Stomach somersaulting as the vessel cuts through frothing waves. Seventeen-year eyes split open long enough to photograph the ocean.

It wrecks my head.

****** back to a svelte boy on the green. Crouched with parts convex—awakening new territories. Every movement rippling through memory.

Until my mere existence is ad nauseam, personified.

Let me just slap, slap, slap the face until blood is ice water. Shuffling naked feet onto the quilted altar. Bottle of wine to consummate the lie.

This unsheathed saber will be my dread eraser.

Guts back-flipping the first time I take it all in. A lubricated overture until a symphony of deliciousness rushes through my thirty-year spine.

Alas…every crest, crashes.
Every joy, disposed of.

& when night comes, I’m alone in this tide pool. Running low on oxygen, but I’ve got oodles of unsynchronized love.

The wet blade snaps it all in half, until the cobalt surface sings of doom—impending.
Enveloped into the foam.
Wrecked in the head.

She spoke like silk,
Each note of her cadence mellifluous,
Like poured honey,
Or creamy caramel,
Coaxing Obsequious vibratos
Annoying synapses to fire steam engines,
Perspiring pores pour-over,
Lost in the scent of the petrichor
While the heart beats like jazz drums,
Off rhythm but always on key.

She is Aphrodite in the flesh,
Pulchritudinous personified
Her body teases,
With the flick soft susurrus of each silken strand
As it falls over her white marbled face,
Rose flushed cheeks perk with a gentle smile,
I am enraptured unequivocally.

Please raze me,
Burn me in your ineffable stare,
I am but a sacrifice for your ephemeral grace,
Given to me in a hushed moment, evanescent
And in the very pyre of my embers,
Ashes redolent with a hint of leather and desperation,
Forever ensnared even in ghastly vapor,
I am but a humble apparition
Timelessly chasing the moon,
Lost to axiomatic fantasies -
A transient tryst amid mists.

There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate NOW, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.

While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,  
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.

I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.

When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.

Shall we wax poetic?

I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
‘I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’

Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE

when everybody left
you stayed
I like that
in a human

I love this
not sure of anything else
but sure of this
I love this
I love the this is us ly ness
of this
and us,

~
Maternal midnight

Metallic lakeside

Freon heart, fayence mind

Eyelids of iron ore

Influence feet into the water

Into an embargo bay

Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind

Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau

Mosquitos on her mouth

Drink the blood of encryption

Change the tone of her voice

They pass behind the blue vein

Become infinite particles of her
~

I blinked, but beheld it,
the marching of warships,
the broken caskets
at the feet where bishops
of Brixen worshipped,
and the agonizing steps to the castle
-- a spiritual climb --
gifts and prayers in each one's pocket,
(you've got yours, I've got mine).

And there it was opening in the sky:
a woman, in between cycles,
clothed with the sun;
her groom carries her up those steps,
they ring the bell,
and make a wish
for their love to flow against
the current like sea flowers
in the spring.

I blinked, but beheld it,
there was smoke,
there was wind,
there was nothing
but the warm scent of potica,
and pletna aplenty,
their upright oarsmen rowing
through the bloodstream.

They row for the stillborn
who never see the sun.

But there is freewill, and there is sin.

Our kingdom rise.
Our kingdom fall.

Forgive us first, Father,
(our blood shall feed the earth).

i wish i had steady hands.
i wish my voice never shook,
never stumbled.
i wish i was more patient,
less tired.
i wish i complimented strangers,
paid for their coffee once in awhile.
i wish i could say i never yelled
at my cats or thought
unkind things.
i wish i could say i've never
done wrong, never cheated,
never lied.
i wish i was clean,
unblemished.
i wish i didn't have this temper,
wish i'd learned to control it
sooner.
i wish i could be many things,
a great deal of them softer,
more of them stronger.
i wish i could forgive myself
for all the things i am and am not,
i wish pathological perfection
didn't break down at the most minor
mistake.
i wish i could give myself the grace
i'd give anyone else,
the room for their humanity.
i wish i could stop feeling indebted,
permanently deserving of some ever so
slight punishment.
i wish i could forgive myself for who
i was at my most hurt.
i wish i could be proud of myself for
everything i've become
since.