from Suicide Mountain
Matthew Suss
If not for kidnap, who'd have thought
our tracks would cross again like this?
The snow was falling like retarded little angels.
The valley was golden & you made it hush.
Suddenly, I'm floored by edible doom.
No alarm at the menu of constraints.
What's lost is the bright grammar of innocence.
I'm trying out this new thing called standards.
Right between the eyes, a doped crystal, sunk.
I only want to know people who are totally insane.
This time, riveted to the electric chair.
Nothing but a bridge of vines gets you to.
The stairway has folded. The mellow sky whispers
waxen fronds of gore into your sex pond.
...
It smells like ghosts, like a lifelong orgy.
I'll rest easy knowing you're color misting.
Some of these premonitions are sincere.
Out of the black I write pornography & film it.
I feel like a panda just shit rainbows on my mind.
Thanks to the grim reaper & other members
of the medium enforcing order.
Death is a new age scam. Smoke rises up
through moonlight, the texture of coral.
My text grows longer, slimier, a dull gleam,
panicles dissolving in rain, koala succulents.
In my dream my friends were raping me
& you just watched. They invited you
to compose melancholy lullabies with pastel-colored raindrops.
...
By nightfall, this birdfeeder will collapse.
I might as well lay all my faces on the table.
Basically everyone in the past needs to be alive.
It's simple, really. The sun expands water.
Behind my house: lilac encrypted porch,
a spider never more than six feet away.
I have more or less exhaled this romance.
Ecstasy & turmoil pour out a duct misnamed heaven.
Just reference the universal storm calendar.
The problem is pathos never made any money.
Little waves break on the banks of rivers.
The loss I experience is sweet when you arrive.
Everything turns into an omen then an angel.
The night, rapidly mutating to keep up with the real.
...
The truth is all my friends need to die.
Waiting for nonesuch to set you free I see.
I can imagine what my father would say.
Have you heard? Life has ruined everything he's learned.
In a hot tub I'm at my most sincere.
Deliver me from this sick, sick song we sing.
The insertion of money where the mouth is.
Consider this your invitation to the horror mansion.
My god, I'm really here to think of myself.
A million in prizes deep inside moonlight.
Allow me to present a paradise of girls fat,
a live feed of acorns crunched under feet.
I need a tractor to care for this lawn.
I've heard tales of whales speaking French at the bottom of the ocean.
...
Bad things are going to happen.
Go ahead then, cowgirl, plunder.
Break the nose, make it perfect.
I got human juice on my chaos orb.
It turns me on if my neighbors overhear.
The smell is the object & the goal.
I leave a trail of fuck everywhere I go.
What an autopsy I will make.
The annihilation of being into a diamond.
For god's sake, be thankful you're alive.
Ask any tiger dialoguing with the unexploded.
I open a tomb & the glow beast exits.
God, do me this one solid:
there are neon spikes all around us: turn them on.
...
A freak disease tears across this vista.
The sun ricochets off my scalpel.
Drunk alone on anchor steam,
tell the wolf I'll meet him at sunset.
I never had a problem I couldn't slut my way out of.
Something you wouldn't understand.
That you planned it from the start, your life.
Let's head back into the dark before we're seen.
Young children have beautiful feet.
Most miracles are very bad.
Another field of ordinary buttercups
vaporizes corpses into living metal.
Some days I wish I was a bird, then people
wouldn't be so grossed out when I crescendo.
Matthew Suss lives in Amherst, MA. It came from Maine.
