Final 3 Weeks of the Prostate

I'll try not to say apostate, tho apostasy might pimp the ride.

Not saying goodbye to all prostates, just the one that's rotten inside. 

The quest to change the world's been delegated to transgression;

The money shots were caught on tape for posterity or confession.

These fields were always fallow, yet always yielded more to find;

There's neither need to salt the earth nor leave it all behind.

by Tom

Squib load

O moon, what kind of goddess. 

Hours of yarning, mindfulness.

Windowed rooms take on powers

But a rabbit too is transfixed

this is what it would look like

if you could see the other nights

some men going un-included

blind to an inner circle's appetites

moments of free running fear

a gentle unknowing morning

by Tom

Congenital skull cracker

intermittent humming of hard drive resembles

distant ship in fog, but 

clanking buoy's peal

replaced by

cadence of Her breathing

silence brings too many 

default noisemaking issue

squeaky-high tones chords

sounds of ear

listening to itself

sounds that speaking apparatus

having been damaged abused

afflict surrounding tissue

pressure on canals chinks

astigmatisms of perception

or it was born fused on one side

upper and lower yapper

no option to rest disengage

on any day after

congenital skull cracker

 

 

by Tom

Said a loser

there we are in montevideo, and here's one where

eyed globes rise phantom-like along the vena cava;

their tails taper and widen against the miasma

 

you would give me the secret to survival, and it

would work, and I would say wow thanks, and

you would say, oh-- sure. 

 

jazz-handed lymph newts popped off in space

between the bowels and lovingly glommed onto 

any flesh around to anchor and embrace

it clearly has a purpose but no self-awareness, so

the exact opposite of my current predicament, so

you'd think there could be a balance: said a loser

by Tom

4 classifications

Hey Sylvia

Spotted you out in the CCC parking lot this afternoon snapping clouds with your long-ass lenses and your convertible looking cool.

Your story: world is divided into following classifications: annoying, agitating, exasperating, and upsetting.

Yet there you were maybe grooving or maybe gathering evidence.

And then those of us who survived
realizing nevertheless how sluttily
chilling in the dez on mandated recreate

Remainder of world gaydom reeling
but seasonally flooding the pool
may they take home some flavor

of days when men roamed live
like it was life's last laugh
every night a glowing surfeit

alcoholic firebrand drumkits
there was this was a counterculture
so many soft-cotton swaddled dicks

everyone a similar golden color
workers were crowning paramount
unlimited beer and cigarettes

now freeze dried forever, a residual
fanciness, snide or glassy earnest,
not flannel or denim in that sense.


Love, Tom

SSRI

we remember the woman who'd tear across campus eyes ablaze with some SSRI
she was the emblem of all our sadness and was protected for that reason as a goddess
cry-happy but smile-sad, our inner affect, uncomfortable gut doubting, all there


Tom & Sylvia (Retired)
Associate Professors
College of Cement
Low Chank Campus

Peace

We moved out here because of the peace of the summer trees that surrounded the house and hid it from the street. However now that a warm winter has come at night we hear the hoarse cries of animals woken from a chill and killing each other impulsively or screaming in the heat of want and/or fear.


Sylvia & Tom Mareieds 
Associate Professors
College of Cement
High Chank

Stalked By My Own Husband

I thought no one was there but
he was in the dark kitchen star-
ing. Sometimes his soft carpet
footsteps stop just outside my
office. When we watch TV, he
faces me perpendicularly on a
settee. He follows me around
the house, not when we're out.
If he were a top it would make
more sense. It's like the prey
hunting the hunter. It might've
jived in other times, locations,
but it can't be "you'll spoil it by
talking" if there are eggs to fry,
decisions, household decisions.


Sylvia
"I am Tom's wife."

Slave of the Chama

It's only 10:00, but I'm so tired, but if I go to bed she'll probably attack me and if I sleep in the other bed I may toss and turn, and she'll take it personally and feel lonely during the night.

In theory we are a sexually active couple but the boundaries are difficult for me to negotiate sharing a queen bed. What if I really want to take a non-euphemistic nap?

