My obsession with human meat
never ends----its texture, its nuance, the way it bends, folds,
spindles and mutilates. Call it erotica, call it clinical, call it
pathology, call it a disease, call it Asperger's. Call someone who
gives a damn.
PUG HATES HIS NAKEDNESS
reviling the mirror perversion, mecury
blasphemy, this stain, this ache, this blot on his soul. Pug is true
to his stigma---chases those parked cars, bashes his fool nose
in—pokes, heaves. Pug huffs and crawls,
humps cruel linoleum. Climbs, laughing,
cursing his forsaken flab, his opaque, his fishwhite. Mounts
porcelain face first, groans, retches---cascade of resentment and
broken expectations. Puerile dream. Shuddering, Pug natters, ugly
powdered hailstones, pelted with psychic pains, learns no lessons,
hands over his head, sputters, rattles. Blessed Mess, Immaculate
Decline.
Muscles grind, constrict and Pug
bites at the strings of a liquid rainbow, vivid filth. Permanent
stains in toilet, in sets color, decoration. Bitter bane, gastric
walls of acrid hues...shit tube wells in revulsion, forever a
graffiti salad. Pug heaves, pulls remnants of spew away from his
flat, unrequited face---Pug pelts off-sterile white with his drudgery
and existential bathroom woe. Throws darts at his own eyes—conjures
thorns for your braincake.
Hitting the floor with a meaty pug
thud, Pug whispers curses to his dull, limp pallor, throws hatred and
disdain toward his genitalia dangling sorry---exercise in vile
science Pug cools head on cold appliance---fever broken reverie,
indulgence suicide. Pug hates full-on, jealousy smashes bugs in
multitudes------
The notation on the back of “Pug
Hates his Nakedness” says it was published in PSYCHOTRAIN. My
association w/the Hyacinth House Gang was pretty incestuous and at
one time I acted as an assistant editor (a role that mostly entailed
running around trying to get the cheapest xerox jobs I could)---I may
have popped up in PSYCHO, BROWNBAG PRESS or CROWBAIT REVIEW at one
point or another....I'll trust my own notes. This also appeared on a
spoken word tape I did with KEVIN HIBSHMAN around '93 or '94.....the
piece really doesn't lend itself to Spoken Word, but I really didn't
draw that kind of distinction back then and I'd read any damn thing
live or on tape. Live and learn....
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