try playing air guitar on the

breaking wheel--you're certainly not

rock n roll sweetheart.

spat out by silence & apathy alike, you

hide under a bed--with a wanna be girl's

voice, reprimanding nightmares to play

fair.

hold your ears & grit your teeth--harken

back to the number of fruit flies you've

rescued from speedy oblivion.

it'll all go away just for you, again--no it

won't.

the sidereal undoes the bandage around its

eyeless sockets, looks under your bed--cross

at seeing you clearer than ever.

the awful fatigue of leashed wrath--

the devourment of all other emotion.

one of the most frustrating & loneliest

primacies.

a lion's infrasound shaking the housemates

of organs & bones.

a reiterating plain, onward straight to onward--

a massive drain at its center.

stymied blood let out, down it--a red waterfall

transfusing the earth's gut.

enough physicality was overlooked,

for what resided beneath--where's

what resides beneath?

yet there's this walking around--in

the naivety of out there.

which occurs undeservedly, the

step count of a coward.

the ten block radius that was mockingly

cited, was just the preliminary of loving

that residence.

an extremely contented focus.

now that radius will not grow, because

hatred has been foisted.

the moon's fail-stop of reinvention

leaves her an amnesiac.

chipping away at her goldenly drawn

rim of remembrance, as if a China

plate.

holding a full serving of curdling milk.

the whiff of a prize pig on a

dank, misty morning--corn stuck

in your teeth.

let us make a shroud of that mist

as your intent, minus mystery.

the pudge of situatedness superseding

promises.

squeals of self-love slobbering on

squeals of self-hatred, the later

should be your siphoning state.

dis-gus-ting...

die of those deaths,

hunt them down--

scar their spheres.

canvas their haunts,

while they too sleep.