More Love Hours

there's a place in everybody's heart

where you go when you don't know where you are

it's a trailer

in winter (flat tires are involved), and the smell

of old bacon, the smell of hot wires

in this world you escape the necessary demarcations

you find solace in the unholiest things

messiness becomes your only friend

you smoke kools and eat poptarts you smile

when you smell your fingers

this is

the kind of mess you fear in dreams

you see in dreams

a spectacle of yarn and corn

googly-eyes and lights out

the smell of thrift stores in 1987

do not ever forget the reason behind such stunts

the world of stuffed animals is cut-throat

but also poignant

full of hallmark moments drenched in gasoline

remember who you are

when you remember what you have to be

and suddenly

there they are

these horrible velveteen gods

fangs ready to sprout from lost

toymouths, lost moments

sewn-together amnesia, frankenstein love-letters

written with kmart markers

a

hospital closes down and

an amusement park opens up

there's no murder

just quilts

and more love

than hours

("More Love Hours Than Can Ever Be Repaid and the Wages of Sin," Mike Kelley, 1987, all kinds of shit made into one piece of art)