lunghaus

it spilled across the table like a remedy -
it shorted the static that the house held for years -
it pooled like anticipation.



billy jr. jr. broke open the half century thermostat yellowed
from beige brown exhaled anxiety. ceiling hung poverty cloud
irrelevance like billy's chipped tooth arrogance wasn't enough to
endear him wholly without a wheezing foul mouthed dead window
bug pedigree, that lays him motionless mirror squirm motionless
in some catapult ICU where they scrape the larvae from the
lunch to hide under the dinner.



bloated bag of face.



nimble ugly fingers snap away the capsule from the wall piece.
he's tricking his light.
splattering his waste.
finding hunger thoughts that never touched him before.

more , more , more.

this not tuesday child - yes wednesday bastard -
sweat, sweet sweat spitting from his pores ...
dances his newfound little fucking marvel to and
fro like a rival constricted rival catches a mistep
in the fuckpit of dire consequence.

hold the snake, one hand choke, and force it to see what you see
while staring blinkless like there's no world - alone and alone,
standing on your head in the room
corner where you wait in now immediate for
the snake to spit its venom all over your dirty face.


billy fucking billy


like that toeless hamster tripping trudging on a
cracked axle wheel... google eyes watching, choke
laughing at agony through smudgeglass....

(littlest hairs wrapped around spindle)

... the cedar smell reminds everytime the folly,
the satiated feel -
the crisp breeze nakedness of having something under
his idiot blank wrinkle free face - scrutiny.
pile growing pile of half life infused tissues -
slow crackle into
evidence.

( fold the page of this book - piss soak the paragraphs -
when your eyes are pulled from their sockets ...
you can find the sentiment with your nose )


" it's okay mother .... it's dead already -
inhale mother , not too deeply -
it's death and it's particles of decay .. so not too
deeply mother - protect yourself "
(you three pack a day phlegmwhore loadsoaked glint
of father scoundrel blowjob)


he's brown
tar darling carcinogen smear second hand afterthought -
fatherless wednesday fatherless ...

but he's alive and in love with his moment.


he pulled the thermostat from above the
newspaperdustlight , kicked the dog and
sought his fortune.

there's no heat pushing through the vents -
the rumbling tin expanding like foil lungs -
clearing throat hacking heaving is on hold.

billy don't know electrical theory and doesn't miss
the sounds of the pressure changes -
the life of death of dying. he neglects to connect the wires ..
it's his nature to forget . .
it's identifiable in his stream of spit or chunk of inside cheek.
. a blotch .

it's not mischief ... there isn't such a thing.
. blotches .

smash capsule like softboiled crystal tortoiseshell -
frozen halfway frozen.

the mercury skips alive over the scarred
laminate plasticwood sight of everything arena.

it's alive...

as alive as the fleabite anemic hamsters suffering
in the punch hole shoebox on lost grandpa's workbench.
( he ran like hell from the A - 1's )

by the water heater .
by the bucket of spent oil .
by the hundred piles of almost finished .
. blotches .

but he can't pick up his friend by any piece of skin or
pull tail squeal part.

he can't connect with it in his nurture way or
any animal instinct touch pinch poke form.


mother's getting a chill. mother's catching a draft.
she has hyper sensitivity to anything different from an
hour ago.
she makes her smoke cloud move towards the
dustlamp - kicks the dog and
tries to comprehend the find she finds -

she pulls the wires together and electrocutes herself .
screaming coughing screaming ,
gag - eyed aquisition of baseball bat crack to
the shoulders concepts in electrical theory.
gained practical experience with which she'll do
nothing with but fill an ashtray that she would've filled anyway
( albeit a bit faster ).

she ranks this with a grouping of life's most
unpleasant experiences ..forgets about the chill and
calls the paramedic family that lives across
the street to ask if it's okay to
keep going like she does ... always has.
they don't answer , and she looks
for the list of possibilities in the
family textbook her father created when he
combined pages from the
bible , popular mechanics , and
grey's anatomy in an order which always
seemed to have the answers to everything with
pictures and plainspeak -

this puts her at ease .... somehow at ease.



billy's using spoons - right/left handheld
towards eachother
in direct spooncurve opposition.
he's scooping at the dancelight pet.
taking subtle charges...
like completion of pleasure circuit.

billy's making a connection , something
billy dirty billy doesn't usually do.

each spoon at center - then through the
silver shaky oblong - he separates it in two....
... then scoots them together again - back to one.


no screams , no cries , no agony - but somehow
still of marvel enough
to maintain his deepest interest.

mother ms. mother , cold clammy skin full blown headache,
pushes her way through her own mishapen
evolution into a cocoon of frozen decades.

windows locked with nails and paint.

there's no heat . there's no draft. there's nothing that isn't done already.

no familiar flexing tin duct banging pressure humping groan pressure.

her arms and shoulders feel strained and tired with
a wrong total awareness of every bit of
flesh, tendon, bone and skin.
like they're someone elses...
like transplants to fix what was always missing.

new and unwelcome...
apparent and useless ...




when a body starves it begins to feed off of itself...
first fat, then muscle and organ tissue.

it will rip itself apart and shut down..

when the brain is starved of a glimmer of anything ....
it will feed off of itself ... devouring thought and
memory as it fights for kindling. it's own
fear of death of dying.

major malfunctions and furthest collapse ...
gasping at the air 'til silence...
choking in itself and what isn't -
the vaccuum draws in the ducts
with a loud bang.




billy kisses liquid perfection full out with
the back of his throat.
billy's suckling mercury like he is alone in the world ...
alone in the house. touching his friend
expectedly innappropriately.
he found a friend that doesn't flinch.


mother finds herself unwilling to move.
she'll be called upon, and will be certain
that the vents are clear, that billy is breathing like
he always does and that
grandfather uncatchable grandfather will find his way home.


the silence is a symptom of something that must soon pass.
and the smudges on the windows and
spent tissues below them in the garden
aren't important clues that something has to change.

inhale what you exhale.

and turn your wheel slowly.


this is what alone is.