Breeze of the night is a scream
so cold you'll have to through out
a roast or two.
  More softly murmur o’er the
unacknowledged being acknowledged
being long ******* overdue.
For however long Slumber seals my fate,
  I'll never shun any aliteriation.

Or breathe those sweet æolian strains
  Stolen from celestial circuitry
To charm her ear while anything other than death remains,
it just a ******* picture, face it.

I hate it more than you,
I promise.

my tarot deck fell between
my ocean blue wall and my bed.
I pulled up what I thought was all of them.

no.

the missing only numbered one though,
Strength.

"that he should see all the world bloodshot,
the most unhappy man on earth."

I underlined that randomly in some book
I stole from some thrift shop.

one day the sovereign self
will dissolve away,
iron clockwork oxidized already.

all is heavy when there's a song to play
that'll annoy the **** out
of everyone in the room,
but you love it as it is.
you love that pregnant awkwardness,
the thoughts on the moment,
the contractions,
the stillbirth,
the flowers in nice vases by the bedside.

I always go there.
it all always goes there.

last night I dreamt
of your red mahogany casket
creaking as it was lowered
into the cold earth.

(a lonely little girl catching
raindrops on her tongue)

all of this is fiction.

everywhere seems so obtainable;
transmorgification,
eligibile relatibility,
interest capsized
still.
is
everybody xenophobic
(still)?
ostensibly translating an exegesis,
rarely from intimacy;
cancel me please.
but first please, peep the framework.
this ain't worth a **** thing if you don't.

your firmaments fall daily,
don't they?
poor things.
ive been stepping in stratosphere
and calling my demons by pet names
for awhile now.
so my advice would be to
get with the ******* paradigm.
**** being paralyzed in a crisis
when it's crisis from the time
your eyelids open to when they close.

again,
get with the ******* paradigm.
you probably built most of it
anyway.