all my life i told myself
that i would be free by now -
but the farther i went,
the less i knew.
maybe lost is worse than
suffocating,
or maybe i just
want my mom.
i thought i'd be more
complete by now -
but i don't feel ready for anything,
i just feel scared.

the scientists called it The Bomb,
capitalizing it like God.
is there anything more
surreal or divine than to
crush the world under your fist?
is there anything more human
than to ascend, abuse, destroy?
do you think they realized
what they'd done?

animal breaks Creation,
adam usurps Creator,
radioactive, reeling, resplendent -
i hope for a nuclear future;
not desolation, no horsemen,
but clean air, man-made Providence.
there's something beautiful about
evolving, becoming more than animal,
living past hope or good sense.
i am become god,
bringer of life;
i want to live to see the atom split,
not for death,
but for light.

drinking alone, smoking,
playing dead, overthinking,
a psyche made of bad habits
and a stomach that's always sinking.
this is the summer of silhouette,
laying in the shade, apathetic slumber,
the figure of a man in the background,
counting my ribs and fearing the number.
i go transparent in the sunset -
the sickness is tangible, apparent,
just as i knew, feared -
it's buried in my chest, inherent.
i can't get better when
it's just paper mache and cigarettes;
i pray and pray and pray
but no one's heard me yet.

full moon, nervous edge, sweat beads,
my lungs are bruised and beaten,
and my heart is made of bone.
why, pomegranates bleed,
sigh and remain uneaten,
calcify or rot alone.

i saw persephone cry
and all the angels alight,
stark and sad in burning flame.
a soft weeping right nearby,
holy fires of the night,
and i swear i heard my name.

possession requires a host,
but i couldn't catch my breath
stumbling through the graveyard.
i don't believe in ghosts,
but the awesome fear of death
caught me lonely and off guard.

i will try to describe it:
in the face of this feeling,
your guts are on the table,
your insides exposed, moonlit,
mine were cold and revealing,
dead, skeletal, and mangled.

i get so lost in tomorrow
i keep forgetting
this is exactly what i wanted.
i become myself and become myself
til i blister -
it hurts but it's me.
i shed my skin, bite my tail,
and never learn.
i dig my nails under my face and
chase something i'll never earn.

sunsets ripple across southern skies
like skipping stones across a pond.
i'm thinking about how we all die.
what will nothing feel like?
what did it feel like before?
i catch myself guessing -
the void and cold conjurings of a
scared temporary consciousness.
loneliness beckons and repulses me
in equal measures, existential inquiries
painting me into nihilistic corners.
is this just some brief gift?
i hem and haw and waste the light,
i become the universe i fear,
endlessly eating my thoughts,
embodying entropy as i gasp for air.

I-20's sparkling something special as
summer glares through my windshield.
my white knuckled grip is off season
but it's wrapped around my only stability:
the jerky steering wheel of a car that
needs its tires aligned.
the air smells like ripening southern summer and humidity drips like fruit juice down my brow. the sun pours into green eyes, sets them pale against the sclera.
i can't see what's directly in front of me,
but what's new.
windows down, eighty miles an hour
out of atlanta. i'm alone but even i'm pretending these tears are sweat.
i don't know where i'm going, i never have.
i just drive forward on the hot asphalt
and hope my tires will melt
and the clouds will part
and someone will make sense of it all.
summer was always her favorite season
but i guess that's just another reason
to want it over.