KICK ME IN THE THROAT
peanut butter gliding
across bread
++
sick furby in a
rhinestone collar
++
murmur of an eyelash,
slowed
++
a triangle of hair
a disco-ball hair
bound by masking tape
bras not drying
on the rim of the tub
++
magma beating
in the pussed-up
eye
somewhere in the middle
of los angeles
a new chemical develops
it literally
controls the rain
it is injected into air
by puissant
people
invisible weather
will rain on strangers
we take antifungal-solarplexic
-phosphorescent drugs
we lament the unpluckable sex
huffing augmented
street-leaf debris
our minutes rubbing
minutes
waiting around
tweezer
how about
fruit gushers
enveloped in rind
your radiator
stays groaning
how about we use a metal straw
to drink from a metal bowl
scrape our little hairs off
and fall on the floor?
a diet of loose peachflesh
unclever energy
++
you hired an interior decorator
without shame
I pretended not to know
the correlation of light blues
and monied evil
or how you want your space to feel
we lean into the pupilless atmosphere
++
I raise you from the bathtub
like a doula
crying and kissing
and wet
I squeeze the night’s pancreas
blank-faced and mean
your manhattans don’t impress me
but i’ll drink them
++
watching snails fuck on the windowsill
waterboarding them in my mind
in my mind, wet with your weak
manhattans
fucking you too
and drowning you too
who else are we
in this world in brutal mind
I would really like to know
++
we play your favorite porn
the girl’s oil-slick braids get stuck in the escalator again
I jerk you off into a cup
An Invitation
Lord I am suffering delusions in grandeur again
depraved in the cafeteria where we slap and toss
around spoon me some of that vibrational madness
I keep the dying parts of me humid offer guided
audio tours (nailed to the wall) its own kind
of sensory suicide but you already know
this is dark-time
when I pull out the enema and plug in
the hermit TV
the empty bath you keep on your tongue
trying too hard
to wash me
(I shake disastrously)
wrapping myself in knowledge of rainforests
untouched by pill
distant chromatics
I am through
herding my dopamine
like some limp elk down a hallway
take a look at these loveless horns!
are you really playing me Philip Glass
You could pantomime hypnosis philosophize all over
the gaping female condition
in the end
it is I who wants to be fed
needs it
Open-Faced Disco
I will attempt to be honest
in a soft-pedal way
as I chew the overcooked
oatmeal (front teeth)
My teachers always said
I am no hardy breed
and indeed these weapons
survive me
- ceiling mold green-clot
- cubicle I plop inside
sorting karmic debts - that one fantasy (chasing
the ball of your pupil
off a cliff)
An abominable guilt,
tweaking
the channels. I settle
where anyone would, on a beautiful girl
and her ferrets. We stroke our tails
together.
Oedipal Arrangements
There is a photo of your mother on the wall
She was never very elegant, was she
Dragged by wrinkles in-frame she actually looks
kind of drowning
And here are these clementines sweating on the table
Your Deleuzian marigolds
popping off
It’s a little much but I fake it
I fake a lot of things
God-stuffed with trip-lic-ated
pixel-lated image, I say
Defang me mommy
Feed me the drugstore creme egg
creased purple
Yes
you know the one.
It’s Ash Wednesday
And your cum on my stomach
a languid vandalism
Your wooden toy blade propped up
I want to be a mime
in every sense
But I cannot hold still
with your disaffected thumb in my body
and all this cat fur
You don’t have a cat
Where did it come from
══════════════════
Dana Guth is an artist and writer from Baltimore, MD. Her writing is/will be found in Unlost, Dream Pop Journal, Trampoline, Rejection Letters, etc. She lives in Maine with her pet lizard and hundreds of books.
*Image credit: Still from Dario Argento’s 1985 film ‘Phenomena’.
selffuck.help 