Flowers on my Jaw
I never realized how short is the space between my jaw and my temple, I wonder, is it small for you there too? I wonder how many flowers I could grow along its border, plant the seeds in the gums of my teeth and watch for what happens when I am left in the sun; but the space and its flowers I thought immaculate you ground into fine particles of dust and snorted up, got high off of the fault lines of me. I am in a Volvo on dry land and the Volvo is filling up with water from some unsung genesis, and you stand on the outside, watching me die against the ceiling, I didn't know ceilings could get so dirty, so stained, even God can forget to clean, I suppose. I am what the poets call a beautiful tragedy, they call me that with a cigarette in one hand and their cock in the other, they give pseudo-intellectual speeches for awards and my tragedy is enough to finance their drinking problem for several years. When I think of the flowers that grow from m