We packed koi fish in a suitcase,
for some lost reason
That they’d help move our undead bodies
into transforming light
is thrilling— thrilling— magical thinking

The light only lets
a fine gleam off water
play with a fish’s ambition to enter
the cold— coldest— moment of its short existence
before the weight of a dragon is suffered forever

We packed koi fish in a suitcase,
for some lost reason
That anyone here could even ride upon a dragon
into myth
is so far surpassing delusional thinking

We’ve been pushing around boxes
Towers and causeways, and carpeted birthways
ellipsed in front of the fish’s vision
So it’s no ones fault for hoping
at one point immaculate doorways would open

A Calypso or a curved back could never stop
the disturbing of corners, or the rhythmic surf
thralling koi all morph within a charging breath
but for not the movement to **** at our fins,
then amidst, lo, immaculate doorways-went

It’s no wonder koi fish have come
closer to dragons than anything’s come
That they’d be key and coach for a new home
in it’s new light
is thrilling— thrilling— actually done

You are a part
of a whole
You are a part of a part of a whole
You are a function of ancient answers
You are a questioning, questioning soul

You are the breath
of a death
You are the life of a dying breath
You are the function of ancient answers
You are the flower from yesterday's rain

You are a change
in yourself
You are your sep’rating, sep’rating self
You are the message to all of the living
You are the call from the land itself

You are a part
of a whole
You are a part of part of an old
existence that is over
functioning proper and allowed

a rest
for a change
for the rest is being unmade
You are a function of ancient answers
You are living
You are dead

Neither man nor woman

Does it sting? Stinging,
to read that? To think that?
Do you know the kind of life I lead?

To be stuck with

a synonym for mirror,
the dreadful thing.

But
But, even the ocean has a horizon

Let me go,
go over it.

Let me surpass everything.
Because I pass.

Not in the mirror,
but I pass,
in spirit, gently,
and with all the conviction.

All the combustion
All the clouds
of a sun.
The Sun.

Forge me into a solid glass;
a chemicals
I’m begging myself.

Myself,
myself.

I’m this travel bag
of chemicals
not made for the spaces
cars or feet make.

I am this immiscible thing,
sometimes hated.
Oh God, never man nor woman.

Scratches don’t hurt anymore.
No, I don't feel pain at all.

I’m happy.
Maybe.

Maybe, I’m happy.

I love that you make my drinking feel small because, of course, you used to trade bitcoin,
and propane is your suicide,

and your anger.
I love your anger.

I love the steering wheel twinkling in your black eyes,
and the leaping traffic, and our solemn pessimism.

and your evil,
your self-described evil.
I love your evil,
your smug evil.

You could climb roadside ditches, I bet, if the downfall provided
fruit. I love your snakes, and the cackles of snakes,

and your evil.
You have this modest evil,
feinted coats, and no soul,
nor any like of souls.

I want you to continue
to welp my drunkenness into your narrative,
yes, sublime love carries, lovely, Hypocrite fonts.

I love that you make me your best friend, by tell and not show,
by making me laugh. Through fear,

and your happiness,
most of all I can't breath without
your happiness.
I love your melted joy,

and your anger,
I love your anger;

you're too close to me.

I look up to god
When I'm drunk

because

He's a view to
Crane my neck to.-

gets in the way

~

Your fate is to die in the earthworm's stomach;

Deploy detail from your life
and digitize a seance for its-self

alone

only one who knows you
is

. . .

Could you even
defy Hershey's grip,
you sodomite?

Playing @
these sorts of extracurricular fights

It's truly
earthworm's who will deliver you right-

ly a quick and sympathetic death.

~

but f٭٭k it. Roach
Away floods my feet,
and factions divide my liver;
i am hardly
flotsam.

I'm adjectives of wreck,
synonyms of much
deprived floods of
smoke. Such that shuts
me away, away, away.
Fate-funs break my spirit-
and you run,
you run!

How dare you rush like sequin
onto any bare skin surface-
you chocolate, running.
I hate you

I hate you all.

Do not develop emotions,
or ****;

and by all means,
despise yourself.

And,

waste

apart from mind.

Be you in an earthworm's behind.

~

F٭٭٭٭٭g a challenging nothing.
I want you to be something,
anything.

Nun me. I would make
many-***** out of your pieces
of cake.
I hate you.

I hate you all.

You. F٭٭٭٭٭g. Lottery. Punks.

The lines in my face are a perfect sum
of the precise faults of
the earthworm's gut.

~

Your neurotic monks-
you've got me
addicted
to a specific death

My fate is to develop in the earthworm's gut.

/

Maybe I'll experiment with blood

Maybe I'll experiment with bloodK٭٭l me quickly

K٭٭l me quickly

Maybe I'll adhere with burns

Maybe I'll steer me under
under
under
ground

Milk me quickly

I can’t be a suicidal sine
serving a princess-and-the-pea type mind

Maybe I’ll try to be a DeviantArt update,
desperate emotion bemusing in keystroke

I’ll experiment with light

I’ll imperialize her fuse

Fill yr unsanitized fins with

Ifs

and maybe I'll experiment with ***

Maybe I'll rip you from your life

Ifs spit from naked myth

K٭٭l me quickly,

you horrible,

you gorgeous

earthworm spit.

I support you
Wherever you leave to
Tell me goodbye first

Sunday has no value to me
as a day off
but, if I had Sunday off
I would start going to church
for the company.

I would go to the church with
rainbow lawn chairs lined up
outside. An upside-down cross
big above the door.
Walking distance.

Where there gathers,
I fear,
the same old collection
of fearless adults.
I’m scared of you,
anyway.

I’d like to get away.
Once a week -
of course the job does that
most days -
not on Sunday.

I sent my head into the ground.
If I met before a congregation
they would forgive me
for making a concussion
of my evening.

Sunday has no value to me.
Let it be
a day of work.
But, I would go to church.
Sit in the back.