Polonius to Prufrock

This is my body.

This is my body.

This is my body, help me hold it together. 

Help me hold it together.

Help me hold it in tight.

Keep me from writing another

tonight. You

 

dumb piece of shit. You

think I should think

brevity is the soul of wit?

Liar, lyre. Veins on fire.

Wrapped round my body like piano wire.

 

Oh I can’t count my fits 

or the rest of my bits. 

But it says on my lid

 

that I come complete

with scandals and beatz

and sublime, ravine-ous, Venusian conceits.

 

switch.

Satan broke his mirror when I came to you.

I sent a list of everyone I wanna maim to you.

And it was hot. But if it’s all the same to you,

I’ve been put off by the feeling you’re a game to you.

I’d effuse jagged flesh, leave my fame to you,

Wait.

Was that a sigh, you

depreciated fuck?

Are my lines going nowhere? Am I too

embarrassingly millenarian for 2014? I know I really should be scrubbing amnion’s tatters 

with this

till they shiiiine like the top of the Chrysler Building. Or

is it that I seem...

tame to you?

Render me bread:

I’ll pass the blame to you.

 

switch.

Oh, to be fecund,

roiling, vast.

I scan in Widener

and poetry class.

My skeleton’s shaking, 

possessed of an ass. 

Enough inked twice on my 

biomass.

In my unending quest

to break* with the past

* even, up, bad, ground,

   clean, and last

I am going to dearticulate the joint between my tongue and throat.

 

Comes break, on loping on long. Suds came armies on hot concrete: ticker feed. Ragged skinjob. 

You should

understand that you do non-trivial harm.

 

Temet nosce.

What art thou?

-- Fuck, shit, ass, balls, 

ow, ow, ow.