the outside world is eldritch,
inside the crib is meanwhile...
meanwhile, inside the crib
I'm hellbent on using the
downtime to drift
through the ceiling.

pulling teeth out of the maw
of an almost perfect night,
I'm getting lost in
talking about my allergies.

ceiling still solid.

birds singing on wires
and treelimbs;
the house is burnt to embers.

we never learn,
we won't remember.

smoke shades sky still sadder
than any of us though.

measured worth
in bones littered across
every bit of this rock.

birds singing.

far from home,
far from conscious,
a fall from grace
isn't as far from
greatness as
one would
think.

progress.
unsung,
fade to black;
fin.

is it though?
I've been renting hopes
like the rest of you.
centrifugal force;
I'm minimum effort
in your pivotal war.
miss me with the *******.
hit the mug with the honey,
[full clip]
that wool slips and let's the light in,
[that isn't funny]
im ******* trying here.

smiling,
you were constellations
I had never glimpsed before.
I'm shivering at your door
like its nothing
because it's nothing.
I'm just lucky as ****
to even be here.
trust me.
it's "keep clear" mostly
if you haven't noticed
already.
not usually the one
at parties at all,
let alone the one
throwing confetti.

throws confetti.

watch me as I burn
this candle I've been
balancing on my nose
all night.

call it finesse.

ive been left in the rain,
my "separate" is praying
for rain and a good harvest.

darkness creeps under your
your bedroom door,
reaching for you,
reaching for youth.

I lost that last life.
just saying.

the locus of expanded
war or any armistice...

what that actually means
is something I'll probably
walk into like traffic
in the future,
at some point.

I think,
the way your voice
bounces around
your car is one
of God's hiding places.

[perspective]

go ahead,
arrogate the treasure's weight.

I'm never late for anything.

changing weather patterns
don't excuse being aloof
on the route to a better "you".

ive putrified between walls
too many ******* times.
never late for anything,
remember?

remember.
remember.
remember.

remember.

re­member.

can you be claustrophobic
socially?

an ocean between me everyone
just doesn't seem to cut it.

[budget fx-whatever]

my monsters never needed
to be goaded into anything,
they have always been able
to make a show of things
all on their own.

skydiving still,
put a comma where
you want.

I'm lauded,
better ask about me.
this is that "ah nah" ****.

ad nauseam.
bats in the belfry.

sharks circling,
I'm thinking about
how our desperate pleading
screams
sound to the people
on vacation on the deck
of the passing cruise ship.

does the desolate breeze
make it sound like jazz?

blood flow,
gun smoke,
untold,
untold,
untold.

one ghost amongst
an innumerable mass,
seething,
seething.

we're leasing a room.

all of these atoms,
in spite of will.
the paralysis,
a false inability to
alter the world's drift.

it makes me think of
dumbstruck faces pressed
against glass watching
the mechanical function
of collective helplessness.

all of these atoms though.

tell us all about it.

this hell was found
to be a stroll
through a park
on a rainy day
by some that may
have been insane.

so who's to say?

the mood is
The Great Wave Off Kanagawa
or Black on Maroon.

the moon is sugar cube
in Earl Grey.
the world waits
for us to fall asleep.

stars, stars, stars;
the sobriquet is "heartache".

why give your energy to that,
you ask.
my dark day is a lonely
afternoon,
I'll be fine.
honestly.
I'm fine.

its all because being present
has always been
hard for me,
head in the clouds,
or searching for clouds,
or...

I believe the night was smiling
when I found out your lips
were 4th of July fireworks
on some long-exposure ****.

it's not ****, I mean.
I mean.
dot.
dot.
dot.

I'm chasing shadows, I'm sorry.

erasing the outline
of a full moon;
I'm struck with how much
I couldn't give a ****
about this parralel
"reality"
losing it's whatever
the moon was to it.

casually...

love for the city.
stuck in the suburbs.
I want to go unlearn
myself in a alleyway
or ten.

spinning tires.
mud is **** and death,
so where does that
leave us?

it feels like a sunset
in an orange grove
and a swarm of flies choking
the life out of a raccoon
dying on the side
of the highway.

at the same time,
yes.

I promise I am happy.
         content.
                  content.
                           content.

   please, validate me.

burning alive.
I can turn a kairos
to a sky full of
stars
and back again,
just to miss.

white owls in the trees.
it might be the reverse.
this might or might not
have been rehearsed.
absurdity.
verdigris.
kintsugi.
lucidly losing things,
it's ******.

it's ******.
[off screen mutiny]

blunt burning,
unlearning isnt the only
prerogative.
my "mobbin" is listening
to a faucet dripping.

I'm sovereign after 2am.

every line is a brush stroke.
every word is a loose hair
in the paint.
untold;
our story isn't even in the
crib yet.

[crickets]

crib death.

lost in the wind,
seeds of something.

I've got this hypothesis
on why a threshold
sometimes feels like
baptism.

marigolds,
baby's breath,
blue roses.

it's real until it isnt.

knives in the dark,
an avalanche,
not being needed;
we are all boiling
in the same ***.
I have to keep
reminding myself
of that.

[laugh track here]

will love lost in unnameable night
be found by some summer eyed
couple stumbling and kissing
through the dark?

or the dogs?

you already know the answer.

like I said,
I'm the ******* bedrock.

it's eased by the sun
beaming through the
blinds after dreaming
of falling in love
with green eyed girl,
I don't remember
anymore than that.

I really don't know
what you want from me.

all of my close friends
are dead now
and I don't want to know
if that pattern will continue.

head down on the desk.

everyone,
scatter like opossums
caught in the headlights.

I didn't use that right.
the reason:
because I wanted to draw attention
to the fact that being mesmerized
by eminent death is akin
to being caught in some
cosmic trap.

I bring this up
and by "bring this up"
I mean to say it's all pervasive.

"save us" written in
what seems like driftwood.

my head's in covers.
the daytime is enemy.
outlast it, please. please. please.

there is only now.
"duh" the void says with the voice
of my dead mother.

spinning faster now,
this is spiraling now, so
where is the drain now?

I am all things, life.
the night sky knows me by [blank].
spinning, spinning slow.

seen this more than sky.
the sky now, this life, I mean.
I am all things, dead.

some wind whispers "please, live".
the wind is just reacting
to the sun. I'll live.

plot twist:
the plot wasnt
ever dropped.

chunks of an ice cap
taking the plunge
into the frigid water
of the Arctic ocean
is picked up
by a microphone
off the coast
Papua New Guinea.

it's all connected.
it's all a lesson.

ive learned it
more times than
I could count.