Spring lasted especially long this week.
I
danced alongside the tall grass,
wondered about butterflies breathing the same air as me,
competed with the rays of sunshine.

But even in spring, there were storms.
I knew it would end.

So, who's next in line?
Autumn? Winter? Summer?

Winter.
It was pitchblack.
The night came too soon.
                   So I threw my ashes into the fireplace
                   and it lit up the room for a little while.

Autumn.
I saw red
eyes like autumn leaves.
Last night
                  I couldn't fall asleep,
                  so I held a candle to the devil.

Summer.
I heard myself breathe.
My palms shouldn't slip out of what I was holding on to.
                  and sweat shouldn't taste like metal.
                  I.....

I tasted metal and I SAW
RED
It watched me rearrange everything in my room
but nothing was put in place.
                   Clothes weren't the only thing that were folded
                   and these creases I wear on my skin couldn't be ironed out.

The blizzard took everything away.
It was pitchblack
I swear I saw myself in the mirror,
but I wasn't there.
                   And I swear you were there,
                   but I wasn't.

I breathed.
Tried to do so quietly.
Not wishing to leave any footprints in the sand,
                  I ended up bringing a shoe full of sand home.
                  That night,
I watched the sandcastle I build crumble into thin air.

IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where am I?
I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. Stop breathing.
I SAW RED. There's a hole in the wall shaped like a fist.
I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I can't look into your eyes.
IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where is everyone?
I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I'm sorry.
I SAW RED. I saw blue too
                       I watched the tides wash the bones I used to carry
                       and the skin I used to wear
                       away every night.

Red. Pitchblack. Breathe. Pitchblack. Pitchblack. Red. Breathe. I'm sorry. It's not my fault. I'm sorry.  BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE.

I watched the seasons change against the sun's will.
I waited
               for the calm after a storm.

I wished for them to stop.

I do not want spring, summer,  autumn, or winter
                         Just give my skin and my bones

**back to me.

i
this parody of life beyond
a roaring loom of time
like an embrace
momentous
through the battled equinox of chance
the stirrings and strivings
born of earth and sky
toil, whine, whimper, moan
wait and tremble, hope and pray
then
the clear shining after rain
we sail the lifetide
on leaky bottoms
never to sight dry land again

                   ii
behind
        the shards and wrecks
       of innocent vagaries
       of wayward plunges
       that flee the point
beside
       unobserved but observing
       a sentient mould of slime
       raddled
       at break-neck hurry
before
       is wrinkled wisdom
       mellow laughter
       a hand-made unborn
      of a callow womb
hereafter is ever
now is gone by
past is prelude

                  iii
snowwhite or pitchblack
       lowly or lofty
       free-born or fettered
       yearling or aging

      worms shall feast
      upon thy flesh  
      to elements irreducible
      and in thy nakedness
      come face to face
      with thy maker

Majestically under the ominous, dark clouds,
The rain pours over the Earth, moistening it in a hard, then gentle way as each drop, each body of water sinks into the bottom, vanishes,
With a rythm, each follow a purpose, a goal they want to reach.
Fertilising the earth after a drought, letting life grow out of light after those dark clouds make room for the golden light of the rising sun.
Let them be distorted, these drops of cheer, sadness, happy thoughts and agony, carried by the rough storms of an autumn afternoon.
Hitting the window, they display their tune with their delicate figure,
In harmony with the wistling wind and the growling of the sinister thunder the orchestra of nature reaches it's peak in this sensation.
The sky is pitchblack, yet crossed by lightnings every now and then,
Providing a lightshow, which might be a bit too dangerous to be around, for the music of nature, dancing, swaying across the clouds,
What is it that makes this silly storm catch my attention so much ?
Perhaps, the song of the lonesome rain when everyone escapes in order to not get soaked, is what truly touches my heart.
Because there is no one outside to listen to it.

