3 Poems
by Daniel Spinks

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The Shininess of the Rapture Falls Somewhere Between The Fashionably Wrapped Belly of Christ and Two Non-Indigenous Clams Having Sex Underneath The Sand Outside Of My Hotel Room In Guam

You will not like the end of the world.  Everyone has nosebleeds and will not seem to die.  This makes people happy. 

You will take a plastic ball which is numbered, which is painted.  Which you get to keep in the bubbled sleeve of your wrist.  They come in blue red yellow or black.  They will burn hands but not the ones that matter.  Later you can swap them for cigarettes or gasoline or children.

You won't need to cook your pets because your kids are born without stomachs.  Scientists can make cancer or extra ears on the backs of rats.  But a stomach takes time.  Give them twelve years and some spare parts you no longer need.  Maybe an arm or the inside of your face.

The dead husband you pick up on the highway for free can be made into oil or a senator. You'll probably just end up with some swamp-throated combination of the two.  It will make you forget if the skin you've held onto for so long is really yours.  Use his socks to hold teeth when you detach them from your children.

It is best to ignore the world and the way it burns without real smoke.  There is no need to save the testicle that rolls across your chest like a deflated grape.  You will have time to specify that you want your ashes spread over the hologram of a sea otter.  Anything to make you forget you are really a stalk of corn and no one has bothered to tell you.  Or even roast you over fire.  Anything to keep you from mounting the uterus.

In one hundred years people will find a baby who grew for so long it was three hundred and twelve pounds and took the shape of the tank it was born in.  With its neck-chunks wrapped around some plants and coated in mustard they will poke it with a stick and watch it move.  They will watch it make a stomach out of metal and legs and begin the process of learning how to shit in a circle with a radius of 70 ft... 200ft... 900ft...

I am telling you now to listen to the wet voice of God.  It says here is where a tree was pushed out of a plane because i ran out of bombs.  Here is where an infant was planted in the ground because i still wanted it to grow.  Here is where i bit into the earth just so i could have something to swallow.  It says but i am not the wet voice of God at all.  It says my child.


"I Want You To Know He's Not Coming Back"


mincey little mice
mincey little mice with little teeth

i miss my milk

no i miss my bowls and the way i poured my milk
and it was cold cold cold cold cold mincey little mice cereal

try not to eat a mincey little mouse ear or a raisin

mincey little mouse voice escapes its throat and says "hallelujah"
says "mein Gott!  wo ist mein Hut?"
my mouse is holy
little mincey ball of Spirit
but the Holy Semen moves in me too!
we will make love like the Elizabethans, mincey, and fill our skin with hot water
isn't that why you came inside?
little one
no you can not ask mincey little Mary

you are right
as right as God and kittens
showing concern for the dog's bladder is the right thing to do

i say mincey

he can have my tongue
we will chase each other and bite
we will live without our blood


i say mincey again
i got you Fetus for your birthday
you tried to return it without a receipt
don't cry little sweetmeat
you didn't want it to die like the poinsettias
which was an awfully mincey thing to do
but now he just sits on top of my microwave in a mason jar and hums
i don't have the heart to tell him my radio is broken

i left you out on the street for the garbage collectors to keep or maybe hug 
you have claws safe enough for children under three

rub the leaf
rub the leaf
rub the leaf

hold the pencil like a sock

The Raptor Laws were passed in 1979 to prevent hangnail, mid-life crises, babies--

go on my mincey
of course i am listening mostly to your tongue

--babies falling down wells, and fatal papercuts.  Some people still remember that the
year is separated into months.


mincey must hush he must finish the ghost

i rub the mincey

i muzzle the mincey little mice with my mouth

i drizzle the milk onto the mincey for my future

he asks me "is it true there will be no more bananas ten years from now?"

i say "jesus christ this isn't like the extinction of love or freedom or something else we
invented out of nothing; i just ate a banana this morning"

mincey nods
mincey crusts
mincey furs
and mincey hops

sure i like Latin

mincey interruptus

Jesus comes
only in pieces
if there are aliens the Lord must save them too



The plastics involved in such maneuvers correspond to a reverse mouth effect in tandem to the light spell of Kansas.  Over and over it is always Kansas and trees together, muted binding with the tongue.

Sent over a neon semen streak of pollen and ventriloquist rot it is a hangover problem for the wrenchmen.  Hands write the hooker checks for the constant but fleshly Buddha-bowing to suicidal flowers.  Tuck under a window groan.  Leave it with teeth and rummy and fences and naked in an egg-storm, there will be mending.  Carpet in closets.

