I laid it down

And then I started hitting the stuff
and immediately the contacts fell onto the floor,
the ashtray broke, and you lost all the disks you’d spent hours on
For what?

to feel sexy for a moment or two
to feel glamorous
to feel wanted
to feel pretty
and If I wanted to I could dress in all pink
To feel like wanting you to make me breakfast in bed
even if it is captain crunch and you struggle and we giggle
as you try to juggle the bowls to the bed.

to feel open
to feel ready
to feel hatred
I wanted to just relax
and have fun
like everyone else

And I don’t even get any of the good shit out of it
not really
to the point
that would drive the average scumbag
to insanity
not the seasoned kind
Like me
soaked in flowers
and still the foulness does not leave me

my friends are robots
my enemies are conspiring
and my lovers
are “faking everything”
bring in the goddamn muppets
and Peter Jackson
and my head would be
a hit.

and I tried to lay it down today
For the first time
And here I am again
High like a Spiderman Kite…

And I guess I will try again

Levy walked the walk

Flipping in this flophouse
And I don’t think it’s because the building is haunted
I don’t think its because the drugs are so accessible
I don’t think its because my neighbors are eccentric or insane
I’m pretty sure I just quit hangin on.

Maybe when I was at the very peak of a roller coaster ride
And I screamed.

Empty bottles and cigarette packs
Are all over the fucking place.
Trying to decide if I can still eat
That 5 day old pizza
And not die
Cause, when I go
I’m going with style

I want to sink in my nails
And be the one
To push the button for the ride
And I think about levy
And I think about levy

The words don’t come the same now
I used to have at least
Beautiful thing of my own
The words.

Like an alley cat I know
That they like to take a night off
And prowl around.
Picking up things here and there.
And they lay the bloody corpse
In front of me
As a gift.

And so I’m supposed to repeat the cycle
Be replenished.

But sometimes when my words go out
Digging up old buried treasures
They bring back things
That I never wanted to remember.
I think about levy

Too bad
Suicide is so beautiful and romantic

I’d be all over that.

Huck Finn in the city

I have a very healthy sexual relationship
With myself
I never did put up that shiny canopy
That reminded me of unicorns and
Sword fights with sticks on the playground.

I can’t lose the image
Of me cutting out my pussy
With razorblades
And placing it on a cake server.

And when I ask myself
“What would Huck Finn do?”
I have visions of my own
handmade wood raft
and the splinters it left behind

If I was hitchhiking to visit Santa
I would pull up my skirt
And show some leg
For the ride.

I think people are out there
Hitchhiking to Jesus
I guess his pen name is L. Ron Hubbard

People have been hit
Crossing the street in front of the church
To get to the ATM machine.

Debbie Kirk is the author of two chapbooks “Lost Words of Suicide Lovers “(Pink Anarchkitty Press),
and “Valley of the Gallows” (Black Hoody Nation). She has been published in a number of online
publications including the following: Babel Magazine, Mystery Island Publications, Impetus,
Cherry Bleeds, Mystery Island Remark…a ‘zine of damn fine poetry, Lummox Journal, Foole’s Gold,
The People’s Poet, Sex and Guts etc. She has also been published in a number of print ‘zines,
to name a few: Failed Seeker, Fearless, Open Minds Quarterly, Transcendent Visions,
and Austin Celebrity Profiles. She is the creator and editor for Pink Anarchkitty Press.

© 2003 Underground Voices