in the library, a secret tunnel
In the library
behind books never lent
there is a secret tunnel leading to
different places and times.
However, this being a library, this discovery has never been discussed.
Attempts to share secret are meet with a finger to the lip and a ssshhhhh from the hatchet faced librarian.
Eatmorewords's Blog 
HATCHET FACED VULVA
old fashioned wind up crotch
hooded phantom tender bud
in total darkness (rosa mystica)
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biological actions gleamed
from broken spined
encyclopaedias
referencing dusty holes
stale from neglect
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foul winds do blow nearby
beware the eye of cow curds
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milky curds thick with bacteria
human udders filled in the
science section next
to anxious scribbles of
puritanical bile
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puritanical bile just isn’t what it used to be
unpleasant but not a deal-breaker
3 dollar squirrel is 3 dollar squirrel
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Snake oil seller gleaming under
nuclear sun
empty promises
cash strapped wishes
indexed feelings written in pencil
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that pencil didn’t come easy
she said, “no more bedroom mutilation”
love surgery is painful
urinating boy-style
comes in handy on long hauls
pass the milk jug
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Tied tubes increased risk of salty backwash
the weakness of the dam exposed
fear of a deluge of
elephant pissing in polystyrene
cup
diamond sharp trajectories cut through here disrupting librarians
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the fright of waking from a quasi-surgical salty backwash
gyn religious daddy put on 3-d glasses
and took a look at the fuzzy queequeq
“lordy, it’s looking back”
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the doctor was wrestling with touching the female language
he wanted to ask permission before maneuvering
yes there were neck kisses
his lips had touched the alphabet
the secret tunnel
temptation
it was going to be a slippery struggle1
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The language manipulated
and pedestrians ordered dic-
tionaries to understand the
clinical vowels
dot to dot treasure maps
associations with bone, gristle
parts described in sex papers
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it was no secret that the woman at the library was no woman
wearing the skin but free of the misery
revisions and not the religious tv frauds
big dots hang below the treasure
irregular medicine and they sleep
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…and they sleep the sleep of
sleeping children
cut off, severed
from tainted
memories smelling of medicinal
drowsiness
observed by bones in white coats
feverish erections scan
tick sheets
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medicinal drowsiness
now you are talking party
lethargic on the bed
it is behind night
red with casper ghost lube
do your worst
all poetry comes through pain
rupture words that cannot be said
articulate ammunition bang bang
resist premature interpretation
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just got an email from the library
i may face the rasp of a librarian’s tongue
anesthetizing the staff is frowned upon
seems they find the root-stock of making poetry distasteful
what’s a little medicinal drowsiness for the sake of art ?
i didn’t dig the secret tunnel
my hands were dirt free
whatever brown washed off
i am innocent
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the library are handing out fines
for over due ideas and encouraging all DNA to return through the doors
it is now a museum
the secret tunnel a tourist trap
hatchet faced bee-hive librarian now hawking cheap tchotchke
and children of the future look at books online and all they see is paper.
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rumor is that the librarian has a vaginal gymnasium
one can make gluttural sounds if one places the back of the tongue against the soft ceiling
one may have to turn off common sense
the front part of the hindquarters
a basketball hoop
dawdle there
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death often loiters by the bed
seems females tune into this
physical love can carry a heavy toll
if it doesn’t come out on its own
it’s get the tractor
or the piano string
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in the near future people not directly involved with the library or the secret tunnel
will be seen sitting in an establishment he will be an analyst she is a patient
he gets paid to fool her into expressing her deepest feelings
she has pockets full of resentment and frustration
some are old and date back to childhood
they are the cause of painful discomfort
they serve many useful purposes
underlying dynamics
he could smell her on his fingers
ingenious how she used the small circle
to get an advantage over him
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the doctor thought of her as the girl unopened
he wrote many things on his tablet:
*calculated deception
*guarded maneuvering
*instinctive fear
between them a great freud
her womb like a jack-o-lantern
softened and made gentle
feminine rupture
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hours spent listing reasons for the vision they all claimed they saw – the tunnel – the bar codes grafted onto supple spines – a metallic taste as the doctor fingered texts nodding in her direction – she – she gazed up thinking of a cloud she saw as a child – the library contained a billion words but no answers
closing time comes quick
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the library contains a billion words all questions and no answers
they give poets purgatives when they need more
sort-of-an-oral douching task
are you a spectator ?
