The microscript a manic wrote

Doctor: patient entered abruptly into a state of monomania.
Doctor: patient appeared to write expressively through clauses.
Doctor: patient denied several offers of voluntary medication.
Doctor: patient sedated by staff and returned to primary ward.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Poor and raucous ogre her she yelped right on through
my padded wall her gibberish like the Polish hillside
we I mean my siblings and I huffed diesel fuel in back then
her brains all slippery rough all concussed and sickly.

What odd romance Freud taught me poor ogre him he sawed
my rotten head in half it was in my youth blonde as your
stilled hand there piano-player I dare you to get fresh for
I carry a host of well read lunatics in my genome said she.

Lady Spasm the illiterate boys used to roam around here said
her name was her hair an international affair nearlike.
Sin to describe her condition a scrambling of limbs
her dress the blinded’s whim her nerves boiled all about.

Between me and thee me being a man of letters of cerebrum
and thee a crosseyed dwarf maybe or Braille fan when
it comes to bodies skinny virgin you let me first admit
I lose sleep like it’s feckless but Lady Spasm chills me plenty.

Now I was born just like the next birth trauma headcase his
hefty twitching of flies in the ganglia no better than mine.
I’ve had each of my senses all twenty perk right on up
in defiance to my freewill dazed shuffling backwards and behold:

I’ve congregated and sortied alike with all manner of freaks
criminals nonces geniuses and street people even holy men
their futures laid simply on the rate of exchange between
their eye flutter frequency and their heartbeats I scavenged.

I’ve swam up a waterfall its lather all goonish must say
it felt like a firing-squad bent on castration drawn out.
I’ve talked to werecats gone bald done smuggled themselves in Air
Zimbabwe wrecks they mended in the black addle of the boneyard.

I’ve caught music in my fingers I found running away
from home to Oklahoma the notes they wanted the lax company
of folks who misplaced a sense or two them being grateful for
all things dichromatic or the dissected octave or the smoker’s nostril.

I’ve lectured to a borrowed dictionary on its endless train of
synonyms for ‘molested’ them being penny by pound the following:
haunted educated lovesick civilised parented cultured abused.
In my lectures I noted the book did too the relation of user and used.

I’ve held my breath the garden in my chest like wet kudzu
for hours nodding into this world of formulas nodding into that
world of galvanised dead their movements all like spastic toddlers
doing surgery having found between me and thee a wee haul of nothing.

I’ve been dunked in second-hand Lutheran water more ragged
epithelial than sacrament and in the bath I started writing
proofs my favorite skinny virgin you is the one that goes
abolishing ugliest sin is a reminder one exudes ugliest sin merely.

I’ve seen a mule caught the wretched faith mount a cross it was
beech he gibbered to himself some words whinnied some words
brayed and his lower legs dangled his upper legs prayed he
strode off his tracks through the loess-grit unaided and forlorn.

I’ve enkindled awe at the bottom of the Sargasso Sea where I silly me
staged a gladiator battle one team of eels never seen a man before
one team of Portuguese condemned to death they fled they fell their
government told them they best win or else they molt into arthropods.

I’ve lived off and on in the chalet house of a hack neurosurgeon who
tasty ogre him had a parlor trick used to dazzle the guests he
would select a guest likely female and tack one end of her cortex
on a hathanger the other end on a doorknob and fiddle the gossamer.

I’ve sent teenagers when I looked like them all disarranged off to
war I bid a fellow my height he couldn’t burn down the East Coast
I heard about pieces of him drifting in the Sound there was a peculiar
fellow I thought dim I bid him he couldn’t sonnetise but he did.

I’ve spat on my father’s face his bottle of bottomshelf still
creeping piecemeal into my skin its fragments like hot chiggers.
I’ve bought or concocted thirty six types of toxins not a one
edible and I’ve watched a man die in agony who swindled all his years.

I’ve recited the I Ching charts all by my lonesome in the trunk
of a Ford Model A my best chums were driving they hummed one of them
a showtune the other a Jamaican toast the other a 1930s jingle
while certain whorish waters begged the Fates I’d float staring up.

I’ve applauded Humbert Humbert dined with him tossed grapes in
his lamprey’s maw and woe is me there never was a more primitive game.
I’ve applauded Delany’s rape artist told him where and when to meet
the gaunt bully Jack Abbott his friends all fiends and pathics.

I’ve sued the city after falling on the crystal stair my neck
it bolted to it bolted fro for weeks I walked like I was raised
in a dumbwaiter sprawled and paralysed the lazy attendant he
poor ogre him had a sadist glint in his slitted antebellum eye.

I’ve recovered from amnesia if one may recover from amnesia on
approximately seven-thousand occasions as the cheerleader of my
convalescence the noontime chime that unhappy warning the day
is cleaved in two then minced in hours then dissolved in sleep.

I’ve ingested a library a pharmacy a greenhouse a museum an arcade.
I’ve whiffed the last solitary odorant molecule of Vishnu’s corpus.
I’ve wiped my ass with pi and taught yes skinny virgin you taught
a jive colony of field ants how to recite Whitman from memory.

I’ve done in been done in and observed of sickness it is a necessary
factor in the doings of young and old alike their calendars about as
scrutable as kanji in a dunghill their mottoes never vital always idle
their brutes admired their meek despised their families catalysed.

I’ve tickled Time on its rolling nethers the nausea of spinning
Earth remained unaltered but I swear between me and thee me
being a solver of myth thee being apt at dysfunction I’m sure every
body with a healthy larynx hollered high at the change in time.

I’ve made love to more lepers more totems more rootstalks than don
Juan spoke to fickle homunculi leaping out his sunken eyes them
lepers oh luckless ogres them they have more company than they can
chafe away than they can stand their follicles like crowded dancehalls.

I’ve made love to women who began this tedium of living as vain ova cells
hardly visible they gestated into eight pounds every swelling ounce as vain.
I’ve made love to women who could count neither the years they’ve waned
their looks by nor their age nor the men whose names veered them senile.

I’ve made love to perfect strangers their shock benign their hands
unskilled their performances pitiable as epilepsy just as choreographed.
I’ve made love to perfect strangers their capacity for violence no
different than raging cholera no different than the gargoyles their kin.

For all I’ve been willing and unwilling witness to I have a whole
life lesson that in my grave I will repeat unpausingly unsparingly
and verbatim as I heard it to the pauper pests misled that cluster
on my rags on my flesh prey to stinking disorder so their species prosper:

Don’t let the room its ignorant geometry put tales in your head and also
don’t befriend the addled nymph next-door her mouth like candlewax and
don’t advise with one lobe of your mumbling brain the other more innocent.
Don’t let your vermin language its careful grammar go to hell I say.

Lady Spasm as the kids call her laughing when she jerks about falling
after weeks of debauchery her cells all devoured she puckers up those
hollow long-ago lips and skinny virgin you between me and thee
she is tonight a fitter saint than the head-shrink who’s calling.


~ by Jeremy on April 24, 2012.

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