To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Luke Buckham's previous piece To Luke Buckham's next piece
love's maniac
throws a placenta out a tenth-story window
love's maniac drags my dick through rude inkwells
catches me fucking rubber trees
having fun in feathery prisons
sneezing glass dust through broken megaphones
painting valentines on the inside of my bedpan
pissing on the drapes in a locked room
reciting the book of revelations
while falling filled with wine over a hotel balcony
letting the undertow take me past the plastic horizon
rolling magazine advertisements tight enough to fit in my veins
kidnapping my ego
kidnapping my body
taking them through hotels of cigarette-ash floors
where scorched swordfish swim through the mirrors
& cut into my numberless room
love's maniac makes me take the head of a drowsy cobra in my mouth
& wait a snickering minute before biting through its neck
love's maniac is mute
love's maniac is a 3-year-old girl wearing a necklace of razorblades
with a horn growing from the center of her forehead
reciting the day's dull weather forecast in basso profundo
love's maniac is prerecorded
in the seashell that nobody picked up
in the tv that your father kicked
when it told him of the coming war
in the eyes you avoided
in the face of your lover when you penetrated
& thought for a moment that you came against a bone
love's maniac takes me through hallways
filled with diapered gun-carrying middle-aged infants
& row upon row of faintly glowing xerox machines
love's maniac is my curse trapped in someone else's snore
while they sleep easily on the floor & i lie awake in their plush bed
covered with lukewarm newspapers
love's maniac is my lost foreskin
& the billions of whimpering nerves that it took with it
the blood in my coffee
the dna spirals screwing empty space together in the bathroom mirror
my cancer-ridden great aunt
listening to thrashing country music on her headphones
riding her unicycle into an open furnace
love's maniac is all my heroes faceless
wrapped from heels to head in their own overgrown hair
the imprint of a prophet's asshole in fresh tar
a black thumprint on a single red brick in the middle of a desert
disaster kissed me & i outlaughed all the sitcoms.
To the top of this page