from Suicide Mountain
by Matthew Suss
People have boring intestines.
If unicorns existed, they’d fist all of us.
I am for sure the most pierced being in the world.
I like how dark out it is. It’s very powerful
monster versus very powerful monster.
My inner animal is trashed. My head
doesn’t belong to me. Why should it?
God shits the most beautiful sex toy.
Only the obese can truly love god.
Psychotic ogres ascending on sherbet clouds.
Fuck angels. Fuck weeping angels.
I climbed the mountain to make an offering
of my menstrual blood. I changed the meaning
of my name & changed the world.
From the beginning of the sublime, I stalked you.
Now I always fight at full force, no one.
Darling, I’d eat your complete mind & spine,
spread light & joy through the world.
Ready for heaven, you slide back down into the flower.
This week everybody dies.
Let this bridge of you become the strange one here.
I am married to the fucking mesmerizing.
Come get your car exhaust, distilled from your skeleton.
Exorcise the strange email from the day after Halloween.
The sky is to grasp something worth saving.
The greatness of god’s brain splits open
the ayahuasca cantaloupe. He can ejaculate in masterpieces
or miracles, & that’s it.
This is not my coffin. I see lights.
As your friend died he asked about a living pyramid.
I think I scared a bird with my dick.
Riding an elephant I sever its
throat & crawl inside to feel awesome.
Someone should tell me to sleep now.
I can’t. I’m in charge of all these rods of light that
are on everything I break. Look.
The streets are paved in sherbert.
Sporadically by bus, the sheriff.
You hear gunshots for the first time.
I’m in a pinch.
Don’t touch anything. This is what feels best.
I have nothing to say, I just wanted your phone to vibrate.
Throne like small light contours bone magazines
bomb blood the surface’s sun. Now rot lymph
pearl shaped mountain, blister river
unamply building schisms in self of snot.
Now fuzz into a snake. We waited too long.
Still smoking that magmic shit, way out shit,
waiting patient far & away the roadside
calculates no resistance shorn control.
Good strong humming shacks discovered yawning.
Take the plunge basin through the heaven hole.
This nasty ugly holy living body glowing
between every sinew, notch, measure of inner space.
We run the tunnels. We run the organs you sleep by.
Rub your lobes against each other. I dare you rub faster.
Why don’t you try on your excess suit.
We suggest jerking off to wear it in.
The end is nigh, so wade in baby oil.
Toss a nerve flare.
Everyone’s in my way on my way to die.
Don’t you see them seeing you?
Give me all your money & I’ll sew you to the moon.
Don’t eat other people’s children.
This towering glass tomb god continues forever.
Put me to sleep with enemas of snow.
I snort ghost tears &
go apeshit in my heartache.
Without the dance of masks nothing will be created. Be
a black djinn. Gun down the last cop in your head.
Out of my third eye I blow astral snot.
I want to be waterboarded just to see what the fuss is about.
Snuff loops in the fangs of the porn sphinx.
Good friends are living all around us.
When babies die they take all the flowers to heaven.
My phantom’s azalea is wet.
Dark rays peer at the text in my corpse.
I refuse to play the cloud anymore.
We in rainbow world celebrate corpse life
walking naked on stilts
baptizing high school girls in peacock’s blood.
In a rare conscious moment, I dug two hundred graves.
I’d like to live near a forest never far.
I believe in tree spirits. The roots gone rotten are me.
Against my better judgment I’m a cosmotron.
Quick. Pretend we’re learning to fructify.
Blond showoff doing lots of shrooms.
I count on the one thing I can’t count on.
I lie under a cow & bleed.
With this length of bamboo, take what you want.
The inside of a rainbow is brittle.
Holy traffic pain, glass fringe grasping scalp.
I like how she turned her period into a wet t-shirt contest.
The Milky Way is dumb; it feeds me wheat.
You are an ancient ritual I don’t know how to do.
Planted light & indoor swimming.
Uncomfortably distended, we’re building a space station
whilst I slit my wrists with a singing bird.
Oh god, here comes the rape fog again.
Your future’s puking fangs your heart roused.
I cannot stop fucking loving.
To believe rewrites the future’s suicide
smearing swans’ gore across empty classrooms
If you suffer in the grave, you can kill from it.
I take my stomach out to see where it hurts.
Help me find the cave where perverts hide the most
exuberant chandelier alone in the dark.
In the mind-bonding heat, a fugue state.
There are no rules, just feelings.
Take off your angels. Eat my death butter.
The mountain is a sound & a way of hearing the blood
of the sound of the earth, hearing us.
I love watching videos of hallucinating children.
I can, at will, but I’m not going to stop.
I am busy making a hole in the face of beauty.
There loops language, singing structure into existence.
The ravens are drunk. I hate to blast alone.
The sun is no bitch I want to fuck.
I measure myself by how long I won’t.
It’s just that: cataleptic, steeped delirium.
Inside my shaman burst dead at the feet.
If I lose everyone I love today, I deserve it.
Each time someone achieves his life
in literature each ear is pierced in four places.
At age four all I wanted was a palm-sized child
to pinch & hurt & make scream. That still is all I want.
God thinks I’m an asshole. I am an asshole.
Never again time to bend on a pain binge to swallow
the wings of the black vomit above.
I thought this shit only happened to ugly people.
What you learn sad is best remembered sad.
Perfume your meat with devil meat.
The universe puts his finger inside me.
I am now one of his angels of evolution.
One by one, I will open everyone up this world.
We’ll be here for the rest of our lives—
strangulated brainstems nursing god. So go
go to the library & do some laughing. Go to the hospital
& twirl & twirl around & around, chanting the names of
everyone you hate because it’s the truth.
Tweet, tweet, you’re alive, you ignorant asshole.
I’ve seen black magic horror stain the sun.
My time fetish humiliates every god I fuck.
Once again I see the worlds. They drip on me.
I need all the meanings of the inflamed.
This isn’t a dream, this is the sea.
Inside my dead burst angels at their feet.
I rumble for those I love. I open them, for them.
They were here. Here they were. There they went.
& what does this sun want with us?
Time is long or short to allow to happen to be dead.
To have been a thought we had, to look at the end. You
see yourself. What is the end? I can measure it now
in need eternal, in the same way that you’re made.
Matthew Suss lives in Chicago. His poems have appeared in Sprung Formal, Anomalous Press and NOO Weekly. He is the co-author of Shut Up & Bloom (iO Books).