Swelling squalls of erectile tissue
encountering memories of you

wickering through me like a swish of ink making it's way across paper

my mouth was still stained
red from the
pomegranate seeds i ate from the palm of you hand
when i checked your instagram feed.
i had been lost in your underworld for
three
whole
days
before the weight of your sorrow found its
way into my stomach
and to the marrow of my bones.
like some fish wiggling along the sides of a
tank i ate your emotional refuse
and felt myself
becoming heavier and heavier
while you lifted to the clouds
and found this beauty among them.
i still sat in the bottom of the pond
bloated and
envying the sky above me.
you are still swimming in my blood
like a nasty parasite
and i feel like ripping out my stomach
to pour the weight of you out
but you seem so happy that
i want to pretend that your sadness
never existed and
that i am a stranger merely browsing through
photos.
but the fact remains that i
am still here.
on my bed writing angrily
about you like i have written about
dozens before you
and for some reason
something
hasn't
changed.

No, I have a ritual.
I turn it over and shake it.
Get all the loose crud out,
then take a paperclip & dredge
the remaining particles of detritus,
The dust can,
preferably with a red straw.
Clorox the tops of the keys,
The sides of them
(scrape, if necessary)
Then dredge the bottom again.
Repeat with the phone, the 10-key.
Blow these actions up,
Apply to thoughts, actions, emotions
Swirl it all down the drain...

In the First Kingdom, you find the following... a wave and a cataract for swallowing
and shabby hats.
In the Second Kingdom, Jules Verne hates broccoli and the moon is made of lost keys.
In the Third Kingdom, God knows why you keep breathing while He holds His Breath.
In the Fourth Kingdom, there's nothing There.
In the Fifth Kingdom, Nothing comes after Four.
In the Sixth Kingdom, your hands have a score to settle with the Architect, but you have no hands.
In the Seventh Kingdom,you're naked all the time and every one makes love to you.
In the Eighth Kingdom, the Devil is a Nancy Lad with no agenda
and a distorted corona. And Applebee's are Orange-hornets, thank you very much.
And this poem haunts your spleen.
In the Ninth, you were there
but then
we lost
you at
the
Fair.

and that was sweet.

the smooth brush of fingers against my face
morphs into steel against my hips
pulling, dragging
the remnants of your words
spoken so harshly, as if a command
leave red stripes on my body
tracing every imperfection with the violent caress
only found in a blade
carving you into me
over and over again

shh, please be quiet
don't tell me I'm beautiful
because the place where I keep
my collection of lies
is running out of
skin.

Shadows of a chandelier
Beautiful mystery of dark and light
Dancing, weaving, wondering, feeling
Not seeing with glassy eyes

Light fragmented sun ray cracked
The mind casts long reels of doubt
Wonder yet confusion
Enjoyment yet delusion

How many roles to play?
Theatrical conceit
Characters as hours of a day?
Eye-catching as deceit

Illustrious – lustre – lust –  last?
Lest lukewarm fire stir
The ashes sprinkled
Memory of the present
Mourning love yet to be lost

Why hold a storm for the rainbow?
But let the sun shine
And be glorious in its God-written course
To set and rise in perfect time

They say you got my gift to you
My apology for all the bitter days
of teary silence and rage.
Yes, I played it tricky & deep.

They knew too much
about too many private things.
Dream language is the tool of hypnosis
Creates a window into the dreamer

The front door with majestic scenes
of a lazy lioness and her pride,
At the foot of acanthus leaved columns,
That was built by my sister, the engineer.

She learned the language
From a pair of twins from some
small Texas germantown
Never told her, I built a back door,

To which I gave you the key.
They say he cut you cruelly-
To keep you from mucking up their profit,
To keep you from abandoning your race.

All for a few minutes of wisht?
Stole a few years of my dreams
scribed and kept set away for you.
I'm glad we found a better way.

If I wake to find it's just another dream,
I don't know what I'll do.
It's the wildness they hate in us.
They only thynk it's about race.