You wrap around
me, like a fog.
Haze of bitter
sweet miasma.
Smothering.
Smothering.

See where it gets you?
In the toilet bowl.
Open mouthed,
force fed remains,
gasping ****
instead of air,
grabbing at hair.
stop it stop it!

See where it gets you?
Wrapped up in business
never meant for
your energies,
fitting, in turn,
into crowded
papyrus.

Save me. Save you.
Save me? Save you?
Why?

Matter is finite.
I'm of it.
Build your empires.
Believe through the matter,
the
matter
of course.

I pick myself up from the floor,
and sweep back my soaking mop.
Stop?

Please.

I had a whole day
worse than tonight
just last week.

I'll enjoy my selfishness
while I can,
but thanks.

Desperate
**** air in
To my lung
Green roast
Ghost it real
Quick after
Mastered
The art of
Becoming
Her highness
Incarnate

Offer
your direct,
calm gaze
as if you
see my
potential
just as
I see it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.

Offer
my direct,
calm gaze.
I notice
you see
the loose string.
I see
you pull it.

I've not
seen anyone
with deep eyes
read mine, then
seem to find
meaning. . .

since the last time.

Human existence
Is a story
Accident or miracle?
An accident, for sure,
But could it not be both?
We
Are alive
And so am
I
Something from nothing,
Is that not miraculous?
People talk a lot
About Human nature
As if We are The Stone
When We are The Mountain
Of The Earth and Our
Image in The Lake
Reveals The Truth of Gods
Our Dominion is the
Consciousness We give away
To get back when We
Know
So for sure
It does not
Work
Not at all like that
I will explain it
All for my child
Under the light of day
Make no mistake
We have Made this place
Where
Currency determines
Which of Us will ascend
And it has been
For me all my life
That's when I look at you
And see you for the first time
A piece of The Soul
Welcomed to an entrance
Among Our every new
Where Our Elders sit
In circles of no clarity
Selling songs, selling food,
Selling news, selling views,
Selling Us modes of Life
Pandered to preselected groups
Test and Market approved
And Selling it as soon as through
Our parents who Would
Paper Our deepest wombs

Frigid wants the flame,
soak the night in heat,
rescue the cold, then,
from what cold would be.

Chill wants the scorch,
soak the dead in sun,
rescue the frozen
from what cold will bring.

Half to death myself,
quiet breath, no knell,
asking, Where's the hand?
Where's the lip?
asking, Where's a form
who wants me?

No such thing. No such thing as
romance.
No such thing
as loving connection.

Only satisfaction.

so are you satisfied?

Come, voice, back from the original black
Ness, Foot, Yankee Jim
I need a sign from a quasi mind not my own
Fiefallu dendress mazaiyato

Call.
Answer.

All
my answers
lead to nothing
absolute.

Call. Answer me.
I'll
answer you.

Not a compulsion
Never intended, just

Fiefallu dendress true.

How many times will a poet
write
about writing
poetry?

TBD.

applause

"You must be very proud of yourself."

You swirl my mind
behind the shades.
Dreams come and go
to Mary Jane.
You stir my dreams
all of the day.

Then, when I warred,
nothing could stop
the storm there in store
for me.

My central column
is prone to shift.
You have acid spit,
and kiss me there,
between the atoms.
Realignment.

What is
a holy moment?
When you
share a gaze with one.

What is
a definite end?
When you
find the beginning.

Caught your long lost locks,
blonde through the silver fog,
flitting away or
could it have been toward?

Once, I would have thought
it's just a dream and not
real, warm flesh to flesh,
volcanic breath to breath.

Best not waste a good thing
in the face of your favorite catch.
A master of their craft
can't manipulate the longing pain.

Enter a life devoid of
what you
won't ever believe
you truly
take for
granted.                           You do.

How do I know, you ask?
Well,             I have            eyes.

It's not hard to see
your hardships hardened
your heart
to any empathy for us

so,                 I turn               /OFF
                        too

so,                  ****       ­         You

What do I know of life?
I'm young /or dumb /and dumb.
I know that I live in a world
that venerates honesty but
punishes me for living with
a                    little               truth.

What do I know of life?
I'm young /and dumb /and dumb
I know that dissent in a world
that venerates this openess
is, will be met, with callousness
unrivaled. unrivaled. unrivaled.

Philip K. What The ****.
It's here. Has been. In a fad.
I sit in a slit.

The calm of industrial evenings.
Back to the industry?
I never left.

You get clean. I get stuck.
Not that I never did want.
Cracks exist in everything.
Brief gaps in taken space.

