EVERY LAST ONE

a girl with a tattoo just above her cooch, reading:
"let me be all the words."
well, girl, let me tell you,
i've been searching for one that will convince me to trust her & allow her to
let her be all of my words,
every last one;
please erase all the text
from my mind with no
backups & no chance of
memory recovery,
a cerebral scrub,
a literal brainwash,
one so beautiful & open & free
to inspire the fire inside me,
to assure me of self-confidence,
to help me keep the score at all times
& the mission intact, well-defined,
& the kind of energy to allow me to execute the
battelplan without a hitch.

yes, take my words, all of them,
they torture me with their implications
& potential & their fucking influence;
it's as if words are my terminal disease;
whoever you are (& wherever) right now,
my love, my future savior & soulmate,
i don't care what you do with them,
smash 'em to tiny bits with a sledgehammer,
absorb 'em into yr. womb so our damn kids
will catch the damn disease,
bury 'em at sea or deconstruct their
ability to communicate any semblance
of meaning
(what little there is, & as evil as they are),
wear 'em on yr. sleeve, eradicate language altogether
while you're at it,
or/& if you like 'em,
then
take 'em as they are & keep 'em,
publish 'em, turn 'em into commodities;
but whatever you do, me future amor,
do NOT give 'em back to me.

i'll just fuck 'em all up.