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one leaf left conjoined, on the
last tree in the entire world
that was planted not only in
the barren desert but also in the
midst of an eternal sandstorm
that ravaged and blinded any earthling
organism that was brave enough
to ask for a taste. except one man
was blind enough already, and his shaggy
gray dreadlocks shielded his weak spots
while he trudged on for miles in his
balaclava, listening for the wind
in the closest space to crack and give
a sign. and then there was the tree –
not flowing in the wind but solidifying
into stone as the clock struck
15,000 years and the leaf blew away and drained the secrets
from its roots and locked them
away for the Titans to find. the
man was 2,000 miles away, and he
had just run out of water in the
desert when he realized that the
shift was happening already. so he
laid down and packed the sand on
nicely and waited patiently for
the Titans to take him under and
ask him questions about life up
above.
misty in the back yard
walking along the perimeter
socks getting soggy

it’s barely first light
peering on the horizon
still no I’m Sorry

the wind whips my face
i cry from the pain
on the soles of my feet
on this wire i’ll stay

balancing act
practice never lets out
calling all the famous talent scouts

make me into the final act
that everyone laughs at
instead
craters won’t move
but some things
have to stay where they are made.
humans are not
one of those things.
the folks who move all smile,
the people that stay
are unusually angry
they can’t preserve themselves.


but that is a strong accusation
kind of an ******* judgment
gray feathers
trickle down in the frigid air.
the atmospheric pressure squeezes me
so tight,
like the room we held our noses in
so we could absorb maximum confidence
and squirm
        and twitch
                and build a fence.

once the hour is upon us
i’ll take my own hand and riot.
i’m used to it.
you haven’t even tried it.

now the floor is to the left
ears fill up with tears
recollecting nearby fears
to string on to a necklace
and give it to the next person
that looks at me with soul.
what about the future?
what about the past?

well, what about the present?

right now there’s so much going on,
like how i can feel the vibration of the mower
in the distance,
the little scratchy nubs all over my body.
i’m trying to see from behind the scratches on my glasses
but my eyes are so drawn to the 9000 shades of color that
are so pervasive and sensitive.

and your talking is hummed and hushed,
like your morals,
because you fail to practice what you preach,
and what i’m figuring out in the present is that
i’m doing the same exact thing to myself maybe slower,
now, it seems, but
somehow even quicker.

and the clutches of that Mazda clutch we crashed
when we were fourteen are crouching to my level,
trying to say hello but all i hear are bubbles
in the pond where your little sister tried to drown herself.

the spiraling candy slide has me nauseous and ready
to spew chunks all over mom’s new ornaments,
and the plane changes again, the doctor’s office
and white gloves reaching inside my mouth to shut off
my anxiety, my perplexity,
to show me the worm inside that’s making this happen.


but all he pulled out was my brain,   entirely whole,
and i snatched it from his hands
and smothered my hunger
with such a satisfying snack,
fingers included!
                            what the **** did i just do?              Was it that Demon called Panic that, personified as moi,
took me on that train
without my permission?
                                    
                ­i really will never know what it is   that i have
               that is so special enough to be able to see
all 9000 colors in the spectrum.

they’re so vivd, it scares me, honestly,
                               and in the dark i feel fine, because there’s nothing
to see, but,
in the light, for real this time,
i wish somebody would take out
my eyeballs,
                                          and walk me like a
                              dog for the rest of my life.
so much farther left to go…
bubbling pieces of my words that came out
a few hours ago.
i was stretching outward $wordfight$,
no one wanted to do it at that point.

we’re coming up on fields that bless
the earth with their areal embrace.
some people take up certain things
to put back in their place.

                    who ever would have guessed?
                it’s a lot of work to water a friend,
                            even as we’re moving over,
                         i can quench your thirst with
                                                  my drowning.
but can it be transformed?
can the piles of bones form waves
and crash into beauteous palettes of marble?
can the deepening cracks in the concrete
be filled from the top and forgotten?
i think they would reappear much sooner.

lately it’s been good to think
and once the mind has wandered off
does it have the courage to stay lost?
because i think it’s funny –
the pain of trying to hard to find a place –
consumes the soul much more, it seems,
than thriving in the uncertainty
of being content while still feeling lost.

can the wires be untangled
if the ends are saudered shut?
can we pull apart the fibers
and recreate landscapes we thought
were places we’d like to visit.

i don’t want to believe the places i’ll find
are perfect mirrors at this point in time
and my arrival will shatter the equilibrium

but if that turns out,
i will hold my breath
and put the pieces back in a mosaic
and color the shards with my tears.
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