And it's not as if I'm a rock; it is in fact distressing to have only 4-6 hours to sleep before the alarm and trying not to get started into a drawn-out love act.

My doc, admittedly swish, says it's a weekly necessity at least-- or you could be risking any number of invasive/ interventionist consequences. 

Yet I resist: that it be my discretion, my first strike option above the will of a frequent fertilizer, that the pleasure first is mine.


Tom
"Don't ask."

obambic tom

liar, concubine
shill clown of energy
black oilfield lush

black as the deepest
grounds, the hegemony
of your work boss

black of temperture
a kinder doctoring
of loins, a fudge


Bill Naughdon

Some kind of foam

Sylvia sees a film of herself on the outside wall of the gym. Her colleagues are stopping in the causeways and pointing out look, there's Sylvia's corpse. Why is it standing and moving? Because it thinks it's still alive. Maybe it sees a projection of its past life on that facade.

Tom comes out of his office with his briefcase and a v-8, does a double take. And I was actually married to that zombie. Look at her now. He glances back at his metal door, pulling it flat. Who was it confused the word crack for dimple. Said there was a dimple in the fence.

She'd had dimples everywhere they'd put her back together, dimples in the skin between the limbs and torso like momo dough. What if everything had dimples, what a cute world it'd be? Tom starts the walk on out to his hooptie, one drowsy thigh prickly as a stuffed owl.

The word jail was blocked out giantly across the side of the county jail to give everyone fair warning and to offer no illusions as to whut yor approaching. If you had a warrant, for example, you may not be released until morning. That's where he'd gone to get her out.

Once the attacks were confirmed they'd arrested her for having been the first to report a flight-gifted reptile in an olive tree outside her office. Her coffee, fortunately, had been in a spill-proof mug. She first spoke with the chair of biology Tom, her partner.

She next spoke with her labor boss, the chain gang lawyer, and a team of crack psychiatrists. When you let me out of here with a stern admonishing, and it comes back for me, will their be a separate co-pay? she asked sarcastically. Those creatures have saw-like teeth was the rejoinder.

And if it comes for my lover, even if he doesn't believe? Is he covered? Do we wait in line at emergency? Suddenly the panel revolved like a bus destination eight ball. They were things in robes, monsters of erect and punished gravity, disappearing unansweringly into some kind of foam.

thing in the ivy

...and because it was crawling up a wall, not a lot of vegetative girth to explore. Still, in these months, you can't quite see all the way through-- whut's a sprinkler head, a totem of bamboo. Her face, green with black highlights, seemed a shade between imagination, voodoo, amphibia, a forced dusk. He could have been a tiny human, tortoisine, a kitty, cobra, otter, fake that the pups were poking and fussing at. I only saw a composite projection of whut Braino was able to slap up based on profiling.

by Sylvia
"Why, Tom?"

Officer of the state

I think I'm just doing my duty. If I had a family, it might be different; I'd just want to keep them safe; go ahead and compromise my privacy, trespass a little, okay, cuz if I started complaining about my "rights," I could be taken away and my kids left half parentless. I am just responding to the mechanism that was implanted in me when I myself was a child about standing up for the constitution because that's what makes you not a greasy foreigner, and what else do you have really, especially without having spawned another generation of weasly, selfish little eels.

Tom
"After all, in my capacity as technical college instructor, I am an officer of the state."

gut flora

While renting a uhaul, the
in the process of hiring a truck,
some of the vendor's stomach flora
released and attached to my face.

you could almost see the blooms
of coli as they splashed on your
eyes' moist surfaces and flocked the
uvula. Even five hours later, my

his gut mosses linger in my sinus
chambers and continue to stimulate
synapses reserved for archetypes,
arranged marriages, harsh caprices.



by Tom
"How life can be separated between tomorrow and today, where I've forsaken society by knowing almost no one but the famous. How I've changed home into a structure that had spent a year splayed in three separate but potentially interlocking components, in a meadow, with sticky bee hives seeping throughout it that would start a walkathon movement among any normal gathering of concerned citizens... How in 40 thought-out moves not a one was aimed at something like whatever this is, but something measurably better... But how the plain truth is that, with a fat bitch laying by my side, I can spring forward into the same strange land that you are all trying to navigate, how I can live in horror and sanity somehow, all integrally, where a plan is a map and a map is a planet... Sylvia... come back to me..."

