I'm a z-blossom

this keeps
killing me

yet, here I am
resurrected
as ****

missing the taste
of your thoughts

*again

to hide, to lie
to string dangling participles
along on metaphors

use poetry
where lips won't work
and mind can't find
The Way

let crystal crimsom flow
from serrated wrists

obscurity allows for
solshimmers of the ineffable
so don't eff it in the a
like a persie Snap channel

in the event that may potentially be a thing possibly occurring perhaps I dunno and I don't know what I don't know but it sureasshit would be nice to because me and truth are like this [crossies] and on occasion it comes and knocks on my door so the Uni bringeth and I laugheth all the way to the wet sodium facepalm speaking of which I don't like the taste of that **** I like my truth rare and still mooing would you believe I'm a vegetarian tho but still **** ******* like it raw crunch munch nom noms even though I slurp soup like there's no phoking tomorrow also down af for digressing and running onward and sideways stories from where the sidewalk never ends and I really don't think ours does plus it sure is the weirdest neatest thing ever did you bring the proper shoes darling I sure hope you can keep up in all the ways and FYI my door is not blasted off the hinges it's wisened and slightly ajar and I'm standing over threshold with eyes wide and slightly red because I waved goodbye to sunsets left for mf good but never got to see our light rise so just know that these wrung hands are actually open palms crippled from reaching and being singed on handles that seemed oh-so cool from my limited optical view like a mountain of honeycombed Dixie Crystal dust knees that you had been on yours praying for but gave the **** up on long before he walked in and changed EVERYTHING and I am so grateful but I am sad and I am hurt and I am confused but I am not scared like I once was of you and All our tea leaves foretold but scared I am of never really knowing you and the accompanying truths so please give it to me dagger deep I meant what I said and I said what I meant I like my men sharp and penetrative 100% and if you can't handle being earnestly struck by your own syntactic constructs direct in the ******* whinging outta my sometimes salty sacrosanct then me and you just won't do since that happens to be my forte as it were and maybe you're not up for the uphill to heaven with this mystical inferno but if you think perhaps maybe your life will never be the same without me in it someway somehow then let's fill the grey unnamed with a foundation of friendship where all is safe and found and all that means to me is everything so if you trust me to know the things about love a.k.a. the holy mystery which you ahem did as I recall with glowing warm curled around my formerly shaking cold then don't worry about getting back to it there's no such way to a thing it's there - always was, is, will be - it's just we're having this hooded entourage over for dinner first and honey I don't know if we have enough chairs but I'll sit on the floor with you and we can laugh and cry and eat sixteen courses of humble pie until the holy ghost enters the room which she undoubtedly will do and leave periodically only to return when we get all cozy and still or maybe upon the exodus of tears when all the walls have been torn down and we finally see clear through that one room has indeed been forged from two

or whatever

pin me
like the pain
strung you up inside

seize me at the scalp
by a fistful unannounced
like the haunts startled you
from behind

drain me at the jugular
like the want bled you dry
then turn me out
blood-starved

unhinge you into me
like the doorslam stripped
that oxidized adamantine

exorcise we
entertain these demons
till they are screaming
safe words

with so-called God pulsing your palm,
why the need to wedge between
backward and forward covert
kamikaze escape plans?

A:
you lost your faith

the night before
the moon grew bold

I felt the darkness
move in from above
in ominous grey
opaque

it reached for me
half asleep, I
acquiesced

relinquished
pillowy clutch
splayed sheets
like legs

for his
chatter bones to chill
where my sallow
is tissue thin

his hail knuckles
affixed to wet tongue
drug me to the floor
raking my hollows
over and over

reeling terrors
on sepia filmstrip
some scenes repeating
some to-fro rewound forward
some hovered gory ending:

frigid tools cutting
to expose my insides
stirring entrail with bone
tugging ruddy strings
to see what sounds
they made as I
buckled; choked
on my leaks

I closed my eyes
tried to escape body
but he projected on
my shuttered
darting

knotting esophagus
around the backbone
fingerpainting my end
on worn flesh walls
in char-red spectrum
choreographed in
perfect harmony
with rote fear
chanting

this is how
you die -

alone

I felt it all
happening.

