Rainbow trout at fish farm
Father and son four years old
Caught fish flapping in mud and ****
Little boy feeding it pieces of corn
Not knowing fish is dead already
Post-mortem spasms of rigor
Now remember four year old thinking
This is life, sinking

i am the body at the center
the nut of the problem gnashing
i hate to write

my soul and heart and singular being
they were gummed up i tell him
like cholesterol in arteries
call it soul phlebitis explaining
have to stand on head meditation
to drain blood from leg
fill brain to align yr dharma

yr too caught in how others perceive you
tells he, jacket over shoulders
having found soul swagger
handsome pride brotherly love
yip o yab yum

higher than everest
she makes i am her mark
we kiss hard in loud booming bar
biting my lip til nearly ******
i squeeze breast when
you move my hands to where
they wanted to go anyway
you jump in arms
hug and sway

it's nice to see you
i yell between kisses
eating each other
small fervent little bites
and it is

and it pains
dull hurt, an ache
still deep down feels good

Steady, pulsating drips
Form a cacophony of tiresome
Drifts of time
Winding down the twirls of
His paintbrush the trials of
Liquid resonance.
Pattern-less,
The degenerate.
Out of touch with reality,  
The artist,
In shambles.
Dialysis.

There's something knocking at the back of my mind
and it sounds like pebbles hitting the nerves if my temporal lobe.

It's tapping in morse code and I can almost hear it
singing all those songs I was meant to forget.
They're slower though—acoustic and remixed
to the dying beat of all our memories.

If I focus on it long enough
I could probably pinpoint where it's coming from,
but I know I'm just choosing not to.
If I focus on it hard enough,
I could probably repaint its rainbow splatters on a canvas,
but I'm just choosing not to.

If I focus on it long enough,
I might just hear your voice again—
coated sweet nothings in nothing but syrup,
but I'm just choosing not to because

you never chose me, darling.

Even until now, we flinch at the sight of each other
rather than letting the light consume us like all the times before.

And maybe I'm just mad at the stars for not giving me some sort of sign
or godforsaken comet to warn me from falling for you the first time,
or the second,
or over and over again

Because it's not fair that you've still got my head spinning
when I cut every single piece of red thread that tied us together.
It's not fair that you've got me second guessing my present
because of the ashes and rotting debris of the past.

There's something knocking at the back of my mind.
It's tapping in morse code
about all the questions you left hanging in mid-air.
The thumping is getting louder and I can't—

I can't make it stop.

gd

aching of fury
rustled covers, white hot tenderness
will you stay for long?
strip my mind
peacefully soak through
every piece of you.
hair pulling,
kisses like fallen snow.
you are so beautiful.
will you stay awhile?
restless mornings,
empty nights.
keep me company in my abyss.
love me till i love myself.
are you here to stay?
night time thoughts,
tinted touches beneath sun lit shadows.
eyes the shade of cool i wish i was.
forgive me,
i cannot bear to be without you.

collapsing on bartop bar stool reverie
old home away from home
warms cold bones
old ocean growing
swells inside me
forgetting there was ever an ebb
henry miller's dream of paris
is alive and well
walking thru streets of debauched
tradition
a place where people still remember
how to live without shame in sin
as if the simple act of being is enough
to curb fire in belly hunger

Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight
Splits through the rat's tail
Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning.
It is the Arctic,

This little black
Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair.
There is a green in the air,
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly.

I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,
I am so stupidly happy,
My Wellingtons
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.

This is my property.
Two times a day
I pace it, sniffing
The barbarous holly with its viridian
Scallops, pure iron,

And the wall of the odd corpses.
I love them.
I love them like history.
The apples are golden,
Imagine it ----

My seventy trees
Holding their gold-ruddy *****
In a thick gray death-soup,
Their million
Gold leaves metal and breathless.

O love, O celibate.
Nobody but me
Walks the waist high wet.
The irreplaceable
Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.

Remember first trip
Saw bone structure piercing thru skin
Stretched too thin and taught
As if bones desperately needed escape
Reprieve from residing within you
Thought for sure was dead
Til Darkoesque wormhole protrudes
Now sure am dead