note: this is a work in progress. i only consider parts one and four completed. i pretty much hate the middle two sections, but have no idea yet what to do with them. damn.
one.
cato will not answer her phone.
cato, who saw microcameras in every particle of dust
trapped in the kitchen sunlight.
cato, who knows the lettuce in the refrigerator
is really a severed head, green with rot and envy.
cato, who felt her mattress weighted with my would-be blood.
cato, who stitched shut her anger.
cato, who called me god.
cato, who called allen ginsberg and tom waits and david mack god.
cato, god of the razor.
god of paint fumes and cherry wine.
god of every sophomore set ablaze.
god of ramen noodles and masturbation.
cato, holy and divine.
two.
megami prints my email and eats it.
megami, who lived next door to freddy kreuger
and watched him grow claws when his kids
left for school in the morning.
megami, whose ventilation system is plagued
by tongueless maniacs wielding stainless steel.
megami, who would strangle herself with a pink feather boa.
three.
there are others ripping cords from walls
and tacking blankets over the windows.
rob, who melted candle wax over his dick and sent me the videotape.
craig, who worships anima, animus, and mighty mouse.
sean, who found religion and what can i say about that?
four.
what do you want me to tell you?
that someone has found a way into my head.
that they're making notes every time i choose coke or pepsi.
that every time i move, they're willing my actions.
that every time i move, it isn't me but the psychic wires in my fingers.
that the wires are yellow because i hate that color. they want me to break.
that i curse at the people i love because somebody's got to hate me.
that anyone i love becomes a ghost and tugs on my earring.
that i'm still afraid of god's laughter.
that after three years words still burn holes in my tongue.
that i could hang myself with every strand of hair i find in the sheets.
that i'm crazy.
maybe.
