don’t know if that’s actually how the person is making me think they’re walking down stairs, i mean with the knees, i mean, i’ve never tried it so i don’t know the trick, but i just like being the observer who is tricked, because it looks to me, on the other side of the couch, that the person behind the couch is walking down stairs, which are also behind the couch, and i am the observer who is tricked, and that’s Something that makes me happy, always. 

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To Be A Kind Of Bat-Man

Standing asleep on the MARTA train tracks, I shared with you some visions, some mine. I reached my machine in and tore out the jaws (leaving a nostril, leaving a forest) in the mind of the criminal. Then we filled the dumpster. My device is mechanical again, maniacal once more, and chemical. There, that’s how a silhouette looks. 

People should do what they’re meant to do during all of the time specifically allocated to them in which to do what they’re meant to do and I’ll know if they don’t, because knowing is one thing I was meant to do, and another thing, the only other thing, is making them know. I am the teacher, yes sir. I wish you would do something else, you wouldn’t do that. Unless you wanted to know, you wanted to see me in my nobility, or my costume, or my undies.

And I froze as I stood, I shriveled and shrank as I hoped that I would. And I breathed myself out through my own mouth. Not kidding, that’s seriously what happened. Unbelievable, absolutely. Undeniable, not quite. The next night I couldn‘t believe it myself it has happened, it will happen. I will happen upon the criminal element periodically. I shivered, I shook, I traveled, I took, I gave nothing back that I learned from the book.

Tommy hears the sound of the room and the pizza peaceful repetitive meeting of hands. Tommy strains to hear music in people and some-old-times succeeds. Tommy times the teeth and equals surrender for some reason. Tommy’s a breeze just skirting the canopy barely, dipping and swerving and leaving forever and coming back soon. Tommy’s exactly who you would want Tommy to be, and who could that be, exactly?

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Standing in a line

Every seventh night (each dimming dip 

when, at a time, when one departed soul returns

from every deeply driven beach trip), 

jealous, headless men remove, repair, and re-implant my precious microchip, 

and so I learn to tell:

Recurred from hell, it casts a smell. It makes them sick, it makes them well. 

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Dream roles

My birthday threw a party in the past tense:

in my head, my haste, and my excitement poorly planned.

I sorely learned to slowly stand when my misfortune hit the fan.

My birthday threw a party up into the air which landed in the trash can,

followed closely by my master plan.

My memories are mad at me, apparently.

I asked them why but they just sat there silently,

so why remains a mystery:

a butterfly, a bubble bath, a bus, a bad impression of a person I could trust,

and the essentials:

weight and length and lift and speed and force and thrust

amount to nothing consequential when considered next to

all potential miracles of hope which float unhelpful and unnoticed but to

those who press an eye up to the terrifying telescope. It just -

it just makes me unsure. I think I know I must.

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Nicky’s Kitty: The Runs and The Trots

A second, second runaway, this one time, and the clock was runaround: Nicky’s kitty once lost was not found. Tick, talk, I’m tucked inside your sock, without a single signal or a sound. This one comet’s coming, contact with a stranger getting stronger with my nose and tail growing longer and I am no longer resisting the dogs and foxes calling, but bears still scare me capably. Effective immediately, Nicky’s kitty once lost was not found. One ear had grown into the tree stump, and the other into the ground.  

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Bill’s Adventures in New York City and Cannibalism

Involved was one gun with two purposes 

which was useful and never fired.

Included was one hand with two extremities 

which had become detached from its arm and still clutched its bag. 

It was unfortunate but ultimately unimportant. 

We, the walking three, passed on the sidewalk see 

a circus. Peace and mercy thus encircled us when we, the three, 

decided how to be, and we agreed to go inside. 

Inside there stood a clearly certain order of the seats and they were wet 

with previous passersby. We wondered why, but not for long, 

because the queue was growing shorter, meaning we were growing anxious 

as our bodies neared the quivering curtain. Shapelessly, 

sounds such as those from a forest from someplace emitted 

did reach us as fingers and find our decision regretted unanimously, 

as if we were not three but just one of the apes.

So as one I went on along to the front of the line and was given the prize

which unknowingly I’d sought. I’d fought and killed lots of the people I knew 

or had known in the queue, and the prize was the bag, 

and the bag held the gun and the carefully lived life of never alone. 

It was then that I heard the explosion.

Intrinsic to the meaning, at least in my interpretation, 

were the two baby cows, thoroughly shaved and cozily cradled 

by two healthy (human?) arms and one heart. 