jism for the juvenile section comes from india
one hand answers the computer support line
the other robs the pleasure tree
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( you ) on the evening news folding your tent
now that you’ve been nominated
will it go to your head ?
will the buffet of words try to cut costs ?
try to remember the warmth of cigarettes kindled
the days spent keeping the cemetery clean
presexual snakes with their wide eyes
it wasn’t just aborted sleep
it was a way of life
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all awards are just tchotchkes – meaningless trinkets – write for the sake of the words – allow them out don’t cage them inside a head -muddled, a thousand ideas snagged in cobwebs amongst tiny corpse – the cemetery gig was life experience won in a competition I never remembered entering – we will all forget everything – I am just trying to capture it – butterflies in nets – dead elephants on the savannah
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today was saccharine day at the library
coal-tar compound hallelujah
people do that sort of thing with words
bruised poets
women with white brassieres
hybrid languages
idioms of the jungle
anyway, they were asking when you would return
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what a wild day at the library
bath salts and saccharine
lots of perfect saccharine-themed gifts to be purchased
one could buy bulk shellfish poop
naughty crossword puzzles
photographs of healthy beavers
desideratum for the masses
several people mentioned your name
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within the bounds of yesterday
someone brought their paralyzed pooch
a rather large dog that was very yielding
compulsive touching warm silk
development seemed possible
seven large cups of coffee
bath salts and saccharine
a bad stain on the blanket
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dogs are not Gods – unless your dyslexic – and they shiver when they shit – shiver so hard it looks like there’s two of them –
chosen to guard the gates of hell – promoted to guard the library steps
covered in turpentine
hidden under sheets from prying eyes
the fines will mount up –
the deficiet acknowledged
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the secret tunnel is a passage from potentiality
it takes courage to be a real sinner
one must crawl downhill till downhill goes no more
how far can you stretch the umbilical cord ?
darkened hammers pounding pud
how can the poets sleep ?
defenseless against masturbation
narcissistic choke
the crime of pull
ungentlemanly
peppery jism flying
they speak not
the little seed
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the tunnel, a metaphor?
a throat – deep – hanging tonsils useless
a slide descending?
Cosseted in womb cocoon – sloshing amniotic fluid drowning amongst the umbilical restriction of airways
are more tunnels
You can survive birth but you won’t survive life
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she spent three hours trying to think of a metaphor for metaphor
an indoor swimming pool for her white underparts
luminous opium poppy
fractured narrative religion
death with no escape
the devil’s big toe
gotta go where there is scenery
subterranean library
athletic and angry
fashioned poetry
push it out of bed
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Reblogged this on multiplemichael.