dangling my happy
memoirs with nooses
ungraceful reanimating
decayed draggy dancing
Xs where bright eyes
were once upon
and wide

open

every ache and
smothered secret
chirped by dark faeries
too quick to swat

but when all
the pushed down
were given mallets
they crescendoed
into discordant jarring
and in its peak came
a piercing shriek:

so loud -

all stilled
to look around

I couldn’t tell
if the voice
was him
or me

but after terror climaxed
the hear ripped and
grip released

I allowed myself
to loosen, breathe
headthrob slowly
melded into felt
beats:

limbs and tips
all pulsing
relief

and I
could see
no one was there

but me.

wielding expertly
book in my own hand
thick with tested maps

to exquisitely torture
every tenuous strand
in my fragility

one place ineptitude comes up a lot
is the presumed judgment
for my skill level at parenting

I definitely don't feel
like I fit in
there

I'm sure some of this is imagined
but some of it is definitely because
I still struggle with basic things
like remembering
and also I am just
different

it's weird how some letters
etch into my brain permanently
but then I can't remember to do things
like buy a shower curtain liner
after I threw away the moldy one -
it took me five weeks to finally
remember to put it on the list
on that device that's always in hand
and think to look at it at the store
and not after I get home
perpetually wetting
my bathroom floor

shopping is hard a lot
sometimes we have fun
and it doesn't seem stressful
but other times it's this covert panicked
mad dash to get what's required
and I'm always forgetting things like
toilet paper

it's really weird
what survival mode does to brains

I look at these aliens
who make me feel like they are
professional parents from a foreign land
where every item in their pantry is stored
in cute matching air-tight canisters
with custom labels and dates
and birds fly in the window to sing
while they fold their laundry
at dutiful intervals

I just feel like
a child with a child
in parenting world
even though I know
I'm getting better

when I first came back
I would zone out
from everyone
randomly cry

it was nice
to not have to explain -
my family mostly assumed
it was me detoxing from
that wretched hellship
and subsequent mechanisms
of control he was keeping up
(thank god that really seems to be
stopping, so good I almost don't even
want to get my hopes up, but he seems
to be seeing and letting go of all the ****
he was doing even six months ago...
I hope and pray losing me and the life
he could have had with his son
haunts him enough to break through
his denial and rage and heal enough
to be a decent human being for my kid)

but I wasn't crying over him
he brings me to anger with a speed
and skill level I have never before
and hope to never see again
so, there was rage for him
but those tears
were not his

they were for the shattered hope
of something loving, real,
waiting
for me

with open arms
primed with pacts and promises
that I thought meant

everything

but things change -
maybe not the love or connection
but the faith that good things
are coming

I get that
and see how my inability to speak
may have been a push that sent
this most precious thing that was
fighting, really fighting for me to see
straight into another's arms
because theirs went numb
waiting to for me to jump
while I repelled down the side in silence
petrified of all I ever wanted

because my lips were busy
shaking like my fingers
that forgot how to
hold things

ineptineptinept
not worthy
not good
enough
for him

nor was the stupid poetry
I kept trying to make perfect
because that's what I thought
he deserved

when my anything
would have been good
just a few words, like:
I did it
I'm a mess
I need you more than anything,
but right now I
just. can't.
read or speak
free

it's terrible how horribly effective
false advertising is when it's repeated
over and over and over, you know -
take ******, maniacal diabolical murderous despot that he was, was also a true evil genius of advertising -
you make the lie big, simple,
keep repeating it, and eventually,
they believe it

even when you know
it's all ******* and it's bad for ya,
it still gets in, writing on your psyche
and part of you believes somewhere
underneath the logical know
and defeated flippant eye-rolls
that maybe you are
a stupid ******* ****
a ***** *****
fat and old and ugly
that no one else would ever
want you

and that you
- deserved -
every last terrible thing
inflicted upon you in venom

me thinks maybe
you are chameleon

too

but you'll never
see all your scales
in rainbow gradation

if you don't let go
of that black twig
you're clutching

and walk out onto
spectrum colors

it will always be there
if you need to go back
and meditate upon it

but
I promise you

hopping swatches
is much more fun

especially with all
these holdy hands
the two of us
have got

he made me
stand still

that was
THE thing

not adrift on passé
or futuristic projectings
not jumping rope
on hyped-up think strings

all of me
paused
to feel all of him
every inner switch
flicked on forever
KC lights streaming
yepyepyep

wired spinefire
warming its way
to burst through skin
invisible firecrackers
jumpstarting the air
revolt from suffocating

