My arms are infinite extensions of the universe within my breath. My eyes smudged telescopic kaleidoscopes tinted with the shade of reality. My lungs are pretending to move with the harmony of Om and the balance of stars. Stars. Stars that often imagine themselves as warriors and bears, clocking in infinite time for the job of  "Inspiration", contractual every few million years. And then they rotate, revolve, imitate and dissipate into new configurations of dead lights. And over a backdrop of pitch black voids of offices after hours, stars are the friendly, warm glowing windows at the next block, in heavy rains. Stars will remain though our own species retains our blood-lust for fellow brothers and sisters and Gaia. Stars that can only be seen through infinite extensions of vision, and only reached by the arms that strive to thrive in kaleidoscope waters viewed from smudged telescopes.

against the currents of regret and forgetting
i have learned to dive into myself
but when i regret forgetting
i must dive deeper





                                

                                                      and i fear i may have


                                                                                     drowned.

listen to the vibrations.
do you feel the resignation
of your destination
leaving you under trance
of the illusion of sound
in the air?
that, my dear friend,
is a hallucination.

barbed wire inside my lungs
and fingertips
accented in irony of the
white picket fence
around my chest

i imagined,
vividly,
that this new year would bring
forgiveness and
now i see,
vividly,
it has not.
not completely.
not for you,
not for me.

on the edge of the blade of a dying year
that cuts dull and burns gray,
i abandon all abandons
and commend all amends.
thank you dear,
i'm sorry fear,
let us get together soon confusion
and water down wine
with our blood.
outshine all shine
lit until two seconds before yesterday of now,
i will abandon all abandons
and commend all amends.

Number One
Tell your roommate to hide all the knives
because you will carve her name on all pieces of furniture.
Number Two
Cut your nails
because you will still try to carve her name on all pieces of furniture.
Number Three
Give away your furniture
because carvings of her name will remind you of her.
Number Four
Carve her name on everything
until her name looks more like vandalism
and less like the name of someone who carved something out of you.
Carve her name until it looks less than the war cry
that you will lay your heart for,
less than the title of the song that keeps you up at night,
less than the poem that makes you get up every morning.
Though she is
was
is
your everything and nothing,
carve her name.
You have to.