~ Umi

One night, one evening
Girl, scared
O’re the toilet she’s heaving

Ok
Refrain
Another shot
On the way
Methane
*******
Ecstasy in her, broke veins
Insane
Propane
She puts down the bottle to find her
Left brain
Mundane
How to drown out
This pain
This pain

Her thought train
Now just an empty track
Please Father I pray
Give this girl her life back

Hey but,
This time around
She’s gonna be alright
This time around
She’s gonna put up a fight
This time around
She’s ready to ignite
Yea this time around
She’s gonna get it right

Sayin’

This time around
She’s gonna be alright
This time around
She’s gonna take it to the heights
This time around
She’s ready to rewrite
Yea this time around
She’s gonna get it right

Comeback
Icepack
She’s feeling around
Pitchblack
Missed that
Take a deep breath
Fill her air sack
Kickback
Relax

Stop time
Rewind
To the gods above
She whined
But they could only sit there and laugh
At the suffering of their favorite little handicraft

One second
from a blast
From the past
“Why me” she would ask
She would ask
Agast
Harassed
Daddy put his hand on her back
Abashed
She lashed
Against the bed
roughcast

Night after night
And day after day
Their little secret
Would never ever walk away

Down the street
Watch her feet
Clippings on the concrete
Retreat
So sweet
Calm her little heartbeat
Repeat safe
Repeat scared
Find comfort in ******* on her hair

Get away from him
Get away from them
She ain’t never gonna go back again
She’s on her own now
It’s up to her
Mindset switch
Emotional transfer

Ain’t nothing but a reflex you see
Little girl grown up
She drinks away reality

We met for coffee; well,
I had coffee and she had tea.
Her pics didn't do her justice --
Chin prim
Lips cursive
Skin that swam under mine,
Making the porcelain creamer cup blush.

She claimed
she had a quarter million members
That followed her.
it's good money she reasoned,
But not gloating;
More matter-of-factly.
Off the cuff,
I asked for her stage name.
She explained that she blocked NY
For work and family reasons,
Assuming I had asked so to
Watch her perform later
(Which isn't altogether untrue).

She measured every utterance,
Teleprompters behind eyelids
Feeding her perfectly crafted lines.

I use the Golden Ratio when I webcam
She said, as she sipped her tea.
I consider it an art -- or
At least that is what I tell myself.
I asked her to elaborate.
She said she was somewhat conflicted
About whether or not it was immoral.
But she was so even
With her response,
Almost as if it were compelled
By a formality
That was now checked off her list.

Her body language taciturn
Asleep, idle, screen-saved
Waiting waiting

Curve and line
Coffined for now to slake desires anon -
Her numbers in slumber, confined
Waiting to be crunched,
Flatlines Animated by pitchblack revelry
With one click

Turning them.

She said she liked to watch others
ya know, To see how they move.
She would even watch it at work,
Open in one of her browser tabs.
She took notes.

Lines triangulated
Liminal spaces given, hidden.

Digital lipstick smears
Tattooing amygdalas firing --
Allow them to slip in
Only to slip out of them
With an X.

We talked for an hour
And then left the café.
She asked me over.
I said not tonight --
The words coming out
As if willed by something
Outside of myself.

She walked off into the dark
And I kicked myself for saying no.

Her curves beholden to math --
Gyration of hip and waist,
Arms tendrils configuring, cavorting,
Slave to an inner-whorl
twirled and twirling --
One single objective truth, now
A convergence of secreting plurality
Into beauty and beauty and

That night I ****** off thinking of her
And came so hard
I pulled something in my back.

In between sleep and waking life
I transcended
Something.. I felt

Turned.

Bat on window sill
Still as the unflinching
Lidless abyss --
Then a quarter turn of its head --
Its beady eye catching streetlight --
Careening it off into a nonplussed
Night of nights.

Colorful

He didn't know they cared.
His lost self is drowning.
Alone in the world he dared,
To look at it all frowning.

He felt like a horse in the water
looking at the light.
He was never seen by his mother.
Gave up because of the fright.

