I’m trying to sing to my wife, trying to pay off Death to keep him out of her snatch. I tell her about the pubic hair of pigs and blood tsunamis but she won’t open her eyes. Los Angeles is crawling with lice, according to my daughters. I comb their hair and look for lice but it’s hard to find them. They must be quick. I feel them in my own body. The lice. On my daughter I find only evidence in the form of eggs. I lay on the floor and the butterflies land on my face. I want to be adored is the message. In the street the whores are cutting each other’s hair for the hanging or to sell it or to get rid of the lice. What’s the matter with these bitches? These egregious bodies: they want to blame the hair? What’s in my mind tonight? I don’t know but in my heart of darkness I have abortions and candy surrealism.

 

 

 

 

GöranssonJohannes Göransson is the author of five books, including most recently Haute Surveillance (Tarpaulin Sky, 2013), and the translator of several more, including works by Aase Berg, Johan Jönson and Henry Parland. He edits Action Books and Action, Yes, writes for Montevidayo.com and teaches at the University of Notre Dame.

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