Blue and pink twists together in the deep
Colossus is born
A spiral of beauty shrouded in a cloud of its own darkness

Ink blots were not the intention
Hide behind this natural curtain
Stay in wait where your beauty is kept to yourself

A philosophy only works if you’re all in
A religion is god’s until you’ve made it your own
Poachers are everywhere
Stay out of their boat

Cherry pickers are why the ocean is ink and oil
Fear in its blackest essence
Poisoned in its resistance

Anything on paper becomes a story
Why should we doubt if it weren’t for being scared?

Why is it so hard to look at written word as real life?
The significance was experienced in  the author’s mind

Fantasy is truly all we need
But when it is logical
We are affirmed
That there is more than what we see

Sit on a beach
Look at the stars of another planet
The depth is stacked upon itself at the horizon
White crests and
Frothy oxygen bubbles
Just like the one we live inside of

To think is to exist
So why not?

I stair up at the ceiling
My feet could be there
I just need to fall
I just need stairs

They call us desensitized for living in the real world
The depths are a part of our journey

But when you live in your head

You Indulge

I sing because I like microphones
Work because it’s better than sitting at home
Play instruments to keep my hands from getting cold

Intentions don’t matter until you do something that matters
And break even from trying to stay afloat
If you’re stagnant your heart has gone cold
Ice only touches the surface
Ice only floats

But I wish it would sink
Start from the bottom of whatever you drink
Or put your glass in the freezer
then it’s cold enough to freezer burn you into nothing worth eating

Ice is great on a hot day
But when the microphone drips a little condensation
From condensing thoughts into ice cube trays
From a condenser mic to a bath in a tub of ice
Take the heat off these words
And add water

Cain middle-fingered Abel
Why these brothers gotta fight?
Jacob groped God
And he touched his inner thigh

Jesus faced the Greeks and the Pharisee thinkers
Now we take communion and he passes over our sphincters

The Romans ****** into his hands and then they penetrated his side
He couldn’t get it up for 3 days and two nights

But now it’s free for all
And we didn’t get the chop
For being white guys with circumcised *****

Holy Spirit licked em’ all with the Pentecostal tongues
But don’t try to taste Judas,
since we know he’s well hung

Baby Jesus getting laid in a manger of a bed
John the Baptist died in prison but I hear he gave them head

God is bigger than you know
Stepping on his own snake
And when we get to Heaven,
We’ll see it on the wedding day

Cupid so confident
But cherubs are hunted with bows

An angelic Eros has taken a few arrows
And felt their warm sting for his own

Let your wings lose their feathers
So that love can be human again
Yet all the more divine

Two people on earth
Both looking up to the heavens
Rather than thinking their lover can fly

The clouds are low enough
Now they carry light from the street lamps
Glowing with hazy filaments
Touched by man

But in their unbuttoning fleece
I see the stars
And they will always be beautiful.

You’ll get to wherever you want
But you’ll be sadder than expected when you do

I can think a million miles a minute up here
But if my thoughts meet air, they’re floored

You will love the way the snow falls at that perfect angle
But hate that it had the nerve to show up halfway through March

I might wear a groove in the floor
But it’s just from routine
And being content with disliking everything

My head rolls down the crook of my arm
My mind spins backwards to where my eyes want to be
I’m staring at the ceiling now
I’m falling now

There’s wind in my ears
Everything is being hand-drawn
These pictures are day dreams

I wince at the apple in my hand
I don’t care what the first fruit was
But I know what my fruits should be
And my labor of love is cherry-picking as many watermelons as I can carry

My hair is three feet in front of my vision
And a second behind in hang-time
It’s grayer now
Pencil drawings look more like ink now
Etchings in a clay tablet

Writing messages on my ribs since I was born
You just run out of space
And there’s a fist-sized hole where my sternum should be

Closed for maintenance
Easy access
And you’re still beating it with your fists like a VCR that doesn’t work any more

You blow whispers into my ear
And your dusty words make my neck snap at the sound of static

There’s tape around my neck now
Family videotapes rewound with red
With all the conditions involved

I was the character who was out of place
And now I’m spliced into someone else’s movie

There are arms down here
They caught me?
They’re warm
I belong here

They stretch
They can hold me as I grow
They can send me off into the air like a clay pigeon

And now the picture is so far from digital
I can’t remember the last time I watched a show in the family pictures in the hall

The glass is cracked Dad
Mom, I’m not in any of these...

I take a bite of home-cooked leftovers at work.
There is a kiwi in my lunch bag
Coffee in the little cups by the machine on the counter

They see me.