My Belly is the Whole of the Law – Forrest Muelrath



We live in a very litigious society
and this is the price we must pay
for free horse porn.

Can I show you how to write DMT
on jailhouse walls with poop,
as you regulate the gendering of bathrooms
with an iron fist?

No strangulation can withstand the law
of an anti-abortion bomber.

Football hard drug and girlfriend abuser —
now what are the Browns going to do
for a quarterback next season?

Let me ask you a question:
do you want to love me
or do you want to eat me?

hahaha you moron.
what are you doing in jail
If you’re gonna do something stupid
on the internet
do it before friday
so you don’t spend the weekend in lockup,
waiting for the judge for 60 fucking hours.

How come nobody remembers snafe babies but me!?
Did someone in my junior high school
just make up that word,

It refers to a method of conceiving child
involving a straw, semen
and the butthole of a sex worker
who trades in crack cocaine.

I guess it could be that the term
crack whore
is just not as popular today
as it once was.




   Believe it or not, it is very clear to me that the avoidance
of all things wet has helped keep my emotions more
    stable —

      It must be easy for clouds to find the void


           to do
     is rain.


A few Days in Jersey


Dr Kiki Carlos Williams 
after days on end 
injecting himself,
from his big leather doctor’s bag,
with  pharmaceutical grade 
What if Elsie grew a dick? 
became so hungry 
he ate the stones 
stuffed with a speculum
deep inside his belly
As he thought to himself 
that deer in the yard 
eating goldenrod 
is an idiot. 



A Sudden and Glorious Spring


A flight of pigeons burst from the ground
in front of my face.

Craig could go to jail for a long time this time.

I just returned from Cuba:
New York needs more jazz and communism.

Angel has been at her mom’s place for months
and has not responded since last week
— sometimes psychosis comes and goes
in plateaus.

Unless you think it’s better
that we cut things off completely,
you should try to get in touch
— kiss me again in the whispers
of tulips and daffodils
floating thru the morning sun.
Because by the time May rolls around —
with that climate like
boiling seas of the apocalypse,
skipping spring
for global warming —
maybe I’ll have blocked your number.

You won’t go to heaven
I won’t go to heaven
We won’t go to heaven
And I won’t see you there