- Keith Banner
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)
