ditch,

the poetry that matters

Tom Prime

Tom Prime was born in British Columbia, later moved to Ontario. His work has previously appeared in Carousel Magazine.

Mr. Nalt - (4 excerpts)

(excerpt 1)

nubm:

(1)

I am in the hospital.
It is just like me. It
watch’s Life begin and die(Thus I took my first seroquel. The vhs player seemed to be distorted, it was faster then I thought. I feel nubm in the 23rd century. The stress channel is fading away, static exhibits itself like a thousand ritalyn voices. The neutral zone. I feel nothing, no emotion at all. My brain is a security camera. Damage report. I am dead or missing in action. How we deal with death. I feel like a tomb or a simulation of one. It is contrived to be dead, it is obtuse. Love is insane I cannot pay attention to anything. It’s not my birthday, it is my momentary funeral. I am growing into my womb. I am not yet conceived. I have a brain, it is transmuting into nothing. I do not care if anyone Love’s me because I am dead.)

like grey pebbles cannot
feel each other, I cannot

even while touching emotion
feel. Observing emotion like

a computer is hopeless. I

am like nothing, like
the space between I and

am. I am free as I am trapped (Is there meaning to a lie? Or is a lie just the same but opposite as the truth? Is reality anti- gravity is gravity an apple? Two leeches in a flesh cup a black space. Filthy dirt. The hate is dirt it is ugly it is a worm in a scar a bleeding eyeball of orb. The black orb with a white eye, it is hate. The pupil is red and ether is shifting a mercurial evil, a hazy nothingness of skin cells and brain tissue.)I am dead as I am alive. My heart is a window:


pharmaceutical storm
is flushing red like My
humiliation. I mean nothing.

I am nothing, yet I think.
I am overturning the infinite glow

huddled together in clown-skin.
I whimper pathetically like a dog
chewing on it’s masters shoes,

hopeless as anti-septic. My Love (whis-
pers)is like Me. I am hidden inner bleeding.
A slippery vasectomy implodes hopefulight

as rain. I want to feel Love. I don’t feel Love, I don’t feel hate.

I am crying, My left eye is dry y
I am quietly displayed as a seroquel doll
in tin gun hospital officer talk.

I mean only the ink on chicken paper
tastes like garlic fear. I am nonsense,

if I am only a divorcee
then I am dead, normal
as a dishwasher with food
smudges like birthmarks.

(2)

People appear like fog (fingernail flower
psychiatric doctor
discouraging moth
eats fingernail flower

Mortuary mortar a
tactless continuum
eggy mental illness
menstruates zebra there is ing or
errors in everyth…). I can remember their faces (slug)
like sunlight blotches the eyes.

(3)

“What happened to my mind?”,
the trees seem to as(h)k.
I am white: evil black lifeless

red leather and diamond eyes Open.

 

 

 

(excerpt2)

I am a disaster tree
it is cold in the quiet air
the blood lips are intravenous.

The callous skin remains
in blister and orchestration.

The hospital stasis flush
injection drip fluid ripped

the dead hope curdles Love
like sour blue milk hated.

Igloo crown orchid is
flowering in Olanzapine
suicide tomb eloquent
hand hold skin from slit.

Taxidermist abortion…

 

- Igloo

 

 

 

(excerpt 3)

Computers are like Nazis:

Thus I took my first Olanzapine. It is well with me, I breathe.
The fine frosty road is filaments of another shadow bright light
weighs in translucent circles anti- psychotic orb is aptly titled Olanzapine.

Why they always put pine beneath the word?

It becomes a strange anomaly, the white dove is crying a glass
slipper from the feet of snoring antlers. The bear was loose,

his tongue slipped in and out with intention. I will tell you

a long story: The green eye of sleep is a river flea bitten
with apprehension. Ain’t you had enough anti- psychotics?

The question acquiesces like 1 pernicious impetuous voice

that wrecks calm silence raping its languid iguana tendrils
with a voice that itches licking black apples bruised with eye o
dine shadow. Occurring to me now is the blasphemy implied in

a few chords. I guess pulsating aphorisms quibleed.

Cocodiamoacetate as it is useless without green river
of shampoo. The black apple boat weighed in dollarama

kitchenette accessories floated inexorably down the pine
anti- tree laden psychotic reef or bed of caramelized onion.

It was this way stands with fists Dunbear spoke to me, you

must not cross into Africa, nor to the farthest regions of
amphetamindia, it is tourniquet country. I laughed rolling

my eyes like gigantic toasters, crackling toast grommit.

The dog weeping like Aunt Jemima’s guitar, it is an impersonal
tomb, inhabited by Malaboch. Down that green river over the
placid swamp and the burnt burger bog. Behind the overly processed
armadillafat was a sinking boat, in that green river

he spoke: I am the twenty white yellow jacket light
bulb, I can tell in a few stanzas what is behind:

The world pulls deep inner vaccumoney. It calls

To the aloe tree that Loves, it cuts the glowing branches
of open Love bleeds without pine into corrugated

nalt, an exurbanite but highly expensive brand of octagon hide.

The nalt fellow in his whit e words talked a lot about his thoughts.

It ain’t that easy farting, and squeezing the latex cubes with
air bubbles by aspirin lakes the green river passed into

borscht cities, fat with pig meat, the geneticist in toupee

spoke subtly of the future as though a heart so coiled in snake

skin could shiver Brahma Kosovo and opulent xenophobia,

take me past into tourniquet country I said knowing

well the trouble turning back at the last expedient ornament
of hope, when the glass slipper shivered off ether like

and Nalt Armstrong glassblower leprosy began to plasticize me into
undulating octoquardam is the green river. My whole
writhing inculpistable form blocked any limpid flow.

