dissident - Hello Poetry

Barefoot, the closed system steps into the dewy universe, ankle-deep in the blood-warm Argentine grasses A skull-cap fracture— splitting wide, spilling cloudy seminal nebulae, star clusters tangled in the web of libidinal synapses. The neocortical moan of primitive aloneness rattles the damp debris of a forgotten belt— dead planet husks, ghost rivers of green, echoes of lives, of songs that never were, that always are. Now— Cacophony swells, the chittering rise of insect life, throbbing pelvic heat, the ****** pulse alive. Edges commingling, penetrate, dissolve— everywhere in the sonic bloodstream race of pure indigo energies Mystery watching itself, standing naked in the starlit silence.

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Feb 19, 2025

Feb 19, 2025 at 6:10 AM UTC

dissident

XI

Barefoot, the closed system steps into the dewy universe, ankle-deep in the blood-warm Argentine grasses A skull-cap fracture— splitting wide, spilling cloudy seminal nebulae, star clusters tangled in the web of libidinal synapses. The neocortical moan of primitive aloneness rattles the damp debris of a forgotten belt— dead planet husks, ghost rivers of green, echoes of lives, of songs that never were, that always are. Now— Cacophony swells, the chittering rise of insect life, throbbing pelvic heat, the ****** pulse alive. Edges commingling, penetrate, dissolve— everywhere in the sonic bloodstream race of pure indigo energies Mystery watching itself, standing naked in the starlit silence.

26

Sky. Mist pigments scrape. Tattered remnants of dappled clouds. Chrome yellow. Translucent saffron. Then ochre, to umber, to gloom. Vision smudges into sound into touch. Cricket rhythm— Mind intuits the quiescence at the center. Order / Hazard. Direct transfer: nothingness into shuddering flesh against the blast of sunrise. Her. Deer track wet. Her rip tides. Slake my thick old predation thirst. But— I am alone. Like water vapor, suspended in the empty medium. A mirage. Dining with ****** with lepers, with fever-eyed puppets, with whatever lingers between the edges of sleep. The brain settles for the image, stored away somewhere in the synaptic catacombs. Pulling up her scintillating portrait pleases it no end. A self-perpetuating mechanism— fragments clasp and cling together, peeling away. Drinking my fill of blood and saltwater deep in the caverns of solitude. The hollow-no-body devil god man hovers between synaptic gaps, languishing among sharp fragments of thought, hoping to string a few together, to escape through a lone slit of starlight. Exalt, suffer, howl— scalping the loneliness of the clotted, humid tropics. Come back. Hello. Come in. Are you receiving? Let me know if this message makes it. If it cuts through the concertina wire, through the melting dusk, through the dumb, hungry-eyed militarized males, through the empty hands of warm waiting women To— hawkwise— spiral up on the currents of my breath against your pale neck, your cheek, your ******* Through, in, and out— Our breathing sylvan heat. To lose itself awhile in the cirrus— or fall down somewhere, to drown within kudzu-choked deep. Somewhere, out in the vast dark, in that nothing-nowhere-universe, her kitchen light is on.

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Feb 7, 2025

Feb 7, 2025 at 8:03 AM UTC

dissident

Concurrents

Sky. Mist pigments scrape. Tattered remnants of dappled clouds. Chrome yellow. Translucent saffron. Then ochre, to umber, to gloom. Vision smudges into sound into touch. Cricket rhythm— Mind intuits the quiescence at the center. Order / Hazard. Direct transfer: nothingness into shuddering flesh against the blast of sunrise. Her. Deer track wet. Her rip tides. Slake my thick old predation thirst. But— I am alone. Like water vapor, suspended in the empty medium. A mirage. Dining with ****** with lepers, with fever-eyed puppets, with whatever lingers between the edges of sleep. The brain settles for the image, stored away somewhere in the synaptic catacombs. Pulling up her scintillating portrait pleases it no end. A self-perpetuating mechanism— fragments clasp and cling together, peeling away. Drinking my fill of blood and saltwater deep in the caverns of solitude. The hollow-no-body devil god man hovers between synaptic gaps, languishing among sharp fragments of thought, hoping to string a few together, to escape through a lone slit of starlight. Exalt, suffer, howl— scalping the loneliness of the clotted, humid tropics. Come back. Hello. Come in. Are you receiving? Let me know if this message makes it. If it cuts through the concertina wire, through the melting dusk, through the dumb, hungry-eyed militarized males, through the empty hands of warm waiting women To— hawkwise— spiral up on the currents of my breath against your pale neck, your cheek, your ******* Through, in, and out— Our breathing sylvan heat. To lose itself awhile in the cirrus— or fall down somewhere, to drown within kudzu-choked deep. Somewhere, out in the vast dark, in that nothing-nowhere-universe, her kitchen light is on.

