Dia Felix

idream

I dream of daughters

of hoarders on Hoarders

If dreams made sense, I'd be pleasuring the middle daughter under her shirt

to compensate for the cruelty she'd endured and pay

her for

my having watched it as entertainment.

But dreams aren't like that. Dreams are like

this, we were kind of into it but then

I put my hand on her throat,

but this was an off-note

of sexual performance.

It wasn't just us anymore--

I had done something corny, something I'd brought in from somewhere else.

The game was over.

I hope everyone is okay.

Fire Your Job

I want to put clay in my hair, eat wires.

Talk to rats. Take greyhound buses just to be there.

Soothe my eyes.

Get that skull tattooed on my nalga finally, stop asking

what did it feel like?

about tattoos.

*

Bar friend, does it strike you how

the world goes on because we are all too tired to fix it and

we can't step off the moving walkway for even a season

to consider what we're doing

I'm going to step off this moving walkway

and slowly eat some very nicely spiced lentils

and remember that I am a love revolutionary

who is not 100% for sale, maybe 50.

*

What stale-ass dope is this.

To run to the river of poison every day and

drink until you fall over,

get up and

do it again.

*

Hoarders: are they onto something?

The only option for refusal is to

build a wall of worthless acquisitions around you,

refuse hygiene. Live by

your own logic. Live in deep privacy.

Develop your own alternative economy. Is Health

worth it?

Does anyone masturbate, among all that waste?

Of course that's not the only refusal. You can

avail yourself, give your body, brain to addictive substance.

Watch your body, brain, curl like a toy snake around

the substance: an agreement that required no contract.

A gentlesnake's agreement.

Yeah baby. So gentle, so brutal.

*

Standing on the platform just when summer turned,

when New York city was a sudden clam-ity of wet huff,

standing on the platform in my black jeans,

overdressed, heavy and moist with sweat and then

the jaw buzz of MTA a/c, the light like

lightning into my sleepy eyes,

standing on the platform for every train but yours,

the youth in their full confection outfits, candy color sneakers,

suboxone hair streaks, baby, don't suffer, don't smoke again you just smoked,

standing on the platform,

I still have an idea that I'll see you.

When it lines up, you'll be on the train,

or at a cafe in Kassel.

I'll find you somewhere. Lisbon?

Maybe I should visit your grave,

take your medicine there.

If I could get deep enough into the night, I'd find you.

Like you between my legs, junkie lover, I always fall asleep

before the big reunion.

A Narcissist teenaged 50 year old quits her job

Suck my dick and pay me.

Suck my dick and keep your money.

To clarify, suck 100 percent of my dick.

As mentioned, you are a corpse who floats in the river,

then you disappear.

As mentioned I will not be sighing nor smiling for you now.

I'm free, and free to die

is better then sitting on your knives and clapping about it.

Sorry to decline your invitation to trivia,

I'd rather live.

Sorry to decline your offer to continue to be exquisitely abused,

I have to go die in a fire

while eating an infant

with my skinless face.

I would rather live the rest of my life

stepping in shit

I would rather

watch you all fuck your cancerous wives

I would rather drown wrapped in saran wrap

I would rather

chew saran wrap

I would rather

be a piece of paper with no thoughts

*

I'd rather hand over my clit

I'd rather trim my eyelids

I'd rather puke once a day for a hundred years

I'd rather punch a tree until my knuckles are gone

I'd rather eat rubber gloves

I'd rather drown in the east river

I'd rather get smashed against rocks

*

In all serious, the stakes, as she said,

are yourself.

Make your own reality, babe.

But what if it's beautiful?

You are home, after a non-date

after the sky flashed like a raver's mouthpiece

after you walked in the bucket-style rain

from Lanterna to 34th and 2nd, home.

The kind of rain that makes you laugh

as you ruin your perfectly good shoes.

A little bit trippy--

eye to eye with the girl outside the vegan place

she was laughing too

I held my doll in my arms for a flash,

a little more than a lightning flash

our black t-shirts touching.

Trying it out.

The answer was no.

I won't see her naked, or ask her to do

those strange things I've been thinking about.

The sacred cockroach

all that glitters is all

Requiem for

a career

a plastic bag skids on 34th Street

I am a person of love, it whispers

I am a person of love

in a camouflage romper sweating

googling how to kill roaches

every way I do it feels like

I'm getting unnecessarily involved

the plastic bag breezes in

to the self-realization fellowship thinks

I could do this

a plastic bag has an eternity to meditate because it

has no job and never disintegrates

I try not to be

horrified by roaches because really

I do identify with them--

are we not all creatures just looking for something nice to eat on 2nd Avenue?

But trying to love something

because they are the same as me

doesn't work because of how

I feel about myself

going apeshit on a salad, I'm a roach I'm a roach

fucking PEANUT SAUCE

Vivian Gornick's New One

First, make of me an ocean.

Now make that ocean boil.

Inviolate: a printed photograph

of her, holding violets.

If she's gone,

where now is the taste in her mouth.

Poet General: I'm asking you

can I get away with this:

"Grief is an afternoon making soup"

If the afternoon is rainy?

Surely it has happened that

someone has met someone

decided they wanted that someone to be their analyst

but the person wasn't an analyst

so the person sent the person to school to become an analyst

complications ensued

They say the dreams of others don't interest people

I've got a twenty dollar book that seems to say otherwise

I mean, I bought it

So I'm interested

I step into her canoe

All the time I spend luridly velcroed to the cheap food

of the male imagination, listen I'm not a prude and I like bad food

as much as the next guy

If you need to talk about war, or you dead sister's tits, I actually

don't hate you for that but

I only have so many hours to live so

get me the fuck out of here

And instead let me get into the soft glove

even if there's teeth inside,

she does it so real

I want to rock rock rock the canoe, I'm in your mist

Do you want to kiss

Basically, I think it stings me with honesty

It's like oh I didn't know we were being honest

Like the goalposts moved, but in a good way

I'm sure she has money, it could only be that way

who can afford to be so honest otherwise

I want to get naked too

I realized today I was naked in

the rose reading room and

so fatigued, day after day my eyes burn and the glue

hardens in my heart, my veins

No supplier of beauty I am

more a beggar of medicine now, what's happenin

What can I take to restore me

I wanted to ask the vitamin man

but he was helping someone else

*

The inviolable cannot be

erased through expensive hamburger purchase and consumption

A perfect caesar salad cannot

erase my code like a line of cocaine disappearing

into the interior of an unhappy student

Hannah Arendt cannot Sachertorte Marty from memory

Chocolate mousse though can change your physicality

Ask me about it

The princess cake from veniero's can be what I want

if that's really what I want

what I really really want.

Only you

can know it.

Only you

can do it.