Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I'm slamming into thirty, a ship of dreams.
I heard once, somewhere, dream is destiny.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
Marijuana, and music videos on the big screen.
I'm alive by loose terms, I should finish it.

Do you remember when we were both sixteen?
I hurt you and spurned you despite your love.
That trend is now a running joke, long past its wit.
Complex patterns design to fit the searching eye,
sought fervently enough by the desperate heart.

From what I've seen of myself,
it seems you get what you give,
it seems you get what you deserve.
If after so long to work, I toil,
and that's my best, I'm unimpressed.

If a lesson is to live despite yourself,
If a lesson is to live to spite yourself,
Consider me among the elite competitors.

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?

Cystic
Nothing but a cyst
Sloughing skin
Kept within

Cancer
Nothing but cancer
Sloughing skin
End/Begin

Dirt pop
Nothing but a dream
Simple wish,
Spinning disc

Meat pop
Nothing but a dream
Nothing good
Nothing grand

**** me. Rend me.
Pull my soul
Out of my ***

Hold me. Taste me.
Rub my flesh
Dance into death

The apartment lies just on the hill.
Beyond the defunct track, beside
The working track. Tall, pale grass

Pressed under trash. Food bags.
Food bags and drink cups.
Cigarettes, butts, and packs

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Sharing light of morning sun

Cystic.
Cancerous.
Refuse.
Detritus.

Watch as the refuse stretches
Just as it is
Paper and/or plastic

Beautiful, isn't it.

Leisure ultimately
turns into a race.
The finish line
quickly approaches,
whether you are running
or you're crawling.

You can't take your gold pieces to grave.
You can't take your Tesla to your grave.
You can't take your Insta to grave.
You can't take your follows to your grave.

With a finger dipped in inky blood,
I trace the bright dots cross obsidian,
Charting for another loser driven by,
and in pursuit of the touch of love.

I can't take my hot heart into earth.
I can't take my friends closer to burn.
I can't take my fever dream to death.
I can't take the love that ails me,

but it filled me, and fills me,
and if it kills me,
what better a way?

Once,
a while ago,
we were
eagerly in love,
so, eagerly
we were in chains.

Once, we were members of a party.
Parts of a whole. A hopeless oath
of devotion to another, to durdle,
intimately, through the grandest lie.

Once, we were eagerly in chains.
(Now, contemptuous in disdain)
Once, we were excited to be.
(Now, that's just not what we're about)

Once, we were bonded in a gamble.

Now, we're barely willing bystanders,
no more an adventure, than it is
   a situation.

I want a man
to be a man.
A man who knows
what to do,
exactly when,
and knows
who to do it to.

Why?

I want a man to be a man,
meat mountain in motion,
so little body fat
that
        I. . .

Can make mixed drink rivers
flow through the cracks of
his ****** abdominis.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it!

I want a girl
to be a girl.
Her, tolerant,
forever
diminutive,
and knows
how it goes, because.

Why?

I want a girl to be a girl,
Youtube tutorials,
one of two: **** or ***.
I
  want. . .

Long hair and circus paint
on a few warm holes,
willing and wet, or, at least
wet.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it!

It's raining money
where it rains.
In the open.
It's raining respect
where it rains.
In the light.

Where am I?
(Where am I?)

I'm. . .         here.

In day,
I know
a burden.
A person,
should
never
be.

It's just,
my
expectations
outpace
my
empathy.

What is love,
but quotas
fulfilled?
Physical
and
emotional
gain?

In night,
I go
by Tri-Met.
Chinatown's
streets
beckon
me.

I hold
my
neck upright, tall
as I
can
possibly.

I left a
hollow husk/
body double,
sleeping on
my couch,
beside my
dead flame
and her bed.

Between the snoring,
and my black feet,
I escape easily.

What is love,
but quotas
fulfilled?
Physical
and
emotional
gain?

When I escape,
I can be who
I know I want to be.

So in the crisp night,
in the fresh rain,
I take a time slot,
so I can dance
away my pain.

I never knew
it was easy,
easy as this.

Music. You hear it now, don't you?
What's that sound?
Do you hear it, like I hear it?
Over my shoulder, though,
I've got ghosts and granules.

Voices. You hear it now, don't you?
What's that sound?
Do you hear it, like I hear it?
Evolved use of spoken
word, just to squander it.

I look around,
just to see,
loving my pointlessness
has afforded me,
nothing but
lack of company.

Quote me on this, please.
" I Love It "

Getting home.
Getting ******.
No aqualung, here.
Here, the lobes,
evergreen.
I'll die,
but I'm
perfectly fine
in my own eyes,
to be alive,
nowhere beneath,
yet.

