i get lost in my gibberish.
picture an old witch singing
to vapor rolling out of a
black iron cauldron.

haphazardly smashing words
into one another.
CERN, but a person
lacking a purpose...i guess.

realities collapse.

what the f%&k am i talking about?

Every breath as heavy as
the world, every second a waiting room.

You can’t leave yet.

You can’t.

you're dancing under the light
of my unraveling;
i crawl out of my own mouth forever.

say what you will,
but smile at me as I catch each and every syllable
like fireflies in a jar.
smile at me as I show you them,
smiling like a child.

Cut to tower,
crumbling.
Check the sun
every hour;
Im underneath concern always.

Something about this void feels
off this time.

some sanctioned grandiloquence
and what i actually write
fight one another
for height in this blight of a hierarchy.

in other words, they are ****.

i want you to feel something,
even if it is negative.

you would be surprised at what is combustible.

we don't believe in believing.
we believed in you and, well...

we have a reason to be all teeth
for any and all demagogues
dreamimg themselves into demi-gods
some weekend next February.

we are the stars that have been dead
for millenia,
but still make me feel divinely insignificant.

we are the new constellations
named by a future us.

we are the deepening ethos
which lifted them up to rot
in the lofty quantum myth of consciousness like the rest of us.

we are entangled with the ever-blossoming constant
we watch like a top spinning ad nauseum.

we are indifferent to your opinions and principles
and tired of your excuses for not "getting it".
we view that **** as background music for the apocalypse
unraveling before our collective nakedness.

we are ******* hostile.

we are clenched fists ****** to clouds
after a rousing battle speech
collapses into echos we weaponize
on accident like Mingus on a piano.

we are as colossal as the fossilized intimacy you lost
on the blackened avenues of past uses
of compassion as a mask.

we are starving for the space
inside of which you remain just to atrophy.

we are the cloven hooves of crooked
discipline dancing to sounds of
splashing gasoline.

we are the mushroom clouds crowning
our boundless potential.

before anything else, we are you.
you're worst-case scenario
unearthed by the prayers to float off
into the fade-away before a pretty credit roll;
unwavering.

we are catastrophe, but we don't have to be.