weltschmerz v. theodicy

Where to go when yr hungry and it's too late.
Hikikomori's, where dress is not an issue,
or a table corner at Anomie if yr also wanting

a mantle, something willing to absorb a man's
debris field, show a measurable blossom of
participation vs. enthusiasm, intent to self-

regale. Some claim a life form emits an iodine
that can aid in digestion when it isn't yours
and isn't pale. So relax, your urge is benign.


Tom
"My boss is Wayne."

Theodicy [the Mp3]

Country vs. City

Exasperating thesis statement: There are many good and bad points to live in the city vs. country.

This could pass the *CHAD: While urbana can provide a civilized tea room, chance of a circle jerk with any number of recognized gangsta-cult members, red or blue collar, el campo will top you every time, city boy, with our men of all trades, truckers, ethnic princes, hot married realtors undercover, stroller daddies and military.

*Chank Assessment Dump

Tom
"I can only try and claw at another month-- it's Gawd's choice." 
"Please try an' give me, knowing that I make the sacrifice that'd otherwise fall to m'famly, just a small sacred space around me that cannot be touched upon, and enough time to settle firmly into my bedding."

Austerity clinic

What you looking at, Missy Silly? They ain't no treats for you t-tay. Why so reproachful, lovey? The stink eye. Who saved you by tossing bait in the yard, even used my best boy, the house guard, to lure you in with sexy jumping.

In the hot pockets a local wears a percent of her skeleton on the outside, and visitors have to come and go quickly. To get you back safely I'd, oh I don't know, helicopter in and hang a ladder action.

[...] how in every town and age, there's a man wanders up and starts to build a cathedral outta tracter tires 'n "adobie." Who knew they were all the same guy. He's not a troublemaker; he's like a beggar; it's a mystery his place of showers.

Suddenly he's there in your rooms, a blinding light. There must be electricity in his touching fangers, or a deep smell of handiwork.

Bitch, you are our child.

Sylvia to Peg at age 49, already an unrepentant monster, strapped and clamped to a vinyl-upholstered panel van, as Tom stands by sobbing. 

Why aren't you some kind of freak?

Why aren't you some kind of freak? How can it be that outta-all the beautiful chicks and dudes I've seen, you strike me as sumthin reelie spesh? You fall well within the heart of the realm of attractiveness, but your exceptionality makes you particularly memorable and commands an emotional response more sweet and richer than Caramel Dream Swirl, chahl.

How can I even unnerstan your language? If your tongue is the dearest, hottest live wire ever, wouldn't the creole stink on out beyond its cipher? Wouldn't yor existence compel matter into a steamy mass of shame over centuries of labor, generations of real flesh babies whose trajected paid-fers wd always undermount the lots we'd get of creating major ideas of tiny observations?

How can it be that you would become a lier out so much farther and me so conventional while having been your Discoverer?

Epistemes, plotz

we were already 14 when we acknowledged openly
the pointlessness of new friendships with strangers.
if you've often had occasion to judge the world to
be a troubling spot, then you are more oft than not
open to off or awkward approaches, epistemes, plotz.

Everything phatic or rhetic that you spew nau
will be logged entry to my journal o' knowledge,
assuming sumthin as heinous as our love
should be cock-copied down and legislated after,
in whut, clown clinics and drag universities.

You may imagine, in erotic fitz, an oubliette
Where the speech act seeps out, posteriatum,
to where ya' half claim paterfilia to the fevered
perconesias and todonoscums of yr offsprings
and their pigs they call husbands.

Sylvia and Tom
"We're thinking-complicit."

Atroposis

there was safety in my temple;
i was at a Command Center.

now i rely on the public oracle
dispenser. i experience Atroposis.

Th' Sisters know you've got it comin'.
You sit back and let them choose it

while you live in so many Temp-
oral Bodies. handwriting analysis

proves how easily Beggars are
turned to thieves.

Tom