static on the TV,
magick bleeding out of a dreamy
yesterday,
passion rots as fast as anything;
think of the storms we could've
forced into morning cups of coffee
if we had ignored all the portents
of war and the war itself.

it's fireflies in a willow tree.

when a fire dies in the future...
**** it.
it doesn't matter.

my favorite thing in the world,
at this moment anyway,
is the way a room feels
when a candle goes out.

i'm learning to converge like that.
with what,
i don't really know.

call it lighting lanterns in foggy streets.
call it escapism.
call it industry.

i call it food on the table.

Sometimes
I don't want to breathe
but I still do
just to spite myself.

Making each morning
the remainder of questions
and the child
I know nothing about.

Tripping on Lynch
and sipping a fix mysteriously
digitized while any friction
imprints onto my drifting mind.
I used to wonder if the missing time
disappeared into the wicked "Why"
until it proved that concern was
the hidden eye that's twitches
behind the lid of the night sky.
it's indifferent to the light that splits
blissfully prismatic,
these dimensions lack what we wished they did.
That's a sick sadness to witness.
Believe that.

Tragic like the traffic lights reflected
what's left the windshields of smoking cars.
Bent steel,
horns blaring,
gas leaking onto cracked concrete.
Stars hang silent as the space between them.

Comfort zones.
I abandon those even better than I used too.
So pursue what you want.
Because as you can see I don't hesitate.
I chase narrative threads
like a pretty face in a crowd.
Being dead to things that chain you
to the proverbial radiator is good.
I promise.

bodhisattva,
hotbox a square in the lobby
of every hotel at once.
la di ******* da.
"try to stop me" is written in
the auric field,
Lorca in front of the firing squad.
of course it's **** or be built better
by anybody else afterwards.
bet.
i cash checks from the cancer-verse,
dead to whatever panders
to a standard first.
push me out this ******* window.
please.
i need to touch earth urgently.
I need to simplify all of this
balled fist twist and turn ****
burning around me.
don't listen to me.
i'm howling at the moon in my memory.
i'm not new to the entropy.

you know this though.
you know this.

diamonds fall from my mouth,
blood up there in the mountains somewhere;
something for everybody.
everybody dies,
but everybody tries to forget that.

i'll share a cigarette with you
if you happen to have brought a lighter.

i know,
i always forget something.

last november i found a dead hawk
lying in a ditch while out for a stroll.

i took it home and buried it beneath
the same tree i have buried all my pets under.

we are all so very small.
we always forget that.
i try not to.