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Shadowbox and Dragonfly

Where Dragonfly and Shadowbox would learn to play would turn on tortoise shell, 

end up, 

and yet set leaving anyway in middle days or little buds of future flowers pollinated by the past, 

the dusty path of shaking limbs, 

unlikely wings; the course, 

of course, 

of taken blood and tested yet, 

but leaving, 

locked,

so forcing rest without the calm and smooth,

withholding talk and truth,

set to withstand moreso an air of heaving dryness,

stealing skin and hair, 

than any sort of healing,

fairly formed,

but in the final end,

it’s worthless to be captured in the truly purposed flashlight face of our collective turtle mother, 

upside-down and lost forever,

far away from us,

her other children,

Shadowbox and Dragonfly corrected,

righted,

fixing all at once and all in sight with love appearing as sometimes it does in licks. And I hope she remembers us again,

and I hope you remember me at the last. 

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Another prayer before bedtime

Some-other person or quantity has most consistently re-filled my personal container with a supply of clues and chances, missed and misused, every time my day re-begins.

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two, Florida Drive

We made the Florida drive, ostensibly in order to survive, but of all of us, only one at that time was alive, so it may not have mattered, but it might’ve. Sometimes and perhaps in the sunshine and in the Everglades is what this one’s about. It’s the tail of this tale and the end of the car or the trunk sinking into water, into fog, into earth. 

The end of the Drive was in Florida after all because that’s where we ran out of fuel. There was no propulsion anymore. And really I was lying when I said there was one who was alive because by that time I was the the one and by that time I was dying. 

Never trust the dead. 

That’s what I learned and I learned it hard when Janice, the second one to die you’ll recall, started the car. The car you’ll recall had no fuel but Janice started it and started driving it. She did not steer but just started. It moved when it started forwards and it was facing the swamp and it dipped into the tides of the mud. Somehow it was like eggs. And somehow she was like a skeleton. And somehow so was I, skeleton-like. It may have been hours or hours and hours. 

But there was the void staring eyeless into our eyelessnesses, grinning as we grinned. 

Our skin was around and in the bliss of the void

and that was the sinking in the end. 

The hitch-hikers were all gone at that time, all gone, all, and for all intensive purposes forgotten. What do I mean? That questioning line, I’m finding too, forgotten for the sake of getting better and for the sake of Saint Peter, cold and calm and expanding forever. 

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one, Florida Drive

We made the Florida drive in order to survive and unfortunately only one of us arrived. That’s the surprise at the end but the start was in Alaska. I and them and we were ice fishing. We had set our bodies and ourselves to the task but we forgot our minds and our brains and the soul. We had our lives on the surface and the landscape was shifting but it was essentially the same. 

Then when the landscape was ice and nothing else, it was sitting, and we started to notice the changes, and it turned out that the changes were more essential even than the same. 

The morning of the incident was dark and silent, but we hid inside the twin kitchens, a kitchen in ivory and a kitchen in sugar, and we felt the sun as if we were feeling a noon. We were feeling bright and hot and hammering. Then I and she (there was Janice and I was Jack on the ice) made the hole and built the set and sat. Baited and plumbing the void, Jack and Janice and Johnson (and that’s us and onward) were waiting while someone around hummed a melody that lifted the air in a temporal strain. 

Jesus Christ and his icicle fingers kept still the line and kept us unawares because we traded wariness for warmth, and we traded the futurity of humans for the weariness of presence. 

Then we did not feel the danger or the lunge from underneath but one of us felt the crack and the pierce and the swordfish at lunchtime, and the hunger of the landscape, which was not physical. Or so I thought. But I’m no physicist. I’m just the driver. I became the car driver after Johnson was found to be unexpectedly speared. It wasn't my fault. Johnson and the swordfish were both laying on the ice. Neither of the two were supposed to have been dying in that place but that was the moment when the landscape revealed to me and Janice its indifference by doing nothing other than to let them pass into the void. Then the landscape was again untouched, and it was satisfied, and we were left again alone with the bodies, and what other choice did we have?

Please don’t answer that. I only have so much space and time, and I can’t afford to waste either resource on answers that might be doubtful, and besides, we were starting to starve. 

I carved one slice and Janice reacted, and the chain of events on the ice extended out from and led back into the void, and I was unable to extricate myself. So I was left with two carcasses to ration, an easier work, and with my cargo; and with our Florida drive red carpet rolling out ahead.

Only I could perceive the path.

Even I knew not why, in the end, Janice was tarnished and banished from under the ice and stench after becoming finished. I shriveled as she struggled, I grew in strength but shrugged under the holy weight of my stated duty, but I knew that the land must be sated. As for our Florida drive, I knew, at the time I was alive, I would make it. God God God Yeah yeah yeah, I knew, Yeah yeah yeah God and her Severedhead, with all of the holes I had taken out in the surrounding, I knew, God, I knew what lay Ahead, or thought I knew I did. 

Please don’t talk, but listen, here: Rationalization is easy when you’re hungry, although it’s unhealthy: Rationalization is easy when you’re full, when you’ve filled yourself and somebody else, as well. What is difficult is knowing how to get when where you’re meant and supposed and intended to go.