we were
whereverthefuck
together

(+ think we dropped pins in)

all molecules at ATTN
his lip blueprints existing
eternal in my synaptic tracks

beyond the say breathes
the evermore of listen
eardrum heartstrum
empathic rhythm

his brainfire ringing
my threshold doorbells
syntactic turrets spitting
direct hits beyond ramparts
into unshuttered windows

bizarro blurbs
wrap me uppers
10,000 suction cup tentacles
asphyxiating the cloak of me
skinning and bonding me
to particles of matterthings

self-conscious and judgment
marked absent
we resounded here!
but no hands in the air
to Be seen

sensory nonsense pitterpatters
into where All is found lost
to hallowed delights

except for the realies
don't ******* that ****
it's my cryptonite

this ward is depressing
it suffocates me

familiar patients shuffling
but I keep to myself, mostly

this whole town is a dive
splayed out aside aquamarine
that I drive down **** near
every. single. morning.

maybe I just need
to be closer to the waves

they wash me best
in flecked inky blackness

like the first time
I made love

to the stars

I am not surprised
anymore.

I expect people to be
who. they. are.

or, at least
have been, mostly

but, I will remember you
and how good that halo looked

upon your unfurrowed
however fleeting

you took my hand
showed me yours
and my jaw unhinged
you had me then & there
up against your wall
******* pushed aside
suddenly incapable
of mouthing anything
but yes

;)

the other night,
I dreamed

of walls

bre   a k
in
  g

down

your grey ghost
gone live

and tsunami relief
washed my being -
held-heart breath,
inhaling deeply

then I
woke, promptly
finding myself alone
roused by TS Emily
at five in the morning

intestinal churn
as rains whipped my window
and I digested it was
not real

but the what-ifling
tapped my still tingling
with essence of other
and I thought, maybe...

so I,
reluctantly,
looked for you
in the sea where
I lost you
and you

were there

...

when dreams
start speaking ether,
underscoring reality,
I start remembering
how I know:

buried wires exist,
decorroding

attuning to united
stately R3EM station
with equilateral antennae

work tripping #3 in 6 weeks
it's good they're investing in me
but it makes me feel
like I owe them things
and I probably do
it suffocates my anxiety
makes me consider a brisk walk
over the sill in 331 onto the Tarmac
in this quaintish Kentucky town
I've seen all 3 hours of but 100% know
it reeks of Igottagetthefuckout
homesick not for my home
but for beings and places that feel
like I don't need an escape route
or have to shove my thoughts down
and pull a thing out that isn't myself
I find myself going in the bathroom
at my parents house just to get away
because I can't engage with them
for long without alcohol to fuzzy
the thoughts I don't want to think
the feelings I'd rather disown
my dad buys too much wine
and I am so good at drinking it
I'm never alone enough
and when I am I just stare
into thoughts that go circular
everywhere and nowhere
it's all I want - to be alone and still
with nothing to do for days on end
no one to feed or bathe or need things
but wallow free in my lethargy and
get to all those dots on the ceiling
and not have to pretend anything
I have so many things I wanna do
but am lacking the proper thing
that propels things and does
the motion and I've gotten good
at doing the minimum but
I wanna be Onnit like Joe Rogan
but feel I can't afford that ****
though maybe I should rethink that...
and you know, I should be thrilled -
I got a free upgrade - a 2-BR suite
almost as big as my apartment
but it makes me feel guilty
for all the days I can't focus
because the ache inside wants things -
attention mostly, and just to cry
and sit and do nothing you know
I'm always half-assing even though
I'm terrible at half-assing things
because I either want to do it full-tilt
or not at all, so basically
I even half-*** my half-assing
so it's really more like a 1/4-assing
that wishes it were zero-assing
and I'm pretty sure I'm even
half-assing my lethargy
trying to sort out the other half of ****
I'm not focusing on when I should be
I always have these fantasies
of how I'll be in a hotel alone -
sipping wine in a bubbly tub
pampering myself, feeling sparkly
but I always end up feeling
so
alone
in unfamiliar cookie cutter hole
wasting hours on godknowswhat
with nothing to show for it
except some ****** poetry
or whatever this genre of ***** is
but the little white rectangle light
makes me feel not so alone
and expectorating the thoughts
into somewhere else -
my little RGB bottle in digital sea -
and knowing that maybe
others who long to be alone
just so they can wallow
in wretched unprocessed feelings
and be utterly ******* useless
aren't alone in wanting that

