For Alba, who fucked my conscience up something fierce.
Your face is a constellation.

GOOD DOCTOR EZEKIEL

Trickster Gods (Part One)

Trickster Gods (Part Two)

Inside Jokes

Gilded Cages

Sunburned

Trickster Gods (Part Three)

proto-gospel

Everything is green, fleshy and pale
In the bright room of the doctor's office
She tells me to lay back and I can smell the old
Chocolates in her front pocket
The chalky scent, melting down the front of her trousers
It looks like her vagina keeps shitting
Wipe front to back, front to back, front to back
She asks me what's bothering me this time
And I can hardly remember what set me over the edge
I only ask her for drugs, anything that would quell this heat
In my gut, in my ovaries, within my solar plexus
Radiating, radiating, radiating like fire.
She doesn't give me the drugs, but she does give me
A useless diatribe on how I'm too young
Nothing stays the same forever
The voice in the back of my head says:
It only gets worse.
And then I remember,
Slamming honeydew down on sandy tiles
Fleshy pale green fruit looking like a homicide victim
Me screaming like an angel covered in green eyes and that
voice
It only gets worse.