For all this time he was alone.
No one wanted to see him cry.
For all the failures he saw his own.
And wished the world goodbye.

Gulped into a wirlpool of menkind.
Dark, pitchblack at the end of the light.
Nothing he could ever find.
Nothing could make him fight, at least not with all his might.

His idols are weak, and chose to walk on highways.
His family never blinked an eye.
No one could count all those days.
Were he kept asking himself why.

He was a wrong soul in his own life.
He did not belong in this fase.
Lied who he was and took the dive.
As if he was the only one in his race.

Those who follow me will die, he said.
So I will live on my own from now.
But life is not living while dead.
And he greeted his crowd with a bow.

His colours match mine.
That is what scared me the most.
Only I pretend to be fine.
While he saw more and overdosed.

What colour is it, that tangled our lifelines?
Will I meet my colour soon?
I hope it's bright, I hope it shines.
I hope it is the blue of the moon.

Or the pink of a lily.
The yellow of a bumblebee
Oh no, don't look at it silly.
It's not just the colours you see.

Whatever colour it is, it's not shown by the mirror.
We will never see what we carry.
All we will ever see is error.
We hate dispair, yet discard the merry.

He met the horse and the kid.
He was swimming in his own memory.
The thick liquid paint stuck on the lid.
He never even got to say sorry.

Let's paint the world with you and me.
Family, friends, that girl across the street
And for the first time, it's his colour I see.
My colour gave me the chance to meet.

And suddenly, everyone cared
All eyes were fixed on him.
Aknowledged what he had beared.
Everything changed on a whim.

The happy feeling of sorrow.
The delight of burning alive.
Because there's always tomorrow.
It's never too late to strive.

And with pain he said the kid goodbye.
He took the horse along.
He never again doubted why.
Suddenly falling didn't feel wrong.

For he fell and I fell.
And we both stood up on our feet.
We're all good and well.
Ready to start sketching on a new sheet.

What colour is it I wear.
Is it bright and prone?
I claim to have much to bear.
But I was never really alone.

My humblest apology if the following account
doth gross thee out forlorn childhood of mine
found further ostracization of me tantamount
being shipped off to a leprosarium.

As a chronic gold digger in early grade school,
specifically within nasal passages, I excelled at
locating awesome gooey gems. The pinky seemed
most opportune for button nose of mine as most
convenient handy implement to mine for juicy
succulent wads of yuck. Early academic ex pear
re: ants helped refine delicate art of reaching
pitch perfect snot. This individual craft essentially
entails extensive dexterity in conjunction with
recognizing ideal picking time. If one plunges

the little finger prematurely, nothing but a glob
of **** will dribble out. Best to wait until rock
hard sensation felt when applying pressure to
either nostril. The consistency of rock candy the
best analogy for this other than tasteful habit
instinctively learned when being housed in the
womb. Upon birth one or more phalanges often
solidly locked where mucus generated. This
common medical condition frequently requires
delicate intervention (usually minor surgery)

to separate glued gummy intertwined proboscis
with fleshy mitts. As a natural born miner for
the most moist and choice septum byproduct,
this man as one gangly whipper snapper mastered
the art of sifting thru the sinus cavity to extricate
boulder sized buggies wrote the book on this
ole factory chews. Unlike many other young
children who fancied this fun hunt for crusty
crab cakes like formations as delectable treats,
this grown man chose to paste them on under

side of his desk. No particular strategy for affix
sing goop upon the underneath section of old
fashion unit (whereby the top opened up and
provided a dish like formation to store materials)
motivated this daily cultivating for ripe buggies.
Within very few months, the front most section
became quite thick with wads of buggies that
quickly hardened into scaly coating displeasing
even to my high tolerance for gross. Since no
preliminary measure took place to map out

where to place the collection of daily glob,
inevitable contact took place with aging dried
buggies that felt like molting shells of insects.
Nightmares eventually took place incorporating
this scary goblin like creature (usually dripping
lugi with mossy slime), which sought out his
insatiable hunger for buggies. In these dreams,
I tended to be honored with razor sharp fangs
and dagger type fingernails. The latter came
in particular service to probe my pinocchio-

sized smeller with amazing ease to scrape
practically to the brain (and perhaps some
grey matter did get unintentionally removed)
to appease the buggy monster. Soon after wake
king up in a start from this nightmare (when
outsize still pitchblack), a blurry image seemed
to dart thru away leaving soggy footprints
closely resembling phlegm!