Every crack leads from toe to head.
Every crack feeds on dusty crumbs.

Knee slap, diaphragm control,
living room, bass boosted,
ceiling fan casting an X shape,
blonde locks, same songs,
robots & girl futura,
love, ***, existence,
drugs, dancing along
if you find the nerve.
How do I put this
compact view into words?
Fleeting, farewell,
at large, unheard.
What is it that you deserve?
Whatever your meat
tape, twisted, desires.
What is love to me?
To be, at all, near or beside you.
Tragic for me, as millions,
lessons learned eventually
maybe learned too late.

who am i to say if the mozzer's lost touch?
what does my rough draft have
that is missing from his manuscript?
nothing. so, i'll sit down here
before the microphone and say,

Loathe
Power verb
Direct, yes
Though,
Verbose is
How I wrote

Still I write in open circles
Even I don't know what I mean. Trust.
Looping back, is there not an artistry in that?

Together
Adjective for the ages
Cut to form,
Don't get me wrong,
It sounds fitting
With the way you lead your life.

Your confines.

Look at all my fitted pieces.
I bend the lines with word as waveform.
Looping back,
Fulfilling is
As useless
As it is
Useful

Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.

Flesh golem, walking toward,
you're not searching for me.
You're finding an end
with your kit of means.
It's obvious you've

*** to loose -

it's backed up high
enough it's the light
inside your eyes,
and do I see it?
Yes, I do.

Promising heavy
shades of heaven
within the pleasure
you bring -
thing is, dipping stick

is boring as ****.

What about the places
you forgot to touch?
I breathe *** deeply,
your lungs are shallow,
you're in a rush.

Oh, but you'll have your stories.
Construct the pulleys,
form factor, until you ascend.

Oh, but you'll have your badge.
The sheer facade of your fragile persona,
is simply crystalline.

:)

Accept the flaws in myself,
lasso the breadth
of my errors
with no regret.

I believe there's a switch
where the matter
lives in a state
of yes or no.

Commit to the wind in word,
I won't wrestle
control from
anyone but me,
and my worst self.

Empathy on high,
Sympathy on low,
Compassion on,
for transparency.
Compassion off,
for sympathy play.

I am not a means,
I am a world.

My worth
is not measured
in the weight
of my faith in
and the care I take
of others.

Guillotine, guillotine
Metal in the sunshine gleam
Touching with the dirt
Touching toes with the folk

I'm a bird, I guess
Gluttony
but with wings!

I'm ascended, I suppose
All alone
no one

to tell me if I'm wrong!

Guillotine, guillotine
Metal in the sunshine gleam
Touching with the dirt
Touching toes with the folk

It's my joke on you
Ascended
from your things!

All alone no
one

to tell me if I'm wrong!

Circus Who Cares
arrives by night, places
fliers in torchlight.

Circus Some ****
riding train. Look
where graffiti is facing.

It's true, tracks can divide.
John Hughes marketed lies.
It's true, it's difficult --

But in this cult, none of us
wants to be you.
F < |< 666

I love the scratch and sniff.
I love the body whiff.
I love the ****** and smash.
I love the mind crash.

Such a sweet and salty face.
What a beautiful place.
Single wide, double or?
What future sits in store?

None for me?
None for you?
Look at us.
Look at you.

Apache beard.
A. Patch. iieh.
Nn, so desu ne.
Butter bean.

Cream white dream.
But sorta pink.

this ******* thing came to this:
two brains, sever and split.
two pigs, top of the town,
made marquee marked on the ground!

punctuate!
i'm smothered, but
the fourth wall's
done getting scraped!

version one point one was nothing new,
these scrapes make room for version one point two.

I can rewire
everything about myself.
I can reshape
every facet to fit your pieces,
but why would I?
I'll tell you. I forget my worth.
Did I ever have worth, anyway?
Did you ever hold it, either,
to be fair. What's anyone worth?

I can rewire
every aspect and affect.
I can reshape
every facet to fit your tropes,
but why would I,
when you don't seem to fit my soul?
Can you ever change that? You can.
I know it full well. I know it first
hand. It hasn't been worth it.

What's the weight of a goodbye,
when tasked to tell someone you love?

What's the weight of a sharp knife,
when used to cut tangential lines?

What's the wait on a goodbye,
when its utterance will free you?

Dip me into the flat line,
under the frame,
where the sun sinks,

The longest day of my life suddenly
ends with a twist, turns
out, your venom

burned negative space
in the lid and
let out the damage

you did.

Everyone says that
I should search for happiness.
Happiness doesn't interest me,
isn't interesting.