tonight I'll lie to myself
pretend you're across the living room
with the abrasive polyester couch
probably switching back and forth
between the two beds doing
whatever it is that you do
when you lock yourself down inside
and I'll ignore the screaming children
who must each weigh 300 lbs
running SWAT drills down the hall
and just imagine you're close enough
to be almost here
with me

and we're somewhere near
being whatever we are
or are not
and it's all OK because
we don't have to pretend
or half-*** anything
or devise an escape

we could play Marco Polo
even if no one ever wins
we can just keep role-switching
but I could hear your voice
and your pace pacing inside you
and be there close by just in case
you wanted to peek out
and chuck your shoe at my door
just for fun or maybe because
my nothing's too ******* loud

imagining you'd be OK with that -
doing proto-Wolverine impressions
or whatever ridiculous, wild, quirky
or boring, stupid, pissy things
you do when you're strapped up
in your own mechanical devices
in the space across the way -

it stretches my ribs a little
makes them want to be ready
to crack open
for good

washing over me
icy hot chills roll
crackling energy

the second I start to
really believe

you feel the things
like the ones
that possess me

the hum surrenders me
to rendering
dreams

for the times
I said the wrong thing

for the gagged silences
I Iet speak for me

for poetic interpreters giving
insecurities creative license

for the things I knew
and didn’t say anything

for letting my fears fester
until they exploded

for the days wasted
and nights tormented

for my sudden releases
on this karmic rubber band

and, most of all, for
how it’s so hard to be

the one thing we both so
desperately need

with a mental drip
slick down my cerebellum
and sticky on the stem

I can’t remember
what this poem’s supposed to be

but it’s not important
and neither are we, just —

coagulate stardust frolicking
stitched in the mystery

(on repeat)

this intergalactic
electric ecstatic dakini
spinning enchantments
to launch dew souls
Rocky Mountain hiiiiiiighhhh
brewing bitchinest dreams
inside lenticular lookout
fixin to spit stitches
at broken globular
after I mend my frays
who babbles hypothetically
thru abstruse WTFerland
wants you to know:

I do
believe

in thinks and its
holy whattheshits

here there
everywhere

all. of. it.

whatever you are, allow it
wherever feel creeps, follow it
whenever rage leaks, catch it
ever in your spiral, route it
under your spectroscope
finesse the focus until
your pupils explode
Original Lite-Brite
patterns magnify
stills emerge
inner space
traversed

I walked it
to keep me from
walking back into
the slaughterhouse

read renewed obit daily
spattered on asphyxiating
pulmonary walls when
you moved on in
an attempt to replace
our magical rarity

maybe it was for
the exact same reason
you put the gun in
your lonely mouth

preferring suicide to waiting
for unsuspecting heart
to get massacred

again

choosing instead to stroll
hollow self-made planks
with egoic illusions
of control

I won’t

walk it again
I’m stronger now

though it will hurt if
you repeat the bore
boring stale pattern
into open skull

starting
to flower

it will be no
surprise

and I know I
will be OK
this time

look
I know I
terrify you

quake your bones at
thought of home foreclosed
U-Hauled, stooped alone affront
cold locked door

too bad
there’s no one else
who understands what that’s like
who’d hold your hand and dive inside
your diverting fractured ice in melt
saying silently, as I turn to pools

me.
*******.
too.

I’m hungry
and want to bite things

my head conversations
aren't largely solitude
but opposite you

bet I get your lines wrong often
and brow angles skewed

but we have mad fun
(most of the time)

teetering off the edge
into the unknown

in air-gasping hysterical fits

until we catch
each other's breath
curling up inside
unflinching eyes

Things Two & One
bring the greatest of fun

flying kites inside days
of icicle rain

sure, their messes
are of epic proportions

but so are subsequent
clean-up forays

author-architecting
an illustrative lesson:

it’s OK to make messes

they’re classes to master
skills of the pristine

pimiento angeldust,
where have you been
all my life?

though I wish
I met you sooner
let's not bemoan
days gone by

but start now
in agape mouth
with a thorough intro
upon eggs and 'cado

and this tongue
that loves you so

from afternoon thunderstorms
while the sun still shines
and the sky crackles
a hypnotic lullaby

melt with me
in eternal summer
tan white hot lines
on the sands of time

sacred silence eats
arisen shine for breakfast
manifest-side up

I guess
poetry can be used
to inspire resolve

but I'm looking for
the kind of direct, boldface salve
that spawns trust, eats doubt
and sifts the tar from under my ribs

