early mornin' stoned pimp

pulling off
the limb parts
equal to a whole life
ahead of
a jack spicer poem
american bad ass
my ass
too
as long as a war lasts
me and my running away
what i'm thinking about when i'm thinking about
wet hills
mush made the bump
dripping into my brain vein
so i can high
so i can melt the candy into my skull
tap the top off
lose weight on a wim
a vomit bone
viral birth zone
my crying about my lucky life
born so far from hell
born so far from another solar system
what are you thinking
the pressure around my eyes
explodes through digging the bulbs
out of my light
raw roughing the leather
listening to people talk makes me sick
listening to medicine work
listening to lost fumes
leaving the needle holes in my pricking skin
where i map a distance
the space is a zero heart
the kissing words are wasted in poetry
or awful self beat downs
where i make jokes
about my awkward pain pool
or explain to my friends