Your sex chin is nice and rabbinical corresponding to an exegesis of outlines.  Three to four can trace out our insides while the rest form papillae canals, inguinal aisles for lovers of the stink anthem.  Perform to the face and sometimes to the cancer that is in your voice.  Skirt another fancy pinch daily with water.  May cause limestone rash over stockings and around the green womb-rubbing of your feather neck.

It is ahead of the skin-relish listening, dainty and with the grease-crackle of a melon rind.  All good mothers stand outside ice cream truck wheels, bent toward an Apollo space of erection soldiers.  They are in the movie dark, sucking out the jazzed salt.

The space over a tray and feces around noose orgasms.  They are not as nice as folders or the happening glance of birthday noses.  You with the soap devotion and meowing over a partially digested baby tendril.  Pretty in partial sun.  The overness less like a thunder plane and more like a beagle-angel eating the shit clippings of a warthog.

Lovely nasal plunge toward participation in the pants of a nun retching.  We will escape the blinking mute with christ flesh.  Twelve is a name not unlike this one.  Over a loud ear-stop our breath to no one else.  Listening like the murder of a swingset to purple mouth children.  Gymnasts out of a horse and frosting beneath pubic dirt hedges.  There are no windows in time for a gesture fuck of six-thousand.  Famous is not a cry.  There will be kittens.


The Nature Of Love

in order to save the pandas we must first eat them

we must carry around the swollen and hairless blocks of barely-conscious meat inside us

children will rub our convex bellies and we will say "right there...can you feel him thrashing around?"

we know one of us carries the panda messiah inside

eventually the dull and budding stubs of the panda's claws tear the lining of our stomach and we bleed and we die

the panda doctor reaches inside us to administer a slight sedative to the combative panda

after the spleen dries it is cracked open like a fortune cookie and the bleating panda is fed
and it lives


i am on ebay


i am up to $12

when you factor in shipping & handling that puts me up to $19.95

last night i had a dream where i was CAT W/ HOLE IN SIDE PERFECT SIZE OF
SODA CAN!!! AWESOME!!! and i was eating a chipmunk and decapitating it with my

i used my teeth to rip the wrinkled skin off of the chipmunk's skull

it felt like i was ripping up carpet

then i put the skull inside the hole in my belly which really was the perfect size of a soda
can and i went to the man who feeds me and pets me and he put me in a box


i glued a leaf to a pinecone and called it president
which i did mainly for the benefit of the chipmunks
who had all been bitten at one time or another by the squirrel-jesus

my chipmunk wife has been missing for three days
her hair in my mouth tastes like onion


i want to sketch an approximate representation of your jugular vein and look at it instead
of sleeping

i want to make a 3-D model of your jugular vein and look at it and touch it instead of

i will construct a robot that is capable of looking at the sketch of your jugular vein and
looking at the 3-D model of your jugular vein and feeling it and making a perfect copy of
your jugular vein out of: shrinkwrap, strawberry poptarts, dry ice, your jugular vein,
vulcanized rubber, cat viscera, my love,

and you will want to have this jugular vein more than flowers
and i will kill the robot
and take the jugular vein
and stuff it into the open hole in your neck
and you will say you love me
and i will say no that's alright


my fish begs me for the shorn hair of a goat
the shorn hair of a goat

i dump applesauce into his tank and make him a hat
i make him a hat with my bladder
i make my bladder with a bag which i make from a fish who stopped opening the teeth of
  her mouth for the shorn hair of my legless goat

mom calls

says intercourse with a dead fish leads to ringworms but she is wrong
the eggs i keep in my cheek feel like applesauce

i make a fish and swaddle it in the stomach of my beloved fish

there is always time
to lie belly to belly
in a nest
made from the shorn hair of my eggless goat


the squirrel-jesus smells like jack nicholson
he sees president and wants to talk


president won't answer

"fine...i have a pony...do you want to pet it"

"do you"

"what the fuck is your problem"

the squirrel-jesus reaches for his blood pressure medication
he sees a chipmunk and bites it


i am outside

i am checking the mail for CAT W/HOLE IN SIDE PERFECT SIZE OF SODA CAN!!!

