Also, Also

a thwack lives in me. 
re: ghost as reverb. 
no imagination, but i can fuck shit up. 
keep closing doors in the shotgun. keep shrinking. 
the stairway out of hell is ceremonial. 
for when the floor isn’t down enough. 
silence squeezes—the tighter it puckers, 
the harder it squirts. right past my little pearlies 
& swallow it hole. 
eyes glaze over influence. 
a stowaway on my own sadness; a flea. glug glug. 
so angry i forgot my skull ring. 
that’s how? how? how? people talk. 
viral goes both ways. 
i flip through it 
like some shit magazine.