"The medium is the message."
- **** McLuhan said

how ever much mad I had
was only to surmount
treacherous Everest
of sad

my legit fist?
not kissed
not allowed for
not bloomed

and you want me
to peddle sunshine...

we need real talk
real friendship
real space
to heal
to grow

we both
need to learn
how to unscorch ground
spawn our own groves
of shimmersun

or else handsheld
turn quickly
to fingers slipped

beggars starved
with empty cups
nothing to pour from

you can't build a palace
on top of a landfill
without first

cleaning up

keep inking yourself
one day you'll pop off pages
imaginings live

so many days
gravity got me
spooning the faux
cold linoleum wood
bent knees
the only thing
to hug

no words exist
in my lightless depths
drowning arctic
undertow

can't even try to fight
gulp mouth inviting
my own death

pouring cement
on icicle feet
layer upon layer
frozen quicksand

and then
I let go
and sink

begging the gods
to end it forever
but they don't

at the end
thread, bare
hitting bottom
ocean cavern floor

...

that's where
I lived for months
after I ate my tongue
despite surface shimmers

I'm just pro @
snatching crystalline
as it passes over
a frozen abscess

the curiouser
wants to know things

like:
how many times
I've curled the edges
of that holy mouth

how many flutters
almost caved the roof
on that blood-red lockbox

how many times we've climbed
each other's walls, coming down
on soft dew clouds
inside your mind

and
how many times

you held yourself shaking
when I wasn't there

these things matter
to me

and I wish
I could overlay

my parallel trend line

if this whinging heart
is mine, yours or
ours

but it
sure-as-****
has a mind

of its (our)
own

Sitting in my car, steeping in misery.
At the end of another lonely lunch.
Playing on my phone, I saw you.

I’m not sure what happened precisely then,
that made me hold out my hand so boldly.
Only, a feeling washing over me.
That I was losing you.
Your interest, maybe.

Even though I was still trying to deny,
the pull and the see from the get-go,
I knew. Under the push and doubt,
I liked you. And your interest in me.
Skirting along the lines of PC.

I knew when you posted that video.
Some girl shimmy-shaking. Not very well.
Oh, the curves...

I wanted you to verb mine.

Walked past her on the stage in my mind.
Decked-out in dakini tribal,
making it rain.

In your lap.

Every part of my life was hell then.
And anytime you said anything,
chills up the spine.
Alive.

I was immune that day.
High as a kite, yet without a clue,
how much higher we would be,
in just a few hours.

And when I left to drive home,
the exact second I turned my car on,
began the lyrics of an acoustic song I love.
And had never heard on the radio before.

I found a line and then it grew
I found myself still thinking of you
I felt so empty and now I'm fine
but still it's burning when will you be mine

Sometimes I wonder,
if I hadn’t left exactly then,
if I hadn’t heard that specific song,
keyed up at just the right time…

Maybe I wouldn’t have been even bolder.
Maybe we wouldn’t have ascended,
hand-in-hand into the stratosphere,
shotgunning pineal heartstrum.

I deleted our conversation history,
when he found my poetry page.
Not to deny it, but to save it from him.
Keep him from tainting it.
Not one sacred character.

But I remember most of it.

That’s the thing:
I remember you, as if,
part of you continues to exist,
inside of me.

*do you remember all the songs that I have wrote for you?
all the songs that I have wrote for you...

my sacred
electromagnet
pulses white light
then vanishes into black

strobing me blind
as fragile fingers feel
along walls for doors
stumbling over furniture

wick flickering
flame dance
amid changeling winds

torpedoing gravity
shredding the air
increasing rumble roars
through pits of me

defying gauzy grey
cold wet blankets
shivering dim
and then

the sun

cosmic pyre
radial aglow

we harpoon myst
as clouded ceiling morphs
into billowy cotton net
beaconing warmth

apprehension subsides
into eyes wide wonder

all frosted baby blue
and expansive roads
from here

can't succumb
to turbulent thrums
breathe on through

'cause I wanna
be the view

mile-high throb
direct to home

about being vulnerable af
in sporadic catapults
over barricade top

or

just
maybe

Dare Greatly
like Brené

I decorated her
with 100+ Post-its
trying to light
a line into my
bloodstream
from the outside

