It would be nice to have it all

but instead 

i have a proposal for the dirt patch on 8th avenue:

knelt on my elbows and knees, so that they 

may become sufficiently shredded, 

and ravenously, like how the wolf ate that little girl,

i would dig several large pits

with fingernails i will have grown out 

specifically for this purpose

so that the ground, packed tight 

with sweat from someone else’s sufferings

will break loose and more easily become:

a grave for your mother (the first one)

a grave for that girl, Eliza (or something), the one you want to marry 

because she gives good head

(a grave for me)

instead of tombstones, i would pile up

everything i hold dear in this world, 

coagulate them into sculpture:

your dirty sock, your ex’s shirt, your narcan 

the tapeworm i will have cut out from my stomach

the canoe we fell out of 

the rest of the top five best things

that you claim to have ever happened to you

and i would glue them together 

with the fluid that leaks 

out of my bellybutton sometimes,

sprinkling it upon my work

like fertilizer

the empty lot on eighth avenue 

should exist as a record 

of the flaws i promised to gauge out of myself

with that meat grinder you’re always talking about;

as a reminder of how foolish it is 

to believe that things can be eviscerated so,

to think that one can actually 

get away 

with Things in the End because

actually

no one gets away with anything

and that is why i should find myself 

lying in a coffin i will have built 

specifically for the middle of the eighth avenue dirt patch:

so all of my loved ones and their loved ones, etc. 

will finally understand what it means to say sorry.

when we get married are you gonna make

me eat your ass?

pen drawing i started before my last relationship, who saw it and claimed that it was a picture of him (us). he broke up with me three weeks ago, and i finished it immediately afterwards. i guess it is a drawing of us now.