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(confess emotion)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

(offer expression)

I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel that
way. My sincere condolences.

What surprise?
The model is tied
To our constructions,
Roughly,
But it sends the smoke
Screen away to reveal
A pattern and form.
The modern man
With a ***** seeks to find
Purpose in his *******,
But the finding may be done
In an abject lack
And sitting in place.
What surprise?
The (alpha) man
Who rapes control
Will prostrate
Himself
To the systems
Ensuring access
To unrestricted
Greed and Lust.
That ******!
It's not about you
At the bottom --
Deep and down, we
Share this problem:
Models up above, on
Pedestals take
Both testosterone
And estrogen to
Oppressive absolutes.

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,

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.

Where's this abject
anger come from?

Is it innate or
is it
an acquired trait?

Who owns these lips
grinning at gains?

Out comes the wolf?
Out comes the hominid.

Who owns these tongues
dripping silver?

Produce and consume.
That's how it is.

What an art it is
to dispel doom.

Tried selling concepts?
That's where it is.

Dark, play with the pants down.
Tell all, invite hell, I
took it for basic.

Dark, loose lips sink the ship.
Yell all you want. I
took it for granted
that

You knew, the line between
being
a miserable joke,
and/or
being a successful joke,

is in your grace toward the product,
and your ability to bottle it,
for your audience,
with confidence.

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.

:)

It's looking like
history books
and web pages
tell what once was
as an instructional
or, how to
for the future,
as every trend
spins on the same
blueberry,
and what once was
shall be, again.

I used to think
I might not have
the best grip on ****
because of that Cindy, and
her gaslit basement.
But my eyes are valid.
I'm not slitting throats,
I'm just taking notes
on this tragic situation.
Joker and The Fool.

I'm part of some kind
of severely ****** up system,
whether I wish it or not.
I better learn to smile.
So watch me. Here:

^_^

Everything's bound
to a simple rule.
Everything dies,
and everything is alive
with some participation.

I can't shake it from my mind.
        Why should I?

All of my ancestors made the mistakes
I can't help
       but bear repeating.

Why shouldn't I?

Spin it one more time,
your story is so involving,
I
couldn't
have heard
right.

Repeat it for me,
please.

That's what I thought.

Any other day,
I'd not
say anything,
pretend I
buy your *******.
Today, I can't let it go.

I never ask.
You volunteer.
That
makes
the lying
worse.

Bother someone else,
you ******* *****.

You've heard all of my stories.
You're versed in what I do,
but when I ask it of you,
you won't try anything new.

Tell me,
how should we progress, then?
Or would you like to stay
within the shade forever,
never knowing, never knowing
more
             more
                           more
        more
                        more
   more
      

           more?

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.

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.

Reflection.
Awareness.
How am I
still walking
still breathing
despite
carcinogenic
thoughts & feelings?
Reflection.
Ascension.
How am I
still drinking
still eating
despite
reverberation
in the earth's stomach?
Feeding myself to feed you.

Feeding myself to feed you.

. . .

Wet fingertip offered to the wind itself,
summon me personal heaven,
please, summon me
personal heaven.

Flat foot big toe tapping out the pulse
of the bare ground on concrete,
asking heaven of
the soil. Pleading.

Feeding myself to feed you.
Happily happening,
as but a terrible chance.

Happily happening.

How many minutes
will I live through this mess?
It's a grim question
unanswered as of yet.
How many sleepless nights
will I begrudgingly survive?

Way to go, me. Sad brain.
Pontificate suicide.
She's the ***** beast
with the pike teeth,
picking up on the vein.
She will not leave. She, Me.
Forever & I.

Have you seen me?
I'm missing.

In a little town,
that I've been around,
I've found the one
and only hole in hundreds
leading to a separate world
below.

Asphalt and all,
cold hearts,
nearly bare feet travel lengthy
streets, small in complaint.

Asphalt and all,
dead brains,
nearly there, but wrapped in
politic, fighting over what's real.

Have you seen me?
Apparently, I'm gone with no reason.

I've been around.
Everything is strange lines coming
out of nowhere, taking root as patterns,
meaning what you make it.

Asphalt and all,
**** brains,
nowhere near, but covered
in politic, fighting over what's real.
-- but I'm alive.

They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
All your brains can fight me,
fight their eyes.
They can fight me.
All they want to fight.
They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
                 I'm alive.
                       I'm alive.
                             I'm alive.

Fight me.
I'm smoking ****,
diving into dreams,
barely leaving my house.
Come on, *****, fight me.
If your heart does so explode,
when your eyes cast sight on what you know
is abominable, then come and arson these
paper walls with me inside.
Fight me. Take the life.

