Are you alive?
Tendrils tickle the surface
And billows
Bloom from the core,
Ribboning thinner than
those things which breach
seawalls,
Seeping impermeable
To flirt with all sides of this vessel.
I saw in him the beauty
The same as I saw the beauty of
suffused ink, mingling
In delicate patterns of fluidity and filament.
His release quivers momentarily,
Hung in fluid stillness, and
Flushed with a desire to saturate.
In saturation, one may think it
Possible to be falling
Up through a falling surge.
We two coalesce at the bottom.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
This is my only moment
Of lucidity.
I lie on this bed,
On top of blankets
And pillows
And the ghosts of my lovers.
And I see the room, in which I lie
On this bed.
I am aware.
But this is not reality,
This dream-state.
My body does not move the way
It should.
I am twisted,
And frozen.
But not cold,
The icy streaks
Which paint the cement outside
Silver,
Have not taken me
As home
Yet.
Yes.
But I have forgotten that I have joints.
My hands and feet
Are backwards,
Connected to
Wrists and ankles
Which were removed,
When, I know not,
But replaced upside down.
Are they even mine?
I can see the lamp,
And feel its small light,
Like words,
Calling to me.
But I am paralyzed and cannot answer
It.
I hear, too,
A howl,
Like the howl
Of one hundred
Lost souls
Of a generation,
Not looking to be found.
And certainly not in
Any sullen art.
The howl settles
Like white noise
Into my gray matter.
This drone holds the only truth;
Ploom ploom tra da da da
Watching from within the room, but outside of my body,
I saw you,
The phantom.
For that phantom had
To be you,
Jeremy.
And you,
The phantom, stood over my body,
In its paralytic
Dream-state,
And he,
You,
Ripped through the flesh
And bone
And grabbed at its sin.
And he, you,
Ate my tarpaulin colored
sin.
It was then that I knew
That is what fills our
Porcelain,
No limestone,
Shells.
We are afraid of our own
Nondescript insides.
Get down from that perch
Above my head,
Jeremy.
You sit
Like a lead crown.
I wish to see you,
As you were then,
But also as you are now,
A figment of my subconscious.
I lose myself to my sullen art
And wish to sleep forever
In this dream-state,
In you,
My phantom,
My lead crown.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:58 AM UTC