Today I was driving in my car, looking at my notepad
shoved without care
corner of a page bent
spirals grasped for life on the edge of that dive.

I thought that I felt I wanted to write,
but the glass inside my head was empty.
Forcing it full just causes it to break,
and so I wait for it to fill, fill, fill,
overflow and
capsize.

It comes suddenly:

a stroke in the section of the brain that biologists
have yet to identify.

a phone ringing at three thirty-eight in the morning.

a cat leaping from behind the corner, hitching a momentary ride on your calf.

a rush of amniotic fluid from a pregnant woman's crotch as
she stands over smooth tile.

How many pens have come apart in your mouth?
How much
redblueblackgreen ink
have you ingested in these pen-cap chew moments of inspiration,
trying to steer without looking,
shift with only *******,
scribble without seeing,
glances from concerned motorists in adjacent lanes.

How many
slips of napkins
notepads
envelopes
bills
book covers
receipts
skin
have you marked in fits of...

"Blood keeps drinking away, certain of its destination. Driving through New Orleans at night. Gotta find a destination...just one fix." ~ Ministry

Sick
I gargle your blood one last time
I hear you tell stories of authors
you love so much
while inside my head digs tunnels
to China

At first unwrapping,
(a child with no eyelids)
the chunk of tar
always seems fist-sized - until it is gone

High
You are suddenly there,
a cool summer morning anxious to be far too hot,
wind blows through you as if it were
balloons
in rainbow hues.

Reloaded conception, sanity.

Sick*
Stupid -
doing your part by recycling cans,
wasting water cleaning each one out,
equation a zero-sum,
positive multiplied by a negative.

Aokigahara, a Sea of Trees,
redolence of a carrion flower attracts flies.
They land, bring up dissolution and
spread your legs
where they deposit the eggs.

Beachy Head, a white plume of efflorescent death.

I bend over
drag your fingers on my spiral spinal protrusion.

I want you inside of me,
fist in a mother cattle's birth canal.

I'm elated at this.
I wonder why it feels so cold, when I'm so hot and wet.

Take it,
a focused heresy.

Say my name
if you can guess it.

I know yours:
Chastity and Life.

****, I miss you.
My eyes are bending down into this face.
I was smiling, but now I stand on my head…
I don’t feel I’ll ever right myself.
I gossip about you to everyone.  
You are a pillow cut open atop this twisted steel skyscraper,
loose the feather and no one can retrieve it.

We all watch you fade so slowly away on the wind.
We try so hard not to jump after you.
We are not as light, and less aerodynamic.
We would fall like stones,

and so

eyes misted with the dew of loss,
we watch you
fade away so slowly on the wind,
farther,
father,
until your point of brightest azurean love
is lost up in the deep glass sky.

"What are you doing here? You're not even old enough to know how bad life gets."

"Obviously, Doctor, you've never been a thirteen year-old girl." ~ The ****** Suicides*

The smell of teenage lipstick and sunbeams
Why are they different from us?
(it's so great they are different from us)
These memories of our youth,
transient,
will mean more than the permanent ones of adulthood.

The flash sparkle of amber in her eyes
high and low pressure air combined
my name on your *******
breaking smoke circles
the sound of vinyl stabbed
just listen to them,
the taste of peach schnapps.

"You don't have to talk to me."
terrible sources of information
"We weren't talking if you know what I mean..."
And off they go to join the thirty-thousand plus

Orchid pod spreads
gossamer mouth opens
subtle click of saliva,
trace across the paper-thin petal,
tickle across the veins where blood rushes new life,
smooth like wet latex, tongue massages a route around the world,
face buried in field of color
osmopheric scent of cinnamon
apples
nickel
overcomes,
come over me
pour the dew across my lips
drown me in the waves
that make your muscles cry my name,
nine point nine and the world cracks open,
like the ghostly leftover milk bath
of a ******'s first cleansing after loss of maidenhead,
it spills over us.

Smell of you on my lips
taste of you on my fingers
gaze of you on my skin
warmth as you envelope me
shuddering of skin
shedding of sin

We consummate in a shared womb of ink
above and below cotton blows like springtime,
a perfect non-sequitur segue where
flowers of aloe bloom
swollen pods that explode
spraying pollen everywhere.