Vail tied to a weathering mask
with a child in tow
who grows swollen

And swells like his mother
from which he reluctantly
reared his head

In what was called The Cadaver Twist
A ******* accident, no less

No virtue in a conscience yet to breech
A lesson likely learned early
If only ...

Paternal instinct as the peripheral
responds autonomously to the bottle
with intervals of grease pouring
down the gullet

The rain decimates in torrential strife
Laying in bog known as
What Once Was

When we look back
there is nothing but blotches

A faded remnants of the
brown-eyed school attendants.
Uprooted like floating log houses.
Convergent whims of the ******* children.

I'll be sure to take you down with me.
Down deep into the cellar.

Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture ******-eyed states of the caricatures.

Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!

Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.

Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream

How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?

Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.

The second circle the seventh time.
Assyria busting at the seams.

The cantos of infanticide,
                              
                     ­            breaching
                                    
                  ­                    brackish water's deep.

flailing water wings down by the riverbed
because a sun drought treats you colder
  whistle the names of the tight-lipped
  ghosts whose hunger pangs    
on
     and
on

Worthwhile reaching out
Hellbent on riches

No One
Believed
You

and now you believe in nothing.
What else is there to believe?
Smoldering giants in the undertow
thats what!

Draw a gentle rock and pry it from
its gums

          
          flying was the greatest mistake

Just a knot in the gut anchoring words in my throat.

Tearing up pages of "I HATE YOU MORE."

Eternally lonely without you, in a tempest fit otherwise.

wild dogs inebriated to the last breath
mutual respect john and i share
he was busy speaking to himself
a beautiful woodshed recluse

i'm on one
as assured as the fermented fruit
off the branches of our tree

salt dogs can't help themselves
hauling back brine
like a tidal flow drafting draught protein skimmer
ridding waste from the ocean

the detritus has been enough
tastes good to humanoid bivalves
sessile staring out from
terra nothing
magnetic limestone scrape

******* all.
I can't wait til I leave.

Choose the lie that you were ever in love with anyone other than yourself

Choose the lie that you were ever in love with yourself

Choose friends that you share but a skin-deep connection with

Choose loneliness in a crowd over the solitude of self improvement

Choose instant gratification over any chance of fulfillment

Choose the drink instead of realizing your potential

Choose to squander instead of coming to terms with who you are

Choose a window over a wall


CHOOSE LIFE

Sadie’s leaving, feet dragging on the old red carpet.
My last apartment was shared with a stranger
in apartheid, separated by the
very same carpet.

Then she just decides what’s best is best,
that summer dress blowing linen waves.
What’s lost in jest is often for the best.

Lists are old and now I’m left to remember yesterday
while planning divisive gestures for a drunken
muse tomorrow.

She asked me if I’ve seen it all.
Befriending mask before the fall.
I see them as they all abandon.
Granules of sand in gravity land.

there you were
turning a *****
what was i to do
but let it all flow

the night lit with us
and we decided to float
a barge unanchored
no taught tethered rope

you speak of an hourglass
like ******* unkempt
and everything
in the eye
of a needle

ill never complain of seeping pores
id bleed enough for a tribe to see
with elbowed ghosts and semantic ******
ill feed with every chance i get

the night grew dim
when you spoke of an hourglass
ill never complain of seeping pores
for whatever is real
is inherently my refrain

ill never complain of seeping pores
for forever is our refrain

a voice that won't subside
in the air i can barely breathe
just a pre-disposed slab
in a vacuum

"Bring back my ******* life!"
i scream while sneaking drinks
between tasks and sleep

never know what its like to be
amidst smoke and woodsman's chores  
or else im bored into another man's dream

huffing compressed data
in a fugue state waiting for
tirades and the afterglow
please take a seat until then

I'll miss the days when we weren't
supposed to ...

Airing out most inner thoughts
in a can left for an ashtray.

Nuance on a string
bringing out the sun gleam on
your necklace.

When words are too much
and the moon splits the sea
spilling light all over me.

Digging at the core:
"The Skin that Wore its Welcome."

"Does it make you feel small?"
"Well, I always feel small."
Pebble tumbling over the cliff rocks
praying for the tide to wash me away.

I will miss you.
I will miss you.

Lifted on a wheelchair
while trying to stare at the toonish heads inside.
A bright light appears.
I'm hoping I can tunnel in.

But my legs won't move.
Every time I reach for the light
a large hairy arm restrains.

A smooth utterance follows.
My muffled ears and the seeping quell.
This is as close as it gets.

Fold the sheets in toward you.
A cold that won't leave the bones
keeps up.

The old brain governance was a relief
until I realized I was back where I started,
with a makeshift ash try
and an innate sense of urgency.

karma kamaya sutra
of and apart from self
on and on and on
instilled and static
never worth more than a catch 22 conundrum
Never be but always caught
Between a rock and a hard place
Between you and time and empty space
Pulling at salvia fabrics for the life of me

a boxcar rooted in wheat
the laughing man finds solice
and shelter from the rain

faces on speed dial
weather and rot
why you caught up  
on a boy in a boxcar?        

acummulating dust
ferric oxide (rust)
acid-burning insides
decomposing through
living amongst
centipedes
and mice  

we have succumbed to a garden state
dig deep
for roots
or something to hold on to

Taken from a sentient, spit forth and proceed. Like the hangnail that hung until you ripped it off, then told it about what happened. What ... what would happen in the coming months. Try to distance it: a runner in the coldest part of warsaw. The image that serves as the vessel through which I breathe, test tube attached to each struggle which is nothing. Everything vile in the phlegm of yesteryear. Why wait in this hypoxic state? Keep diving within and without.

