Bugguts

Right now I wish I was a cockroach
so when they finally get in
they wouldn't see me on the ground
you know, they always stare up and to the right,
but never look down

I would just scurry scuttle by the wall,
around their lazy feet and out the door
and have the planet to myself again -
find my inner peace with exoskeleton

I feel so little on the inside
but my skin is persistently life-size.
I think my body wants to get us caught
to match the outer with the inner rot

It wants to stand forever in this non-life,
always looking up and to the right
at this landscape consisting only of swallowed flesh,
unswallowed flesh, and happy bugs

I have one flare left in the gun,
I’ve got the wooden stool I'm sitting on,
I have a ratty blanket and a bottle of whiskey
and the only reason I'm still breathing's
so intent on leaving me
she walked into the Undead Sea all alone

When she left I stood a monolith:
slow breaths - the oxygen economist,
but from my toes there sprang a mutiny
recruiting every organ as it rose in me
rising 'til the very last cell is caught
from my Southest gut to my Northest thoughts

This fit is tidal like the climax only her hands can give me
and I can't stop it.
I'm just air in the lung of a volcano -
the pulse clear, the heart myopic

Twenty years of ego regurgitating
with pride as a fist around my throat
puffs me out like the fish she loves,
rattling my frame as I'm praying out her name,

“Jenny, I want to love this low
'cause it shows me how high your high is
but when you force me to see
the whole amplitude of love like this

I know it's too much for my tiny heart
I wanna live to lick your skin again,
but I can't taste that far

Jenny, I want to love this low
'cause it shows me how high your high is
but when you force me to see
the whole amplitude of love like this
you've seen all the bug guts I can show.
This frequency of fits has cracked my walls
so will I walk or will I crawl...
and lick the bottom of it all?”