-- but I existed.
                 I existed.
                       I existed.

There she rests,
better yet,
her life's leaking.
She, the broken winged
being of a chemical bath,
never meant
to last long,
ponders her past when

violet light spears out of the black
night in a radial burst, orbs
of blue, white, and pink,
dance in collusion,

and calls her, as she's called to doom,
so many before her.

Within the oval shape casting there,
she beheld blood somewhere else,
pumping through gates,
coursing through veins.

With a muster of her final strength,
she fell from the rock and into the waters.
Pulling and pulling,
closer and closer.

What a vicious punk --
I'm pretty sure he lies about his age.
What's with the bow and ponytail?
Desert skin curtained by auburn,
socketed with emerald eyes.
Who does he think he's fooling?

What a deplorable. . .
I'm pretty sure his skill with a sword
is comparable to beginners.
Pillow lips protect a silver tongue.
While we work, he's in the taverns,
playing at conversation.

What a queer young man --
Even back on Jalima he ruffled
feathers on the goodly wings.
I wouldn't trust a man who would
speak, over choosing violence.
Who does he think he's fooling?

Chants in droning, layered voices
spin around me as the portal whips and swirls.

Vision leaves for blindness, then
returns again in purple tunnels, bending, twisting.

My mind appeals to enlightened reason
as a pain begins to escalate.

Somehow, I know the feeling coming,
and this one, I do not want to come.

My feathers and my skin, then reject
my body in its whole. I feel it peel away.

There's nothing but death ahead.
A right angle to admire in flight.

Falling, free, yet truly contained for the first time.
What's left? An ending far past my feeling's edge.
Beyond all comprehension --

Why would I strive for gains in paper and credit,
when breaking the boundaries means I may well
never know human contact, again?

From the womb, I've squeezed from a trigger pull.
I'm a representation of cyclical self destruction,
until I lose my velocity to life.

Where's my beholden, blue light ignited soul?
A siren throat is bone dry, floating on the ocean,
hopelessly croaking the notes.

Would any human ever ignore their good senses
just to commit to an abomination, who is sin
simply in their existence?

There's nothing but death on the horizon.
A right angle to admire in descent.

Arrested.
A Windsor knot
binds my
fickle neck
to my dour
shoulders.
Plastic ties
elegant wrists
in pair.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me redemption
or else,
how can I ignore it?

One bedroom.
An eager clock,
minutes
from my set,
or expected
The End,
happily
leaves me to my
routine.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me freedom
or else,
how can I ignore it?

Can I really be who I want?
Can I really be what I mean?

Will I ever solidify?
Will I ever come to?

And who will come?

(. . .)

Pleasantries
to monkeys
checking
files in the
imagination
database.
What you want to hear
appears
before your eyes as wish
fulfill--
meant for a target,
the same
as its creator.
In words:
What we've come to call
"a heart missing a piece."
In words:
Easy marketing.
Pleasantries
to monkeys
surfing
cyber waves
for validation
constantly.
What would you like to hear?
What world would you create?
Tickets are 10 for $10, today.

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.

Alive.
What's
the point
in knives?
A tool.
What's
the deal
with deals?

If I
never
get caught in
one more
crossfire
conversation
about
only
the mundanities
I would
lose my
edge, but wouldn't it be nice?

If I
never
get trapped in
gossip
circles
again, though,
I
would be
happy.

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.

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.

If I should end
then,
well, I guess that's
that.

Self preservation
makes enough sense,
until I rise
from ancient fears.

A smile
can't crack
to
predators
on the
attack.

A smile
in heart,
in
spirit, soul,
against
the world.

The cruel will turn to worms.
I might scream, nail under nail,
but I'll not have failed myself.

The cruel will turn to worm
food,
And they may get to you,
but,
so what?

The cruel will turn to worm
food,
And they may come for you,
but,
so what?

My time is mine,
and I, don't have time
to fight systems
of imaginary lines.

(I paint them)

I'm surely turning, slowly,
into worm food, too.
I don't want to waste my time
with you, fighting.

If I should end
then,
well, I guess that's
that.

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.

At times in existence
What you feel cannot be described
The words are there ready to erupt
The circuitry laid inside
Is beyond description
You're allowed your own wants
You'll never know if they're wrong
You paint it, you say it, angry at night
You sing it til it curdles into bloodied screams
The reality is your beauty
Is so kind that it gets the knife
The tip drips with black instead of white
The pen is, it turns out, poisoned
With toxicity to life
You live hope. You live faith.
You are strength.
Yet your desire is forever ensnared
Caught in a cry