70

Yearning fractures Into infinite glittering threads of creation— Milky-thick droplets, Glazed nectar trails the comet’s blazing Spiral tail. Naked and ferocious, The Hollow no-body Man, Born Redeemer of fleeting anomalies, Dances round the bonfire Cradling the molten heart, Wearing the masks of deep survival Laughs With a razor-wire grin— The sharpened jagged edge of flint In God’s charred blackened hand. The hand of fire reaches out. The hand of shadow reaches in kind. Creation consumes Creator Slick *** sweating, cabled muscle skin tangling in the dark, Spasms electric. Behold: Now Keeper of dripping-wet dreamthirsts, Slaked by blooded primeval romance— The final death wound surrender —An annihilation, sublime.

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Jan 23, 2025

Jan 23, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC

dissident

Hollow

Yearning fractures Into infinite glittering threads of creation— Milky-thick droplets, Glazed nectar trails the comet’s blazing Spiral tail. Naked and ferocious, The Hollow no-body Man, Born Redeemer of fleeting anomalies, Dances round the bonfire Cradling the molten heart, Wearing the masks of deep survival Laughs With a razor-wire grin— The sharpened jagged edge of flint In God’s charred blackened hand. The hand of fire reaches out. The hand of shadow reaches in kind. Creation consumes Creator Slick *** sweating, cabled muscle skin tangling in the dark, Spasms electric. Behold: Now Keeper of dripping-wet dreamthirsts, Slaked by blooded primeval romance— The final death wound surrender —An annihilation, sublime.

28

Drifting inside God’s vast, blue bloodstream, Goodnight to thee, anthropocentrism— Mitochondria choke-drown in error’s blank stardust. I am taking root now, pressed between the Earth’s ragged furrows and the warm, breathing sky. From fountains of sweetest oud, I rise, glistening green, bathed in a warmth alive, an ****** pulse of the older memory. In it, the eye of the blind Beholder spies seeds of a forgotten dream— germinating, dipping fingers into the river named time. Out of it, a silent roar blooms: a thousand aromatic oceans, buds splitting into lavender pagodas, trumpets framed in soft, sweet musk. Rapture. Sage, broad and leathery as an elephant’s ears, curtains cascades of orange-blossom snow that cool my sweat-drenched brow. Tangled together, wild ivy tendrils pull us under, drawing heartstrings beneath rosewater pools. Breathless, we float, ensconced in a crystalline life-dream: each moment’s petal drooping lazily over the next. Primordial whispering—wordless, voice hums through roots and bones, lifting, sinking, settling into soil shadows’ laughter, older than light.

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Jan 20, 2025

Jan 20, 2025 at 2:42 PM UTC

dissident

Acacia

Drifting inside God’s vast, blue bloodstream, Goodnight to thee, anthropocentrism— Mitochondria choke-drown in error’s blank stardust. I am taking root now, pressed between the Earth’s ragged furrows and the warm, breathing sky. From fountains of sweetest oud, I rise, glistening green, bathed in a warmth alive, an ****** pulse of the older memory. In it, the eye of the blind Beholder spies seeds of a forgotten dream— germinating, dipping fingers into the river named time. Out of it, a silent roar blooms: a thousand aromatic oceans, buds splitting into lavender pagodas, trumpets framed in soft, sweet musk. Rapture. Sage, broad and leathery as an elephant’s ears, curtains cascades of orange-blossom snow that cool my sweat-drenched brow. Tangled together, wild ivy tendrils pull us under, drawing heartstrings beneath rosewater pools. Breathless, we float, ensconced in a crystalline life-dream: each moment’s petal drooping lazily over the next. Primordial whispering—wordless, voice hums through roots and bones, lifting, sinking, settling into soil shadows’ laughter, older than light.

40

I bathe In the moon-soaked Ocean of you, Sewn Soul to soul. 31 years I’ve spun On the compass of rolling Emerald oceans—your eyes. Not once have I found an edge of you. How could I have believed you were outside of me? You’re not shaped like a body. You’re shaped like a mango tree. I bathe In the great golden sun of you, Churning in honey-colored bliss, Cradled by the warm arms Of every mother that ever lived. Your fractal logic unraveled me— Snapped instantly, like a dry branch. I can know your momentum, Or your position— But never both. Now, you’re just spooky action at a distance. I scratch and scrape the stars, Dragging the ragged pieces of (my) heart, Dreaming of an angel dancing on the head of a pin, Shiva spinning on the head of a pin, A wild swan leaving home after home behind. Madness. Laughter perched at the edge of intimacy, Pretending that you’re Sleeping beside me, Breathing beside me, Multiplying and adding powers by the gleam of your laugh.

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Jan 15, 2025

Jan 15, 2025 at 9:25 AM UTC

dissident

Open your eye, Shiva

I bathe In the moon-soaked Ocean of you, Sewn Soul to soul. 31 years I’ve spun On the compass of rolling Emerald oceans—your eyes. Not once have I found an edge of you. How could I have believed you were outside of me? You’re not shaped like a body. You’re shaped like a mango tree. I bathe In the great golden sun of you, Churning in honey-colored bliss, Cradled by the warm arms Of every mother that ever lived. Your fractal logic unraveled me— Snapped instantly, like a dry branch. I can know your momentum, Or your position— But never both. Now, you’re just spooky action at a distance. I scratch and scrape the stars, Dragging the ragged pieces of (my) heart, Dreaming of an angel dancing on the head of a pin, Shiva spinning on the head of a pin, A wild swan leaving home after home behind. Madness. Laughter perched at the edge of intimacy, Pretending that you’re Sleeping beside me, Breathing beside me, Multiplying and adding powers by the gleam of your laugh.