Everyone says that
I'm wasting my time on Earth,
dropping the dirt on myself in
my digging to hell.

Well what the **** would I do
with a satisfied desire?
I'll not be sated to meet Satan,
but to take the dour throne!

Feed me!
Offer up a
hidden danger
of a love.
Feed me pain.
That I may
offer up. . .
substance.

Wake into a dream state, baby.
I'll be your second best escape.
You come running to me, baby.
You keep my soft heart safe.
Wake into a dreamlike state,
knowing you have a lookout in E.V.A.
When I, too, dig too deeply
to take alone, you're out on the rope.
What did I do, then, to deserve
a glimpse of this happiness,
soft like my heart? My mama told me
it was nonexistent, and
I certainly bought it -- but then, you.
What provoked you? What did I do?
Can it be that my existence is the
cause of your attraction?
I need to break free.
What sense does that make?
Can I run from love til
I kiss the coffin in grave?

Let me take your eyes, I'll
give you my teeth.
Who wants brown rot? You.
Wheat speckled emerald
rings encircle
obsidian space.
Just one of the things
                  I love about your face.

Out of the box, out of the realm,
she is heart to my sword and my helm.
Bowl of the bread, bowl on her head,
she permits me the grand privilege:

learning her will, learning her pain,
learning her joy and her disdain,
lines into dimples, lines into jowls,
lines of a smile and lines of a scowl.

In a minute,
I'm a *** smirk.
A shiny fang to show.
This pleasure, bundled
into nerves,
will decompose.

There isn't one chance.
Not one savior.
Evolution,
it still takes
its molasses-sweet-***-time.

I won't pray.
I won't wait.
As I am
& I shall be
the anti-divine.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

(...)

In a minute,
I'm a lost eye.
A stab wound, deep & old.
This sadness, bound
in my synapses,
wants me to know:

There is no escape.
No dissuasion.
Neurodivergence,
it wrestles
my ill logos for control.

I won't pray.
I won't pray.
As I am
& I shall be
funny chemicals.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

I raise the bone up to my two juicy lips
and I purse.
Here comes the carcinogen, the miasmic smoke,
the old ghost.

But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.

My love,
it's
not like it was.

I pick into the basalt black, like a boss.
I exhale,
mining verses from my vernacular
like
poisonous
metal.

But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.

It's nothing like it was,
and I'm perfectly fine.



In a manner of speaking.

At once, coffee and tea,
next second, scans.
Sweet, to hints of saccharine.
Burned bread is one
thing to dunk-- but diagrams?

Tunnel to the light, here
is the night. All
fall prey to life.
Tunnel to the light, here
falls the night. All
fall prey.

Now, you hasten.
I am still slow.
What will I do,
though, when you go?

Let's find out.

Here we go again, pain.
How long, now?
I love you more
than I ever.

How long, now?
How long's it been,
since you've loved me?
Did you ever?

I'm not upset.
I'd rather have these
frequent sleepless nights
than have a dream.

I'm not mad at you.
Could I possibly?
I'm not upset.
How could I ever?

Pay green.
All that you've seen
      this      year.
To come. . .
What's to come?
To come. . .

Got black?
Pay black.

Not black?
Get black.

Pay green.
All that you've ever
      seen      or   ever      will   see.
To come. . .
What's to come?
To come. . .

Indication. I'm a bad itch.
I'm worse than that --
I'm deliberate in
the gears that I turn,
year after year.

I'm a depressive *****
in a dark descent
from the spring spearmint
to an autumnal orange,
set in a somber sky,
to a familiar black.

I get up in the morning, sometimes still high from the night before, sometimes sober, sometimes wake and bake. I head into the bathroom, stand there to *** and force myself to look down at the ***** between my legs. Years and years have built up to an acceptance of my genitals from a foundation of hate.

I force myself to look myself in the face in the mirror, run my hands from ear to chin along my jaw, along the hair that represents to others a definitive flaw in my character, to myself, well, represents a certain type of shame. You see, everyone's convinced that women don't or should not grow hair in certain places.

Regardless of my status as a transgender individual, can't you see the stress this lays, the autonomy it takes from other women, too? It's like no one's ever heard of Punjabi peoples, it's like no one's ever heard the word hirsute, so the odds are higher some are inclined to shave their bodies in preparation for dresses or water fun, but I digress.

I run the water hot, it burns, I run the water on the array of razor blades and drag it gentle across the skin of the neck and down the cheeks, bottom lip and upper lip, then over both my brows. I wish I didn't have to do this, but I feel it deepest down that it will benefit me the most if I can push to survive more close calls so I may appreciate myself.