The turtle dreams of strangulation in a green emptiness

A star is the graverobber of god

I texted the writers not all of them

Writing is sometimes being drunk while putting a mouse back together in a mountain

We can kiss here
is an eyepatch
for your moon
tattoo

I don’t know why anyone would want to see anything

What if his son
stayed put

just you and me,
tucked in midnight's fold,
sharing the day
in murmurs only we hear

I can’t move.
The weight is everywhere.
It presses into my chest
Like even the dirt want me to stop existing.

I screamed until my throat bled.
No one answered.
No one remembered.

I guess they moved on.

Thereunto Sky Filled with Scars
O’er our beheld Ocean of Teeth
Seldomly Throwing Up Clouds and Stars
In sets of three for three sets of Crying Trees
Up and upon each Screaming Mountainside
Till moons pass half past a Quarter to Live
Or they shan’t view their Island in my Eye
Instead betwixt a Desert and Crude Sieve
Alas, nary a River Through our Sun
Nor a Volcano up the Arctic
Dost commit to Minds Overrun
Or coups for Governments Oligarchic

this is translation of zen
into ink
an unfinished beginning away from the selfishness
of ink
becoming war and ending in deferent agility

i descore deferent in fun from no other meaning

planet nearest sun
found in a thermometer
a car, Mercury