in the square

in the wreck where children play
screaming in the fountain
and trash and art gallery signage
shimmer with the same light, in
the wreck where we hold
to our sticky underwear and poison,
smack laser lips at graffiti
and move wormlike through
trash that we read exultant
with the skillz they taught us in 16
years of homogeneity class,
in the wreck we stick
to glowing trash clip cables
to yell into rotted wires,
in the wreck we comma
into glowing sticky stains
they CDRW sugar into our
smacked dog faces that the holes
all over everything are just big
enough to nuzzle into we trash the wreck
with our heads down holes all
over everything into somewheres else,
sing bented jingles through smashed
teeth smashed lips, we yell plastic
forks rescue trash held hostage
in the fountain for posterity,
you can yell you can record
your yell you can open a shop with
nothing in it but a PA blaring
your autotuned yell and soon retire you
are a crinkle in the paper
graffiti moulds you gentle
into a silver spiral, writes on your
skins with bottle caps and rotted
murmuring take out, youve
been smeared into a sorta body a body
sorta owned by a married couple
of worms that want only
to play the pianola so much they
are collecting rot to assemble a
pianola, an adhesive pianola, they are
saving up to build an adhesive pianola
factory that increases output by
an order of magnitude every hr.

drugs and bombed elevated railways
for dinner, glowing trash delivered instantly
to the exact hole you dont want yr muzzle
to have to be stuffed into, delivered into your
arse by a naughty smacking slipper, mmmhm,
yeah, mmmhm, thats what i ordered, now sated i
feel so really lovely and so really ready to yell,
im mainly interested in contemporary yelling,
moreso than traditional, the trash is
the trash is radiant the trash is fucking smoking
hot we are the trashs radiating in
the wreck we are so much the trash we have
to yell glowing yells handbag yells married yells
in new hormonies stained spanked yells
that you can adulterate and take in order
to multiply yourself into boxes of poison
speaking poison speaking is poison
speaking radiant out of your arse into the
wreck coz yr smashed face is too stuffed
into one of the closed holes all over
coz they dont deliver the glowing trash
and drugs you want to any other one
but this one, this bolted hole this muzzle
-shaped cupful of grease where the worms
live that own that body the authorities’
database has nicknamed “yours”, at least
for now, theres an expiry on it pegged
to an unknown number of pianola numbers.

in the wreck the dreck is nicknamed
yours you are temp nicknamed dreck
under the massive glowing cool boughs
superintending trash intuited en masse
by monogamous worms practicing pianola
factory making in the wreck, where

      blood yells
                             thru shopfronts

                                  , yells over
towering blood-red hollyhocks

                       , hubs
                 of wise stains and cables

, under looping white civilian tanks.

we are the drugs the glowing trash
would take if it could find our dealer
we are the pills sticky forward-looking
worms bed down with in the gradually
blooming wreck of spirit
where by vibration they track
sick dogs shaved bare into a melody
whose score their prints leave,
darknesses in the otherwise glow,
we are the drugs the drugs made
to sell to the glowing stickiness
of the other drugs

                                 , in the wreck
                we step forth
                                  into the held-out sleeves
                     of our tailor-made dosage;

         by the millions, insects suicide
                     , upon our eyeballs