Man In The Radiator

  I Woke Up to Find Myself Elderly and Abandoned Phosphorescent cockroaches scurry  Hard against the edge of a shattered clock face Desolate and silent Hours wrapped up in chemical wind Disintegrating into the surrounding desert sea, Ink-dripping hands, forced into broken staircases Point up desperately   At the graying, consuming borderline  A widening threshold in the night sky  Cut up and folded back, Vestigial bits of future leak out Into melted clay present dreams  Molding around my eyelids, The winding, personalized abyss above  Calling my name Is riddled with bite marks, Accidental bruises, And incessantly itching scabs  From all the times  I had to crawl my way out.  Moonlight still burns fire That seeps into my tumorous Rapidly aging flesh.  Every fading star merely another corpse, A constellation of someones  I’ve all unrightfully lost, All free-falling through this universal emptiness Their spoiling meat and sna...

 This was a poem written in three or four entirely separate, disconnected parts. Some of which were not written as poetry at all but just a massive block of nonsense text that bled out of my desired bullet wounds in my head. Putting it all together does it actually work or make any sort of sense? No, not at all. A failure was what it was always destined to be. But it's "done" and I'd like to move on now. But I can't ever really move on, can I?  That is all.  Centipede Love A slaughtering inspiration Dreams sharing a stretcher  Under the morphine-dripping tree Painted marionettes crudely unzip Bodybag offerings Unveiling who I am  And who I’ve always been Somnabulazing doctors dissect Finding this barbaric contempt To be lying and weeping In all of our blood,  Large swathes of me left vacant, Left for operation Or analysis  But no one is there, The world’s been bled And I can’t remember anything On this freezing slab Of viscera and aborted cocoons....