i open a box and see a cat with a hole in its side the perfect size of a soda can

it's pretty awesome

because the cat is still alive and i only ended up paying $24.95 for this thing

i name it cinnamon

i made a playlist on iTunes that i would burn onto a cd and give to you if i were trying to
seduce you

i think you would like it

my favorite track is "dress sexy at my funeral"
if we ever get married i want to play it at our wedding
i would be willing to settle for the song by paris hilton
but i only included bad music to be ironic

and to show you that yes i can compromise


i want to make you a pancake

i want to pour syrup on this pancake and cut it into 27 little pieces

i want to take a plastic fork and stab each one of the 27 little pieces and put them in my

i will chew the 27 little pancake pieces until my saliva mixes with the syrup and the
amylase in my saliva begins to break down the molecules of the 27 little pancake pieces
into even more little pancake pieces

then i will walk over to your bed and stand over you and you will smell the delicious
pancake and wake up and i will let what's left of the pancake fall out of my mouth and
you will catch it in your throat and swallow it and you will be fed and i will love you this


the squirrel-jesus makes president a sweater

he wants president to look pretty in it

the squirrel-jesus is happy when president lets him put the sweater over his leafy head and
onto his brittle neck

he asks president for a hug

"no i understand if you don't want to answer"

"i'm sorry i didn't mean to..."

the squirrel-jesus is embarrassed

he goes home and listens to peter gabriel


last night i had a dream where i was chuang tzu dreaming he was a mountain dew can

i was inside a potato gun and i went through a cat
i woke up and couldn't remember if i was chuang tzu or a mountain dew can

then i woke up for real and cinnamon was on my face
trying to consume my soul like it was a milkshake


a bite from the squirrel-jesus will give you everlasting squirrel life
which is a lot worse than you think
especially if you are not a squirrel


sometimes cinnamon is sleeping and i pick him up and put a little doll's dress on him and
he is mad that i woke him up and he jumps on my head

i forgive him

he is just a stupid animal and i love him

he has spots on his belly that make him look like a cheetah

he watches lizards and moves his paws really fast and catches the lizards in his claws and
eats them

when i think he knows that i love him too much i put a can of his favorite food in front of
me and pet him and pick him up and throw him against the sofa from across the living

he comes back to me and i pet him and pick him up and throw him against the sofa from
across the living room

i put the can of his favorite food in the kitchen but he comes back to me and i pet him and
pick him up and throw him against the sofa from across the living room

he comes back to me and i pet him and spray water into his face and pick him up
and throw him against the sofa from across the living room

he comes back to me and i pet him and spray water into his face and yell at him and pick
him up and throw him against the sofa from across the living room

he comes back to me and i cry and go into my room to watch movies


i want you to let me do your laundry

i will pick up all the clothes on your floor and in your basket and put them in a pile

i will not sort your clothes by color
i will sort your clothes according to how much i want to wear them

i will wash your clothes with your favorite fabric softener and they will smell like teddy

i will dry your clothes and they will not shrink

when i put on the first pile of clothes i will smile
when i put on the second pile of clothes i will smile and take a pictures of myself
when i put on the third pile of clothes i will smile and take pictures of myself and i will
  be okay with loving you

i will fold your clothes and put them away
when you wear them it will be like we are sharing skin

my chipmunk wife has better shoes than you
she makes the prettiest snow angels
she washes my socks and brings me oreo cookies from the kitchen while i watch tv
i put her in my mouth and she checks my teeth for cavities
i cook her tomatoes and roast beef and english muffins with cream cheese and jelly
i build her a studio for her watercolor paintings of jesus christ and trees
if we had a son i would tell her it's not her fault he is gay
i let her choose which side of the bed to have
i pet her and let her go shopping for candles
i cut my hair and glue it to her back and she is warm
she loves me more than you


i would let you touch the mole on my back
i would let you say it's gotten bigger
i would let you tell me it's cancer
i would let you cry and tell me i have seven months to live
i would let you put on a velvet underground record and hold me
i would let you leave me and fall for someone with better teeth

all i want is to lie down under a blanket and watch movies from hong kong about love
and eat cereal

i will draw pictures of you in the margins of my ugly poetry books
i will forgive you and let you tell me i'm going to hell
i will forget your name and promise to be dead


i only love you when you are sick and your teeth hurt
when your voice is wet with mucus and your mouth smells like pills
you ask if your duodenum is sexy and i say of course your duodenum is sexy
it is the sexiest duodenum this side of the mississippi
the way it matches your eyes when you wear that white cotton shirt is lovely
oh and the way it catches the sunlight after a night of salads and repression...

