There is only so much of yourself that you can give away
until there is nothing left
And I was giving you parts of me
that I never even had.

And it's not that I don't love you
It's just that it hurts
It's just that everything hurts

How the **** do I stop hurting?

I wake up every morning
Force myself out of bed
Maybe shower, brush my teeth
Maybe force myself to eat
Keep myself alive

But truth is I don't want to be
I pray for death daily
And I'm sorry
I'm so sorry
You had to meet me.

You can be polite. Or you can tell all the Julia’s in the world the things you think about when they’re talking to You.  You could just…  Start. Talking.  It would be delicious and taboo and all that, and maybe a little awkward for all the Julia’s but the mainest thing… It would be impossible to ever. give. a ****. ever. again. You Know This. You Know It Like you Know how many bottles of champagne it takes to even Begin to be enough champagne. This skill is highly prized. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia. Right here. Right now. You can - tch. You’re not even listening to me, are you?  That is awesome.
    I can see it all now… one, two maybe five Julia’s all yapping away in a Vera **** pincer formation and then….! You open your mouth. The stars fall. The Julia’s are like “ What the-? “ and you, Sophia… Drowning the Gallery. Using all the colors you discovered on your expeditions. A Rainbow made of Lions. I can see it. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia Conasta. Right here. Right now. You can even begin with a… You’re not even listening to me, are you? My God! you’re beautiful.
Like a bomb that uses a fork because ground zero was no place be Un-Civilized. In fact. Ground Zero wasn’t even a Place until you got there. And let your Self, drop! I mean to say…. You can be polite. Or. You can be Sophia being sophia. period. There’s a lot of tuxedos at this Event, have you noticed that? When did they come back? And why lord! do they all look terrible?
    How long have I been gone? What the hell is Julia talking about now? That’s Leonard Maxwell and his assistant, April Alcott.  She burns money to watch it burn-Ironically, but she’s not sure if she’s doing it right because if it Meant Anything in the first place, she would be first to have no clue what it meant. So now she nails it, but never gets a prize. She bought a lot of my dark stuff from 5 yrs ago that paid for the flat in Portland. What the hell is she wearing? A rhinestone baby Jesus tongue stud? I love these parties. I hate these parties. I’m Sophia Conasta. Celebrated Artist whose Body of Work has astonished the Hoi Polloi of the Art World, and totally lost right now.
     What is Julia’s problem? Did she lose a Horse? Again? Somehow?Or Something? Open Bars Are Go! I’ll just weave my way over to the Gayest Cabal and Julia will be scraped off like a Barnacle* By GUCCI, and then I’ll be clearly Minus One Julia. That can only be a good thing. And - Open Bar. Breathe, Drink
Genius.

.

Declan Shapiro had a switchblade. One day he didn’t go to school and got really good at not knowing why his father shot 9 nine people he had never met, and then shot himself when the cameras arrived.
He mastered the basics. And these were the basics. Then you work your way down. Got it?
So Declan Shapiro stole a car. Stealing glances at this point just didn’t have the Juice. He parked the car in the trunk of the car. His genius was to drive it off a cliff a few miles outside of town, with a brick and belt strapped to the wheel and the stick. It was so beautiful to feel something that it nearly killed him to thumb a ride into town and leave all those emotions on the edge. He was home by 9:35 pm and that’s what he told the cops. There was meatloaf with a ketchup smiley face next to some mashed potatoes on a paper plate just being the worst sort of super fan.

When Tanner Percy McQueen lost her virginity on purpose, the purpose was a thing that words were powerless to express, and yet she will never forget the premise. It was like keeping track of every fork in a lie to avoid getting caught in one, with all the panache of up close magic. Her room was a mess because she was looking for her loose change. A girl's gotta eat. Her mother, apparently, had to drink all the Benadryl and watch Animal Planet. Tanner Percy McQueen got her **** together and hopped on her bike with the banana seat all the boys wanted to be. She got where she was going before she realized her heart was broken and this was the place that didn’t care to talk to her about it. It was just noise and pills and beautiful monsters. They had hot dogs you could get for 2 dollars and she had 2 dollars so…. She bought some Ecstasy instead and told Stacy Mathers she was fat and that she wanted to kiss her on the mouth but it hurts when she wakes up and the world is still there and that she got this bracelet from some creep in a parking lot who never even tried to make a pass at her. She had no idea it glowed in the dark.

If you have eyes that hang lanterns in mid-air
and smooth skin where your wrinkles sleep,
and a broken heart where you come from…
mending rivers with tears and old photographs
of antique cameras encased in opal coral
on a seabed of shipwreck and silt...

If you pause to reflect and the mirror
needs a minute to adjust to the absence
of your vanity… and all your coats
smell of wet dog rescue and soup kitchen
and your god is a living thing
that knows why you ask questions
that have answers
but you just like the sound of love’s voice…
so you pretend politely.
and pray for real.

then let my mind tick. to imagine thee
in all your wondrous oddity
allow me the privilege of adoration
and a moment alone
to caress your wings
with all the tenderness of a wish
without a name.

and i’ll abide.