35

The tanned Dyed Indigo firemaker Blood drinker never-slaked celibate wipes away every handprint Leaves no track droplet Puller of the kingpin axis the Arrogant flame A desperate Suture Nobody

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Dec 30, 2024

Dec 30, 2024 at 8:41 AM UTC

dissident

Mutt

The tanned Dyed Indigo firemaker Blood drinker never-slaked celibate wipes away every handprint Leaves no track droplet Puller of the kingpin axis the Arrogant flame A desperate Suture Nobody

16

I find myself again performing the ritual of changes at the clotting edge of sunset, where shadows slip silent through reeds and brackish waters, thick with primordial mist. The sky blazes indigo, fades to ochre, to umber— and then to that dreamless, colorless hue nightfall stretches across the horizon, serene as a young god in asana. A delta of sandhill cranes rises overhead, their bugling, sharp, piercing the rugged dusk— autumnal, deep, woven from ten thousand shades of mauve, gunmetal, plum. One older bird lingers behind the flock, his scarlet brow an open wound glimmering against the vermilion cut of sky. He glides, unhurried, in perfect silence. Listening to their ragged calls, I feel my body dissolve into the trembling stillness, brilliant, vast, time herself, exhales.

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Oct 22, 2024

Oct 22, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC

dissident

The Crane

I find myself again performing the ritual of changes at the clotting edge of sunset, where shadows slip silent through reeds and brackish waters, thick with primordial mist. The sky blazes indigo, fades to ochre, to umber— and then to that dreamless, colorless hue nightfall stretches across the horizon, serene as a young god in asana. A delta of sandhill cranes rises overhead, their bugling, sharp, piercing the rugged dusk— autumnal, deep, woven from ten thousand shades of mauve, gunmetal, plum. One older bird lingers behind the flock, his scarlet brow an open wound glimmering against the vermilion cut of sky. He glides, unhurried, in perfect silence. Listening to their ragged calls, I feel my body dissolve into the trembling stillness, brilliant, vast, time herself, exhales.

23

My face reflected in her scratched sunglasses. Her crooked teeth, floral scent tattooed on my brain stem, wrestling with the ripe blush pink skin stretched over a naked clavicle. I am calm as she unspools, inching ever closer through sun-warmed grasses, asking— Barefoot & electric, ponytail tight, blue eyes pinned to Saffron lips tracing circuits, playing damage control with my structure-fire wiring. She climbs naked through My razor wired nervous system. A deep soul cavern spark— two embers flaring, momentary, through the darkened dazzle, leaping Through the cinders blooming in our ribcages.

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Oct 15, 2024

Oct 15, 2024 at 8:47 PM UTC

dissident

Clover

My face reflected in her scratched sunglasses. Her crooked teeth, floral scent tattooed on my brain stem, wrestling with the ripe blush pink skin stretched over a naked clavicle. I am calm as she unspools, inching ever closer through sun-warmed grasses, asking— Barefoot & electric, ponytail tight, blue eyes pinned to Saffron lips tracing circuits, playing damage control with my structure-fire wiring. She climbs naked through My razor wired nervous system. A deep soul cavern spark— two embers flaring, momentary, through the darkened dazzle, leaping Through the cinders blooming in our ribcages.

32

I still feel like a boy sometimes, tempted to roll out toward the edge of things, where the Earth falls away into silence, and the warm dark swallows me whole. I lie here, stillness itself, lost in the scent-memory of my mother’s dying breath. I am there, fully— with her agonal breathing, cold pale limbs, and I am outside, in the palm’s slow sway under the warm subtropic night, undifferentiated. With her final burgundy heartbeats fading, I am singing in the last chorus of ten thousand cicadas.

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Oct 11, 2024

Oct 11, 2024 at 9:42 AM UTC

dissident

Psalm 42

I still feel like a boy sometimes, tempted to roll out toward the edge of things, where the Earth falls away into silence, and the warm dark swallows me whole. I lie here, stillness itself, lost in the scent-memory of my mother’s dying breath. I am there, fully— with her agonal breathing, cold pale limbs, and I am outside, in the palm’s slow sway under the warm subtropic night, undifferentiated. With her final burgundy heartbeats fading, I am singing in the last chorus of ten thousand cicadas.

22

Drenched horse sweat kerosene spill Hands splintered & suntanned Watching cobalt blue dragonfly Land on barbed wire Carefully

0

Oct 2, 2024

Oct 2, 2024 at 5:43 PM UTC

dissident

Untitled

Drenched horse sweat kerosene spill Hands splintered & suntanned Watching cobalt blue dragonfly Land on barbed wire Carefully

5