Now - as if settled through writhing. Cold dex and cut-to-**** with baby's breath. Whittle me in the corner with a carrot peeler cause i ain't got the guts. Test the ceslestial light like a fuse box or put the lid on.

dope sick
bear,
swim fair.
fly on
the moon.

love sick
loon,
hold fast
til june.


pious poet ...
              put your
              pen down.

Rolling rocks revealing the undead hopping toward you, eggs instantaneously hatching out the ***. Boney insects with floppy ears and jawless mandible traps chasing rats through the sewer. During the injection trials in the BT building, I always thought of life as a rat. Post-extinction forefathers grimacing at the notion of our slimy, oppressive fingers gripping their tired rib cages. Claws clapse decisively. Box one. Bucket. Box two. Repeat.

Gaging your spot in this world with acid-burning insides.
      
                      A hazy head.
                      A faded sense of everything.
                      It seems that this isn't working.
                      You feel no passion;
                                       that's on you.
                      There's something that you ought to do but that thing won't
                       stop the burning.                                      
                  ­    Admittance won't clear the haze.
                      Action won't bring you closer to what's (at least) functional

                      Let's not talk about realities for a minute...

flowing in and off tales of lupus
o how romantic
like, i can get my jaw to loosen
but can never release my temples

and when i finally do
i come to the realization
that we are all big cats

though meticulous
are quite mislead
by whatever fills us

whatever that is

Kevin and his ducks all in a row
death trophies on display
we don't do that, do we?

I want to be like the eider duck
between two grouse
in a house Kevin built

alabaster wool over a lamb


           bleat like a tinseltown
earthquake

all you beautiful *******
shine and test
the snow squalls
with a beacon
that spills
onto your feet

cull the whispers
heed the noise
broken boys
and latter-day saints
all rejoice
to the sound of wonderous rapture

reiterate the moment
when i hold you
because i never
felt at home
until then

what lies
in the ilk
of what it means
to be whole

When I slipped into sleep
flattening the frostbitten blades
that liquify under my body
the creeping amperage of aches
distract me from exposure

When he said 'It ain't easy out there'
he didn't envision blood curdling screams
Vivid nightmares that would pop me off my cardboard mattress
The ever common theme of falling
hoping I would hit the gelid side street

The path is singular when succumb to tunnel vision
in a gritty simulation I carry light
wallet, knife, and the daunting magic meter
In the romantic beginning, I was Aristippus twice removed
sailing on an escape route, against the grain until the end (at least)

Caught in a tank
with the chimes bristling above.
Slime hanging in the tension
that breaks bones.

Fair maid with a
stiletto pick.
Stop pressing, my dear.

In fear of looking up
anticipating two lungs capsized.
A plummeting vessel praying
through the facetious clouds.

Dawn takes over
and we refuse to stop.
Locked in embrace:
A false foot embedded
in the substrate.

Kelp explosions
holding us lightly,
grazing as we float
toward the surface.

Skeletons tangled in a mess
like that summer when you looked your best.

Take the last breath,
plunging the depths
to find at the bottom
a two-metre
tube worm.

Squirming as my lungs burst.
Post-partem.
Pre-historic.
Fleeting in the tunnel light
thats eaten up by its
benthic brother.

You become a man
You are told what a man is supposed to do
You question the legitimacy

meanwhile it paces
and closes in
so you accept it
as imperative
as fate

in that muddy existence
of ebb and flow
you've denied the man
for a character

you're not as big a fan of him as you thought you would be
so you burn the facade in zazen
now you're looking for the remnants of yourself
and you've never felt so ******* alive

If forever is just a glimpse,
would you stay with me?

Counting lions in the field.
Watching their manes propel
like toy choppers in the spring

I wanna be your fun thing.          

Sometimes I wish I didnt have to apologize for being trampled,
but hell, im just a gazelle.    

Breeding, grazing, breathing, seething.
Feeling dog days in heat,        
rolling feats so splendid sweet.

I am filled with cancer.
An endless senseless sensorium
rather than anything tangible.

Take it all through glass liquid flashes
of an extant place
that lives inside.

Why?

and I come back
and everything's sick
and all that matters
is crumbling slowly
so so slowly
that I no longer know that
it is

But hey, on a bright note,
I wrote today.

i used to be but i've also been much less. now i dunno what i am or where i'm at. can't find my pants, either.

Never liked to sleep until now
The only way you're here with us
A metaphysical omnibus
Its palpable within in a dream

and where is he to be found?