she says blame
is outward face
of shame

that feeling responsible
for ******* up
triggers so much
suffocating heavy
worthlessness
conjoined to past
we push it back
on someone else
as reflex

it's hard to be
in the V

all alone

broken finger reach
ledge slipping
bone crushed cold feet

your rambling self
echoing hollow

((( ... )))

you're not there
yet

but I know
you can be

you got this

I'm not always good to her
but she's always there for me

I pour my wretches into her white
and she just takes it
without flinching

I only come to her when it suits me
because sometimes it's just
so hard

sometimes there's just
too much to say
I don't know where to start
and it gets so loud
convoluting in minor keys

I leave her behind
because she knows
I can't lie

she ***** the truth
right out of me

I can't smile and nod
glaze over as disconnect severs
the feelings I'm fleeing

so I avoid the conversations
that are dying to get out of me
but it's just so hard
to say some things

even when you know
after there will be relief
and weights tied will unbind
and release

and you may yet float
and breathe

so thank you, P

for giving all the unsayable things
air and wings

kid: what are those words?
me: I'm writing poetry.

kid: party tray?
me: poetry.

kid: polo tree?
me: poetry.

kid: poe uh chee?
me: close enough.

I love it like when people sing incorrect lyrics. But more, because kid has the cute and is missing a tooth.

to use string cheese
on a sub-calibur frozen pie

is to peel and
thatch that ****
like a gooey roof on a
cherry splatch wheat saucer

says my little
space-traveler

of blissbrick meanderings
smacks straight into
purpose, full

don't number
nameless incubating
prior to hatch

unimaginable unknowns
may yet manifest

one potential alteration:
me, singer in this
ambiguously yay rap duo

Vernacular Spectacular
Spitshit Linguistic
or maybe Prolix Helixed

first album:
Straight Outta Whoville

you may know
but you never
quite know

the One is THE
ultimate storyspinner
weaving all our tiny threads
into tapestry bigger
than grey matter
can muster

let it
let go

of pre-recordings asking me
to STOP WHAT I'M DOING to hear
some uber-important message
like I owe some cookie-cut IVR fuckbot
my undivided attention, like whoooaa
HOLD. UP. let me sit-the-****-down
with a hot spot o' tea, bobber nodding
do tell, do tell... mmm, you don't say?!

you've got to be ******* me
how the **** these went through
an actual marketing department
not manned by evil narcissist toolfucks

oh, wait...

your mouth sneaks
over me

a surprise breeze
swift like cyclonic
autumn leaves

the fallen dead
dancing
alive

underneath white walled parallels
the steel beam cemented in block

I think

is if we fail us
in 3D actuality

we stand not even
one oblique chance
with other elses
ever

start thinking it best
to hedge on those bets
table the looming
beyond believables

just to keep cracked
the door to possibility
of extraordinary love

to not strikethrough
reveries pristine
of one day being
lit perpetually

I think this has all
been harder on you
than me

not your load of strife
but the realizations
accompanying
our thing

for me,
it's all been
validating

an embossing seal
stamping papers official
I'd filled out and mailed in
for processing already

but you...
you got a massive dose
of holy truth even as you
spouted ***** defeat

that's a lot to swallow

and I think
it's not really me
you're not ready
to face

it's all these
paradigm-shifty
mystical beliefs
flitting in and out
of inter-D

challenging
relationship history
with faith in sacred things
haunting ***** discordant
pipes echoing up into
your rafters

sometimes
I wish

those things
didn't come along
with me

maybe then
we could be
friends in 3D

without it being
so overwhelming

I wish
I could give you
experiences of mine:

the paranoia
outside my apartment
looking over my shoulder
scanning for the energy
I felt on me

the guilt
sinking in my gut
the moment laughter
escaped my mouth
on the tails of hell
and I swear
I felt shatter

and that time on the beach...
so many strange happenings
my energy was off the charts
though so confused, and it's safe to say
I'm still processing the karmic details
converging upon that crux of fate

but, most of all
I’d like to show you
the aftermath of my
kundalini intro

how knowing
what is possible
never went away

although he fell away
(to the tune of, I love you -
but like my little sister)
into the arms of a co-worker
after I helped him get hired

