Polonius to Prufrock

This is my body.



This is my body.



This is my body, help me hold it together. 



Help me hold it together.



Help me hold it in tight.



Keep me from writing another



tonight. You



 



dumb piece of shit. You



think I should think



*brevity* is the soul of wit?



Liar, lyre. Veins on fire.



Wrapped round my body like piano wire.



 



Oh I can’t count my fits 



or the rest of my bits. 



But it says on my lid



 



that I come complete



with scandals and beatz



and sublime, ravine-ous, Venusian conceits.



 



switch.



*Satan broke his mirror when I came to you.*



*I sent a list of everyone I wanna maim to you.*



*And it was hot. But if it’s all the same to you,*



*I’ve been put off by the feeling you’re a game to you.*



*I’d effuse jagged flesh, leave my fame to you,*



Wait.



Was that a sigh, you



depreciated fuck?



Are my lines going nowhere? Am I too



embarrassingly millenarian for 2014? I know I really should be scrubbing amnion’s tatters 



with *this*



till they shiiiine like the top of the Chrysler Building. Or



is it that I seem...



tame to you?



Render me bread:



I’ll pass the blame to you.



 



switch.



Oh, to be fecund,



roiling, vast.



I scan in Widener



and poetry class.



My skeleton’s shaking, 



possessed of an ass. 



*Enough* inked twice on my 



biomass.



In my unending quest



to break* with the past



* even, up, bad, ground,



   clean, and last



I am going to dearticulate the joint between my tongue and throat.



 



Comes break, on loping on long. Suds came armies on hot concrete: ticker feed. Ragged skinjob. 



You should



understand that you do non-trivial harm.



 



*Temet nosce.*



What art thou?



-- Fuck, shit, ass, balls, 



*ow, ow, ow.*