We travelled through the trees and the coast in the rental vessel keeping the horse going with gasoline and the social lubricant of familiarity. I sat back, tiredsick in passenger seat. Small talk and private-pick nuances that creep up after four hours of awe and hobbies, deadpan, and tar cigarettes I bring down my oil-stained teeth. And I know it will end when the wheels stop. I know it. I’m well versed. I’ve progressed to responding unresponsively with less of the giddy tragic fluttery gut state you’ve left me in in the past. Let’s do some living after we die, my dear. Let’s do some living after we die.

you would not come back from this
to scrape the resin off these walls
messages and photographs
cue the light that stings the eyes
round and round the vinyl slide
vicious sick it spins again

In the darkest night
plastic soliette carves resolve
to misplaced indignation

you pity those people
crying in a field
momentarily
then you pity yourself

“They have no idea what it feels like to wait for the hurting to begin.”

you wait
you light a cigarette and wait
you have convinced yourself that you will see them again
you know that will not happen
but you are convinced
repeating the mantra to a faceless god

“If death is salvation,
I want you to bring me to the garden
where I can eat peaches
and have unprotected ***.”

the senseless sensorium
lodges whispers tympanically
they speak of Capgras delusion
alone in a full room with hope
spindling on an automated function

talking heads spitting trivial
commence antiquated response
****** en masse keeps you from barking
don't partake in Ramadan
you'll end up an absurdist

"Billy asks too many questions.
Must be a case of premature gestation.
Just give him 300mg of something stronger
than gummy bear vitamins til he's cycling
between attenuation and remorse."

... they gave him 25 to life for beating a dead horse.

Little engine feeding my unwarranted
Frenzied freedom fighter heart
We still fall before we’re able to
Start climbing the stairs
That bring us to our lover’s chamber

I wish I would have known
That we came here to **** strangers
The beast with two backs
Drills inside our heads
Longing for its exogenous signal
Or a way to implode

balled up wallowing
a fountain inside
Initiated with impatient fingers
the sky rolls and lingers
hit play as i lay splayed with the stereo

man with the mic emotes notes
spilling out the vile
feelin' vetted as the
pressure built to a busting must release

and people look more like
collective needs to me
embodied by vampires
looking for flesh embroidered
in a summer dress

buckets of plasma refusing to leak
as we speak
in quotients
calibrated by these lovely potions

zyban in my right hand
smoke loud til its ******* right, man
looming over my brothers dead body

like who came to watch me?
        like who came
                who came to watch me?

Lost in the clips til I was lost to this
Beside myself; come tell me what eats you
Tell me why and how
your existence was shaken

When nuclear family detonates
we are left here in ceremonial garb
with no hands to pick up the pieces

Slice and chop into the dirt
exacerbate into the earth
Pillow-lined: the metal slate
My mental state triggers a string
that plucks at the guts
and resonates up, scraping

The ventral pull of innards
Takes my head down with it
As I listen to syllabic
'Toungue-and-Bleek'
No talk of god lifting the weak
Only if mortals sleeping

'Cept the thing, is that,
mortals are all I've seen
This lucid dream
is my home
This sweet by-and-by
is all I've known

We grow together
We grow apart
We grow alone
We take these pills to take us home

Yet when we're rolling in our beds
all we ever fear is death
Accept the fact we are alone
Close our eyes and dream of home

There has been
oppression
further back than
ball and chain gangways
in droves
as doves flew freely before them.

All the way
up until today,
when anonymity is entitled
to the one who
delivers this deadly recoil.

Think not in terms
of tones
bestowed upon us.

Some of us welcome it.
Regardless,
it is.

The most ****** up thing
before the trigger releases rounds
into your intentions to be
is the thought:
"She is this,"
as you take.

Us and Them
make us black and white
with the same hot, red blood spilling on the concrete.

The Infinite Archetype
The Grand Illusion

created gods
for the off-chance
of becoming king

divided we fall
martyr to the worms

Sow Seed. Repeat.

The years impending
A belt pulled tightly
Grasping for life
Visible from the box

Reach from inside
Slips through palms
An enticing fog
Ubiquitous within
More siloliquy
than substance

Thoughts whizz and scramble that scrotal cpu
Intrusive; not even with a courtesy knock
Before barging in and overwhelming your existence
Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouineedyou until you’re sick spinning
Like you did in that barstool when you were ten, @ 73 rpm
And your pump pumps harder and it feels as if that's all there is to you
An engorged beast needing all the air in the room
Til there is no more
And the walls are caving: collapsed tin can
Little ***** boy caught on the back burner
Serves you right

incite expletive
insides erupt
medial temporal
mediates chaotic
administers quell
regain yourself
doctor jekyll

There's an essence
A celestial fragment
actualizing the aura
when it comes to this life

Most beautiful is ineffable
best brought out on keys
major over minor
lift me up now bring me down

emoting like the purple sky
shining in a white conundrum
where the night recedes
to ring in a new dawn

"I mean no harm"
Thus spoke Zarathustra
last night on the phone
when I was open with ya
chains rain down with ill intent
request repent like I even noticed it

Money's only paper
when buried in a casket
strike a match lit
a stack drowned in gas

Pull the rope tight
lull and float lose light
Lose hope.

Only when I cut the rope, right?