The air is damp in the basement where several boxes trade baseball cards
With long-forgotten toys in
various stages of disrepair.
A 30ft. hose, pretending to be a reticulated python; commits to the role
In an asymmetrical coil of hunter’s green, weathered and neglected. It becomes a reptile in a garden of reverie.
Next to an oil can full of rusty nails and sawdust. To seldom applause.
At night, the seeping mirror is placid and black on concrete between crates.
A washing machine windges in an existential spiral
of bespoke filth and hand-me-downs.
you can hear the rain patter like fat cats in bubble wrap
as a late dinner sinks into the catacomb, crooning pork chops and maple
with a hint of ambergris’ and misbegotten broccoli.
When the hour is late… the mice chat as metallic slugs lace silver thread
to weave a two-dimensional sweater
for a concrete god
in the dark.
with no
hands.

that wind at your back
with my eyes and my name
is me breathing.

those clouds overhead
with hands full of rain
is my song.

that tree by the porch
where you swing -
holds a torch
and my
meaning.

evergreen in your season.


II

those butterflies
that can’t tell
the flowers
about you….

are telling them all
just the same.

they know all about
how my love
surrounds
you.

and now they’re
doing the
same.

My Solitaire is irascible in aspect. Just over the Hill there; I used to carve my initial conditions into a blank stare, or a block of omission. But now my stratagems soar far beyond the pondering of Loneliness. Even Abandon cannot fathom Me.

     I tend to orchids that have earthquake hearts and care for the waning moons in my terrarium of phantoms and glass apples. i anoint the chasm with vespers of Isolation that sparkle like a madness in phosphorus ecstasy. My books are Discreet.
I am their Shogan.

The moral of the story
is never a suspect.
But always a
conviction.

Read tea leaves for the articles.
Scrapbook the
Fiction.

I wonder how I've ended back up in this position
dependant on not just a chemical or two, but
dependant on the love of a person
You see, I was not born a human, nor have I lived as one,

I'm used to the beauty of the darkness, for in dark places
beautiful flowers grow, but it takes eyes
shadowed in darkness for decades to see them
and to pluck them, one needs a still heart
that no longer beats with the rhythm of a living being

that darkness has shaped my world, shaped my mind
yet in her voice, her words, and her love
I've found myself slipping from that place
being pulled into one in which I do not know how to live
Here there is light, and sights to be seen
with eyes practiced to the sun

I used to believe the universe whispered to me
and maybe it still does, it's just that it's been so long
since I've listened, that its song is distant
raw, and uncaring

You see the universe is lonely,
that's why it turned into you, and into me,
to be embraced with it's own warmth
to embrace itself in its own desire,
what a simple thing we endeavor, is it not?

By becoming creatures bounded in time, and space,
we've forgotten our true self and along with it
the wellspring of love that created us,
now we seek it, although in lesser forms,
experiencing it with only a few
and the upper casts of beings know this,

Somewhere deep in our subconscious we also understand, and we know that we've forgotten it.

It's just that demons have embraced darkness, and a total absence of love, while we try to fill ourselves with small glimmers plucked from flowers that grow in the sun.

Demons, on the other hand, pluck flowers that grow only in the darkness, and those flowers have power over mortals, they will call to thee and under their spell, you will dream dreams meant for only devas, asuras, demons, and spirits.

This nectar is not meant for humans, yet in our arrogance, we reach for their stock and supply,
and with it we compose beautiful songs and paint beautiful shapes, we piece together majestic art and music that can open the mind, bend it, twist it, and mold it in ways from which it can never retreat.

We create,
Things that even devas desire,

We create,
Things that even demons devour,

But to us humans these things are toxic, they are too much, and we become lost to them.
Such that we call madness is a consequence of reaching too deeply into the well of knowledge with an unbalanced, ignorant, distracted, and frail mind, and in doing so, we forsake everything for the pitifullest glimpse of eternity.

In that place; only gods and asuras may roam freely; humans, on the other hand, are far too greedy,
far too curious, far too ignorant, and far too dangerous to possess such knowledge.

We should stick to light plucked from flowers growing in the sun,
because those flowers which grow in the darkness will only lead to our damnation, the conclusion of our race, and the manifestation of something far more terrible than any of our myths ever suggested.

Sometimes when I'm feeling a little too good
I'll think of you
to remind myself I deserve nothing more
than to be broken and alone

And don't you worry
You've planted enough seeds of doubt
to where I'll always be missing you,
and hating myself.

He used to run with scissors
Now he creeps with a sharpie pen
To keep canaries in suspense.
And that beats a coal mine.
Cause up close…. It’s almost personal.
He can almost feel it
Twitching
in his enigma -
Like a holy ghost
Trying to kick.
And
nobody knows
The deal with
the shoebox
Full of sharpies
And all those
black canaries
Not to mention
Duct tape.

He keeps his griffins on a leash
And he can’t seem to sleep at night.
And He can’t even tell
if it hurts…

But he loves the way
That it's so easy to fake it.
And how anything
is possible
if everything
burns.