The wicked, the naked, the holy abstract dying...
sinister whispers from their papery lips rasp,
painting lies on the forehead of Deity himself.
Black ribbons bleed, are used to tie the earth
onto its galactic post.
Sins, crimes, acts of inhuman terrorism
against children.
Each winking star the soul of a baby
best not brought here into this pestilence of spirit;
this disease of immorality.
Murderous hands cover eyes so evil they
cannot be looked upon;  the living become the dead.

Rather than the clean, quick nuclear fire,
we will dribble and ooze our noxious cruelty,
our diseased DNA and the pus of our vacant minds
until we make of earth, an abattoir.

i like broken houses a little too much.

         shattered glass rotting floorings
         dust and cobwebs and echoings
         so you can nearly hear the laughter and the cries
         of her old residents
         and how she's kept them in an ivory box
         all those years
         in her basement
         while everything else ******* falls to pieces
         and there's nobody to mend a single thing.

         maybe nothing's the same after hearing
         a hospital hall's echo and how he only
         tries to get away from the screams and kisses
         and the pristine courtains barerly let light in
         and he's a broken mess that hasn't been abandoned
         but the impending damnation breaks him
         and kills others
         death resides but so does life
         and which one is stronger

         and poetry cannot fix the world
         or fix her or fix him or anybody
         and buildings should be buildings and a dust-covered door
         should not be a call for my curiosity and i should not
         mark my fingerprints on it because my sweaty palms
         will make her shriek awake and believe
         someone's finally going to take care of her
         while someone else then walks away
         and leaves her walls stained

         i feel the allure of it somehow because
         there's no more ******* glass to stain break scratch
         within her so i must find some in me some that can contain her
         and contain me i'm falling
         fallingfallingfelldownandwhereaminow
         and hospital halls are nothing but white and sad and a cemetery
         that's being pieced together and it smells of cleaning products
         but the abandoned place has harbored entire lives
         so maybe i'd rather bleed out at an abandoned
         house without glass
         than next to a graveyard in the make

people tell me i should stop thinking so much.

i said i like broken houses
                      and what is a broken house
                      have i felt that cold in me
                      in bones and skin and nails
                      that scratch into a wall which
                      won't be even marked by daylight
                      and maybe it wasn't as broken
                      and that's why i relish in the
                      falling apart that sordid emptiness
                      the freefalling, such helpless moment
                      because daylight never made it better
                      nor worse because my eyes are blind
                      to color and sound and touch
                      and there's nothing that can change
                      how i perceive my surroundings
                      so don't give me lillies, look at my
                      walls and you will see the ones i had
                      already withered away in time in death
                      and having flowers depresses me like
                      it's some sick way of seeing death
                      and you killed for giving me something nice
                      so that i can think about you by night
                      but all i get to think about is
                      how that flower could've gotten to grow
                      and be even prettier
                      and how everything that's beautiful
                      one day loses all its petals
                      and we throw it away
                      so i fear that when i'm no longer what you want
                      what you pictured in your silly mind
                      then you'll throw me away like i'd do
                      with a decaying flower.

You realize that loving me could have killed you, but you still do it anyway.

n.e

doing yoga in my room
trying to level my
level my
anxiety

if the tension melts off my
shoulders and into the
ground, earthbound like a line of
tears, i'm holding my ear to the floor,
catching whispers of
energy leaving or gathering, perhaps both
a tangible exchange

                                              is
                                      skin
                   ­             my
my mind is rising            transparent, a bird hits
my window because she didn't see it, i turn my neck too fast and
pull a muscle, the only way out of this room is feathered by
ineffective attempts, planned escapes leading
nowhere, arms that reach but can't grab when everything i want is
catastrophic

doing yoga in my
room trying to le
vel my an
xiety, holding my breath
listening for the cautious whisper,
a voice that breaks in the tone of my own, hesitates
to form words, says in a quiet lull:
"I trust you"

melts

ener
gy lea
vin
g or
gathering,
perhaps both
a tangible exchange

Fresh grass kisses my cheek
I inhale the earth’s scent
And feel the buzzing ground

Seeds root up from the soil
Leaves laugh in the breeze
And I try to exhale the sound

Birds make a call
Out to red bellied mates
I crush the dirt in my hands

I watch you dip
Your toes in the river
And hope stems from every branch

When our bodies converge
I taste the sun
And a mist begins to emerge

We branch apart
You’re breath’s like pine
And I become a drop in the earth