I got a front-row seat
to watch him fall in love
with the girl he'd marry
my intermissions
were in the bathroom
churning tears out quick
then plastering on a veneer
of I-don’t-care

my heartbreak was knowing
that I went there solo
and to him it was just
a good lay, disposable

I was in love
alone

with how I let go and opened
not hiding anything
because my intent to love
was absolutely pure
for the first time

his wasn't

after that I longed
to connect to the whole
in the arms of another
but it never came

not like that
not soul activation
not seeing the all as brethren
and my heart of compassion
reaching out to everyone
no judgment
just love

maybe I had
traces of magic
but mostly just
caring closeness
cloaking the lonely
flesh and bones

but God
wasn’t there

can't say I didn't enjoy
some of it, but my soul...
my soul always knew
always left hungry
not overflowing

until you

and I found out
it can happen
without knowing
without touching
without history
without building
much of anything
just these blueprints
already existing
reciprocity in seeing
intent so pure
and

words, words, words

the just-right ones
that pick soul locks
and fling doors ajar
not too hot, not too cold
that baby bear dose

I guess
the thing I'm trying to impart,
the reason I'm telling you this
is because I want you to know
I could never erase it

not after 15 years plus
not after the prettiest skins
not with substituting substances
for the real drug that is purest love

it was a gift
when the vivid memories
finally blurred into vague

but still,
the knowing, the hunger
never filled, never left

I wanted to
come home to God
but not like that, not alone

but with someone
riding shotgun...

and if you stumble across
that instant energy
again

you may just run swiftly
in the other direction, like I did
when I met someone
who reminded me of him
that night at the bar
same blue eyes
same major even

in hindsight,
I’m not sure if we had
instant connection, or I had
an instant memory and projection
then fled due to the pain
he awakened in me

the truth is -
the pain has to be dealt with
before we can let anyone in
who truly stirs our purity

and I’m fairly certain
it’s part of why I went cold
chilling our morning after
nebula explosions

and based on
the frequency of these things
I don't think there will ever be
another story quite like ours
where souls converged first
then imaginations merged
building a world upon
energy and dreams
no skin to be seen

there is - nothing -
more beautiful
than that

a winged thing, holy
undoubtedly worthy
of worship, out the gate

and I’m praying inside
to author on the outside
what I know is possible
if we do the work
and believe

stepping over
incinerated expectations
scaling serifed intentions
where real living, breathing
human possibility exists

upon grateful knees
for what has come and
whatever may be

in this cosmos of ours
that is truly

the rarest thing

I know
that you don’t

and you know
that I don’t

and I know
that you don’t
know I know

and prolly
vice versa

that make
all the things

kinda more
understandable

all I can say is
this karmic rubber band
is tighter than a *****

and I’m not
the only one

that’s clueless
with red welts

I am not
the prettiest girl
or the sexiest

not the smartest
or most talented

but I am a unique
array assembled
of whozeewhatsits

(razor blade analogies
fluorescent petal lips
coloring book flips shifting
hues and lines in real time
intense passion pigments
softened by maniacal sillies
black glitter, tears, tongue, teeth
synaptic syntax screams
billowing belly cavern
sacred swallows swimming
serifs seeping thru sweat
into fluffiest warm cotton
pinksugar dewbloom)

that will render
equivalent yet opposing
inverted complementary
juxta pair of anglepants

exquisitely speechless
with sheer me-ness

hallow mirrors blinding
four egoic eyes igniting
incinerating the dim

and in that stillness
I will feel their them
and feel it feeling
my me

betwixt twisting
our empty brimming
with eternity

...

or maybe
that happened

already

one day out of nowhere
the silenced inside simply found
a swift route to the outside

metal clink *******
words burst forth
telling stories I
did not know
I had in me

and ever since, I know
if I'm not inking myself
I'm hiding

from me

I can quit
for a while
but the longer I go
the stronger it grows

and more forcibly, terribly, it
makes its way up from my belly
when it breaks loose

I should know better by now
the repercussions of shutting down
thoughts lining up to ricochet
but sometimes

I just can't

when it makes me feel more
of what is already unbearable

when it all seems so pale
in comparison to abysmal palette

when I'd rather avoid
looking in the mirror...

I never chose
to be a writer

the words just surged
as soon as my fingers
found their home

just like it was
with us

are stitches
breathing