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the library needed to purchase a book so they had a $5 mouth shark day
snippets of conversation were placed in the panty waistband of said librarian
for $5 one could orally remove a tidbit
wow, talk about the bouquet
“go for the atlas”
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Go for the atlas they yelled like an audience on a gameshow – explore the cities that are lost under the staples –
explore the curves of geography – dip your toes in the water – bathing sharks show teeth sharp –
and when she got home the librarian removed the snippets of conversation from her waistband –
she laid them end to end to construct her resignation letter
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her resignation letter was more like a novel
over the years there were constantly new reasons to leave that honky book repository
the fact that there were only 17 books and a box of reader’s digest
that her co-worker constantly wrote letters to penthouse magazine
words heavy on the ointment
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ointment words crafted to skin mags she never read and
books – books she touch with the moist tip of her tongue
books despoitories reminded her of Lee Harvey O – sunny days – green grass slow
moving cars – a brain and seconds later – mush – sprayed on virgin white dress –
resignation moments mere fleeting chimeras
she thought of history
of the library
of microfiche
dead presidents cold beds and days after tomorrow
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she had a wallet full of dead presidents
sometimes when the static got too bad
she would cut the chalk-white flesh of her chest
papercuts took her mind off her problems
her chest looked like a road map of ohio
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she had that “iggy pop” kind of souvenir chest going on
ritualized self-destruction
self-pity cigarettes
a venti starbuck
a little suicide
in a bathroom in complete privacy
the blade inside a rhyming dictionary
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a souvenir chest, not buried by pirates – contains no riches, just organs, beating bloody
– a GG Allin size ball of loathing – saw her on the perimeter looking down into a Wile E Coyote dust cloud
– she used her date of birth as grid references – found that place on a map
circled it like with black marker pen
like the areola circles erect nipples
– days spent staring at black rings
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she knew jesus didn’t need a satellite to locate her
as a little girl she loved to wade in the shallow creek behind her house
the birds would sing and dragonflies would dart about
it was pure bliss
then one day the stagnant pond inside her burst forth
it was a hell of a bloody day
but that was a long long time ago
many avenues have been explored
as of late that damn library
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musty smells of yesterday
years ago
bleeding gums no connection with a higher power
her thoughts were just frayed ends
night time horrors drifting thoughts of antiquated filling systems
a tunnel
a dim light
the end in sight
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how could she forget the first time a catheter was introduced into her urethra ?
no one on the schoolbus knew what a female urethra was all about
she knew it hurt far worse than a cheeseball out the bum
a tad too personal…….what could be more personal ?
you get to see the lips and the button
everything
in color
like going to mexico with a million dollars
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drugged memories of catheter insertion,
some thing medicinal?
faint recall of beeping hospital monitors an aroma of bleach rubber shoes squeak on shiny floors
nothing is to personal evertything is stored
somewhere
her signature
proof of agreement
of acceptance
spitballs spat still stick
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she wasn’t a religious nut but she did think a time would come for the MARK
right before you get the MARK they ask you one simple question
“do you love honey boo boo ?”
she thought that was damn easy….who wouldn’t love that dear sweet child ?
the clock is ticking
at midnight she will turn into her mother
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disproporionate sensitivity
dolly arm dolly arm
but not an index finger
pleasures of the unexpected
a quick hand on the way back from the game
selective amnesia
the day you turned into your mother
love was little more than an irritant
love was to become a lifelong scab
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you can purchase photographs of spit-balls
any resemblances to spit-balls from your doing is purely accidental
was there a parable about spit-balls ?
Freud was interested in psychic spit-balls
please don’t stare at my skeleton
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life being a current going nowhere
verbal diarrhea shot from muscle-bound holes
parasitic readers with nothing to say
they call late at night begging
mister mike, will you glue a tight seal ?
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the radio voices begging from the cold hinterland of static and loneliness – AM PM differentials dependent of grid reference – a box of talking voices fill up voids – mainly nocturnal
amongst the stars with strangers – long time listener
first time caller
lurking in the corners
at the edges
mike and his unquenchable thirst
dams the well only to blow it up
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HUMILIATION—HUMILIATION
*curdled jism
*snap-on bow ties
*virility without possibility
*geography without motion
*sideshows with near-nude women
————————————————–
women with their underpants on fire
Old Testament Girls ?
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blood to the surface
humiliation is red
– shoes with no laces
– stain on shirt the frayed cuff
– x-rays with no skeletons
the sketches of her are fading
she is becoming a ghost
I must find her birth certificate
I must return the books
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————-A 3 DOLLAR SQUIRREL IS A 3 DOLLAR SQUIRREL————-
my favorite line from the Curie Diary:
the epode should follow the strophe and antistrophe
government agents sit up all night trying to crack the code
their instruments are very sensitive
unmindful and untainted but sensitive
how do you do math with pronouns ?
when it comes to the French doing math
please do not mention their chastity girdle
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