What it must be like,
To cling to a hope so savagely
That all doubt is swept aside.

I begrudge the women I've loved,
This hope in ****** men,
This belief in miracles.

I wish that they'd believe in me
one day.
But then, I am indeed
Someone else's dying need.

You'll learn to love too much
when smiles turn to distant glances;
as distant as the galaxies
she'd used to point to and say
'that means you and me':
speckled and splattered
across your milky way of
coordinated highs and byes.

You'll learn to love too much
when the words you seep
are dulled to a different sleep;
one that used to put your
fleshed-whole-soul to bed,
but now keeps you up
regretting what was never said.

And when you hallucinate,
to escape the bronze lonerism,
you may will yourself to
a golden-childlike-aura,
believing you are brand new
and are never blue, because
the love you splurged
can never hurt you or
never be enough.

She has a shaved head
that reminds me of a
crooked-smile-ex;
that choked on cigarettes
and words too contrived,
painted in a negligence
for humanity and a
belief in uninformed
nothingness.

Her body curves like
backroads I've been lost in.
Skin as pale as an eggshell,
I'd imagine she'd shatter
under the olive robe
she calls a dress
and bounce under the
kickstep of organic flats.

Eventually she will become
too much of an idea, she will
evolve into a misogynistic
poem, and if I were
to imagine her naked,
guilt would flood our fleshly-
alcohol-stained-continents,
angry between every slur,
loving between the shadows
of phantoms I once knew.

That's it. I'm done passively digesting all of this garbage. it's time to stand up and start doing. Stop whining, stop blaming the things you don't like about your life on other people (Muslims, Republicans, Liberals, Rich People, Young People etc). The world is not unchangeable, and instead of bemoaning how powerless you are to change it, take action. We all have the power to make this life more than it is, and it doesn't start in the halls of Congress, it doesn't begin with other groups conforming to fit your world view, it begins with YOU. Today, right here, right now, YOU have the power to influence the world around you in a positive, meaningful way. Even though it doesn't seem like it, real change starts with the individual, deep inside, an active decision to not accept things as they are and to take part in changing them for the better. The same old human frailties and insecurities are the REAL opposition. Not the people who want to come here and live better lives, not the people who want the violence to end, not the people who go to church on Sundays, not the people who just want a chance to see their children prosper and be left to live their lives. Many of you will say,"BUT that's exactly what WE want! It's those OTHERS that won't leave us be, so we have to be reactionary to DEFEND ourselves." That is complete ******* and you know it. It's bad logic and it's the kind of crap governments have been using to justify wars of aggression since the dawn of civilization. Hate, Greed, Fear, Jealousy, these are our real enemies, and all the actions we take that are based on them are invariably marred by their origin. With the whole country choosing sides, and trying to force me to choose one or the other, I refuse. I don't accept either party's world view, I will NEVER accept the xenophobia and horror that they propagate to further themselves. Their ONLY purpose is to make us believe that WE NEED THEM, but in fact it is we who should reflect on just how absolutely THEY NEED US. Now, I'm not asking any more of you than I do of myself. I don't expect people to drop everything and go start a revolution, or to become monks and attain Nirvana, or whatever highest attenuation of your belief system. What I do expect, is for all of us to remember that we have unimaginable power to affect those around us in our daily lives, just by simply giving hope and encouragement, by building each other up, instead of insecurely hoarding affection because we think there's not enough of it. Don't be discouraged, don't believe the lies that are fed you everyday about your fellow humans and their intentions, don't ever forget that WE MAKE THE WORLD AS WE SEE FIT, SO DON"T MAKE IT ******. Times are dark, but the odds aren't insurmountable by any means, there is real, positive action that can be taken, workable solutions that can be achieved. I hope to see you on the other side.
‪#‎AUTONOMYNOW‬

It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.

the bottle twists
glass falls in drifts
and air parts like flesh

there’s a terror beneath this city
trucks enter from out of town and shake the power lines
passing without pause

sometimes birds gather for days
chirps grow exponentially
before tailing into silence;
heather and brimstone
little bodies roll to the edges
and burst on the streets in red regalia

a somnolence keeps the city forgetful
time flows in fits
a streetlamp; a raven; ten gravestones
it all runs without moving

vessels dilate
hands hold themselves

there’s nothing to breathe with
an empty chalice, turned on the hour grants
heaving clenching writhing
an ocean of rust
bulb shatters, blood spills out her
mouth cave head turn faith
the world remakes itself
*******
the colour of sunflowers
bicycle chains
thirst
colonialism
wet paint

emptiness over emptiness
act without agent
lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack
peel the flesh and find flesh
always more flesh
don’t stop they know better
chirp chirp chirp
turn
exit
substance
purpose
nothing

Encounter II

You cried the first night we spent together, and the night after, and almost every night since. At first I feared it was something that I was doing, some piece of love you needed that I couldn't give. Hateful as it sounds, you weren't the first that I've loved like that. Hopefully I'll love none after you and won't have to worry about the last. Regardless, I've come to love myself enough though, with your help, to understand that it wasn't lack of love that caused you to sob into my shoulder. It wasn't some failing of mine that pushed you to seek out what comfort I could give. You cried in front of me because you trusted me enough to do so. You had no part to play, no face to wear other than your own. And now, deep in the wee hours when you fold yourself in to me, I don't question. I give all I have of myself, so that you can sleep peacefully.

Blood

Let the Christians call it the devil's work, but I call it love. Really, if we want to get outrageous about it, most of their practices are just as anthropologically based as all other human ritual. All lovers have little rituals, small things that only they know, quirks and nuances that are the real mortar that hold the walls of their relationship together. Herodotus became an inside joke, my cheap metal raven head became a symbol, we trail leaves over each other after ******* (if available), our foreplay includes brushes and india ink, etc. When we began rearing up what we are to each other though, that work began with blood, as all holy things do....

"Baby, c'mere. Please?"

"Honey what the **** happened, you're bleeding everywhere?!?"

Wrapped your wrist in the gauzz I keep beneath the sink for just such an occasion. Insisted we sleep on the couch so I could hold you and you could watch your favorite shows at the same time. Spent enough time sleeping on couches anyway. Sleeping on one with you, listening to Jude Law talk up Cameron Diaz or some **** was gorgeous.

Weeks later

"Darlin, I ****** this one up."

"Don't say **** like that babe, what happened?"

"You know how I've been ******* about my ear hurting?"

"Yeeeaaaahhhh?" as you walk down the hallway.

You see the amount of blood on the tissue

"******* Daniel! C'mon, we're going to the MediQuick right the **** now!"

You did your damndest not to touch my ears for weeks after that, and it took a month of me saying they didn't hurt for you to start biting them again.

Submission*

I never want to give you up. But I'm not afraid of change. It's one of our favorite games, pretending we are elsewhere, loving like the world is different. Like we are different. Knowing that it's all transitory, knowing that these blue sky days will end. I always remember the Hospitaller in Kingdom of Heaven(played by David Thewlis), saying that even if something has only lived for a while, it still has lived. I try to keep that in mind on those occasions when we wander from each other. We will end, eventually, somehow, probably incredibly unwillingly....but that doesn't mean all that we are isn't beautiful.

Thus do I gather these scattered memories
tenderly,
having been burned
having been broken
the time comes to carry them into the coming days
quietly.