The first time I saw him was when I was 23.
Actually that's not even true, but that was the first time he stayed.
And he was so close this time.
I had seen him a lot of times when I was younger and still in school.
He visited, but he never came in. He just stared through a window to let me know he was there.

When I was 19 and my boyfriend left me, he showed himself a little more and a longer period of time, after he had left me alone for a few years.

But in that year, when I was 23, he came through the door and stood right in front of me and stared at me.
He didn't even leave for a few days or so.
He just stayed; whatever I was doing and I couldn't even see straight because he was so close.
Sometimes he even hugged me.

Since then he never left completely.
He is always outside my window, waiting to come in.
Before I saw him with me, I had seen him with a few other people.
Lots of people to be completely honest.
But I only knew what he looked like. He was tall, very lean and just pitchblack like the night, like a black cardboard cut-out.
Just like a shadow, he doesn't have a face.
There are not the right words to describe him.

What I didn't know at the time was what it would feel like to be with him.
Since that year I can still see him. With me and with others.
And I can feel how others feel around him.

I wish I wouldn't know how he feels, but I am glad that I can see him with others.
Because there is nothing worse than seeing and feeling him, while people tell you that he is not really there.
It hurts way more than it already does.

and ethereal disembodied spirits seen
from the other side of the woods
said phantasmagorical sound and sight
particularly experienced every Halloween.

Though dog tired
ready for the nocturnal sandman,
but before succumbing to countless winks
namely, quintessentially, telepathically
fictitious mythical character yours truly wired.

No matter five plus weeks
before onset of All Hallows' Eve,
or All Saints' Eve, celebration
(observed in many countries
on thirty first October).

The following adverse scenario unfolded
conjuring galling kickstarting
crepuscular dark shadows, albeit amorphous
fleecy, gauzy, hallucinatory... phenomenon,
whereby I witnessed
eerie superior imps jumpstarting piercing
along the edge of night
slithering out the twilight zone
framed within night gallery.

Banshees howled thru dense thickets danse macabre
quiet riot grimacing growling grumbling gremlins
existence ephemeral

Velkommen... awoke; sleeper now awake
Scare for treat?

All hallows eve festooned, spooked sight,
tricked out ghostly haunted house fright
especially 'pon dark and stormy night
courtesy creation gnarled skeletal hands
iron grip strength steely bewitched might
fashioned superior eerie abode I write

vampire fangs drip blood, hooked warty
nose, plus bulging popeyes will delight
ghoulish welcome invitation only will incite
blood curdling screams within hermetically
sealed soundproof ghostly abode airtight
dark shadows creep come edging fore sight

to trick come stroke of midnight
monstrous phantasmagoric shape shifting
demonic denizen tarantula spiders hungry to bite
though pitchblack insatiable appetite
thundering mandibles cacophony invite
hobgoblins, who render imaginary, nee virtual

towering infernos licking forked flames
casting webbed, whirled wide silhouette
faux netting floor to ceiling height,
whereby unexpected lull dead silence
unbearable anticipation hints most
fearsome, loathsome, unwelcome... outright

villainous, venomous, vociferous...
ferocious creature politically demonic,
bigoted, anti semitic greenlighting white
supremacist hatred, when deathly quiet
suddenly punctuated with "send him back,"

plus emanations chanting "he got no birthright"
before his err rash shun null itch for gunfight,
and exploitation of natural resources
elicits, kickstarts, snapchats, and twitters
total mortal kombat broadcast by satellite.