i want to be sick the way you are sick
tissues squeezed like nauseated flowers in your fist
warm flood-damaged skin pooled over cheekbones

i lick your teeth that hurt and swallow the light film of spit
i feel nothing in my heart
i think your love is like seaweed being draped over my burning eyelids


i am a crappy panda
i am a crappy sac of a panda
i am no longer on the endangered species list
someone told me that pandas are the size of a stick of butter when they are born
look how far i've come
if there are too many pandas people will be hungry and cut me into cubes and put me on
they will put me in cages with other pandas for me to fight
they won't try to make me mate with a cute female panda
i will have to go to mexico and take children hostage to pay the mortgage on my house

i am sorry children
i am not special
i have to pay my taxes

i tell my wife to call me “mr. panda” in bed
i start a blog called “the crappiest sac of a panda”
it says i am interested in many things like “Postmodernism” and “Politics” and “Reality  
  Television” and “The Clash” and “Kurosawa” even though i've only seen Ran and part
  of Seven Samurai
no one comments on my blog because it is too crappy
instead of updating my blog i order Lisa Frank stickers on the internet
i have S&M fantasies involving unicorns
i tell my wife this and she laughs
i tell her i am not kidding
she says i need help
i say i really was kidding
i got her good with that one

i don't think i have health insurance
my fur is turning yellow
something came out of my nose that looked like a scorpion
i have to order special bamboo from asia

no one cares if i die

if i murder a bald eagle that will get someone's attention

i tell my wife i am lonely but really my iPod just broke and i don't feel like talking
i sleep for fifteen hours in a row which is not good for a normal human
but i am a panda
i write a story about making friends and going to pumpkin farms with them and buying
  matching t-shirts
in the story i don't have to special order an XXXXXL size t-shirt since i am not a panda
  but a normal XL size human
i go to the video store and look at every video they have
when my wife calls i push the red button on the phone underneath "Ignore Call"
i wonder where i can find panda porn
i go on the internet and find a panda-cam on a zoo website
two pandas are mating
i don't care
they could be two female pandas mating and i wouldn't care
i google "depression"
listed under symptoms it says "decreased sex drive"
i take a nap since apparently i am depressed and also to ignore my wife
i wake up and watch thirteen episodes of Grey's Anatomy on DVD
i try to go back to sleep but my wife keeps saying things
"i still love you very much" is a combination of words in english that makes her quiet

i can't sleep
i think tomorrow i will make pancakes


the squirrel-jesus bites my chipmunk wife
i write her a letter
she sends me a note that says she can't see me anymore
she is in love with the squirrel-jesus
she says she is praying for me

i look at cinnamon and feel bad
i compose a sonnet detailing my immense remorse and requests for god's forgiveness
i also include a thinly veiled fetishistic reference to queen elizabeth
i copy the sonnet onto 207 grains of rice
i show them to cinnamon but he seems unimpressed
this time when i go to pet him he doesn't flinch

i go outside with cinnamon and say "here watch this"
i purse my lips and look up at the sky
i throw the grains of rice into the air
it is very symbolic
birds eat the grains of rice and explode
cinnamon rushes to eat them like their organs are made of catnip
i can tell he is happy and he loves me
i tell him god works in mysterious ways


i show you the ad

"PET DUCK NEEDS A HOME!!!  Fenced Yard A Must"

i say please move-in with me

let's fence in our yard

let's adopt this duck

you say you want a squirrel

i say i don't want rabies

i say please

you smile

i make an ironically misogynistic joke about your capabilities as a woman

you pretend like you're going to hit me

i wish you really would

we cook soy hot dogs on the grill and look at the duck

i make it a pair of pants for halloween

i love you

i take one earbud out of my ear and put it in yours

you say what is it

i say the saddest song in the world

"puff the magic dragon" is over and we are still standing close listening to the static
playing through my iPod

i am glad you don't hug me

i am glad there are chemicals that smell like green apples and that they are in your

north korea does not aim nuclear missiles at us

we are never sad

the duck enjoys the rest of his pantsless life eating pancakes

when we die we are not sad or happy

we are in heaven and we are alive

even my iPod is resurrected

the one i had to throw away because the battery finally died

Jesus doesn't have to ask to borrow it

i wonder what song he is listening to with his eyes closed

he is beautiful

listening to my song