I saw the green river formed itself in solitaire cards
and I began playing for a few minutes until I became
ugly as the y- day camp and continued writing. It is a
long story, the black apple spoke without care:

I bleach orange juice pigment red into anti-skin eating away

The dead wasp it’s tongue spoke lies even he wagered
his last dollar before dying the dignified way in a reptile
casino with millions of chicken soups for the teenage soul.

Too morbid in Talbot st. to think about… every one is
now exhuming omelette teeth in solitaire cards over-
whelming lye missing each other the green river once more
became tonsillitis ague teal ties river and slipped though

my oxygen holes into the impossible brain a green river

flowed into the impossible brain a green river flowed into

the improbable black-hole of Orion’s black dwarf. I saw that same

kitchenette with kneeling Ogres army men folded in an

white envelope frozen in space deep fried by liquid oxygen.

Their skim Saharan skin wriggled off into shapeless binding
attaching itself like dust to whirring ceiling fans by

the green river flogging to death a rubber chicken latex cubes
he was a troubled man (I was born on July 9th, 1985 in British Columbia)
indecisive, I guess I could guess I could gesture to

that solipsism woman in a mirror but she’s blind and

dying. The grey colonization of western culture arose later

before the green river was green in the Chernobyl nobility there

was no-one but Mr. Nalt who tattled on himself trying

to preach to his dead loved ones. I am Check Map Man

it looks hostile in tourniquet country so I grab a

hold the latex cubes and tackle the fat man running
naked though winners with his shirt off, and I
laugh but hollow is my laugh like a barrel empty inside is
the remains of ancient civilizations that were and always
are the green river flowing through me, it smells like
puke, roll around in your leviathan in @hotmail.com.

Computers are like Nazis, they all have funny prim moustaches.

Euchre playing surrealists talk to each other about existentialism
while we give applause to racists with Indonesian accents. It’s

simple as that friend, I am but a waking dream… Often

times one doesn’t intend anyone harm. Brain chemistry is like
Wiley the Coyote vs. the roadrunner always loses to the anti-

psychotic o Mr. Black apple man is quintessentially the most

intravenously connected acrid smelling breath Eskimo. Into

the green river the worried African diamond miner(wrote over-seriously)

A long haul from her cigarette as words flowed out of her like paper blown from the tips of gnarled hands into the night. Only for a moment could her mind be drained like grease from a fast food deep fryer. Yes, she- Esmerelda would write in those blurry uncontrollable moments of madness, and the pen marks would darken the paper so deeply with such pressure that even the words would snap like skating on fragile ice…

Down into the depths, the skates surround me- the ice is over me. Above me are bubbles (eggs of infant-life) of oxygen embedding the tissue of the body of anti-gravity (water). I wait to breathe. I feel the weight of useless underwater skates, the brown wool scarf forming a noose for my early tomb and then I am like one (helium filled) red and blue balloon. I ascend like an African diamond miner… and everyone cried and turned into corn starch after meal mints. I cast my lots into the head injury orifice and wait for

the unduly presence of Mr. Nalt himself arriving late of
course he speaks, how’s the Olanzapine? I took
another Olanzapine. It seems to relax me, but still I’m trippin’

out an Orangeman arm length. We all, all all are allowed to
think, breathe speak, communicate verbally, but still I’m trippin’

like a worm slit open with all it’s innards in a Petri dish

 

 

(excerpt 4)

Fudgy: It

S alright man nobodies home in your head anyway you could drown me now in the black star that raped me and left me out in the grass with my anus bleeding, I’m sure you win now. Congratulations I will award you with my freedom, I set you free, you no longer need to Love me, nor do you need to care about me, nor do you need to believe that I exist because I have gone past the brink of reality and reached the bland stasis of obsolescence where I fade now forgotten by my own mind in the red eye blood dripping with fear…

You win now it’s you who can do what you want because I have become nothing to Me.

Goodbye then I’m a disappointing shade of distasteful grey one best left pushed far away.

You should take my advice and do what you can to remove me like lice from your mind.

I am not trying to be overly sincere, I am just saying what seems to be me, breathing and I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
O I guess I was all alone, no-one green musty smell like blood iron in the foot of a carp.

Issac Asimov: And suddenly I died, and it was like exploding but then I became nothing, truly nothing, and I lay on the gurney, and they lifted me up into the space that grey uncomfortable chord of inner humiliation silver fish rand thoroughly through this song…

I am disposable.

I’ve had enough writing about nothing now, it closes the door behind me but my foot bounces it back open and then I know I can’t hold onto nothing no body warming me tonight. I can’t exactly distinguish the fire extinguisher red and yellow blue kite that itself is enveloped in the mirror sky eye wearing pearl jade eyeball earrings through the east Indian hunger father reality hits like disease slowly vents through exhaust like in a garage door closed with window open and engine on long and soft the ether like death that fades away completely and then is gone. I don’t see beyond each of my words anymore they are dancing together like two bears rumbling throughout, ecstatic as aurora borealis.

It will not die,

it will in time find away beyond all doubt thanks to Jibthron Magenta Wine. I Love her…

Fudgy: Yeah man the whole thing seems hip to be on a five footed bicycle hand tractor with ornamental pigeon feathers extraordinary antler and moose bear teeth laughing…w

 

Bookmark and Share

                                                                                                                                   November 15, 2011