another blocked satellite

beaming black mountain transitions

                   molars full of moss

       burning up the dogwood.

the scales aren't nearly as round around

the edge as you are ; you made me kiss you in the

dark.

                flies by fire

tree splinters into fractal spirals.

          am eye the one you want

         or do you just need to feel wanted?

haha, *******, eye am not your Evangelion

burning on my faces marks the sun

it's my minds that's been idle

               yet the existence of my voice

implies merely my slight existence

                                                   in this pit

                the water is blood the blood is clotting

                choking, pushing, on my chest.

morning lights an overdose
easy breathing in the honey glow.

the light pushes through my dead plants
illuminating the wrinkled petals

the wind blows soft and smooth
my eyes are heavy and dim.

behind the lids dance cosmicly
patterns and queer visions.

leaving the real world to seek the truth
ill bring you back some flowers.

what was this supposed to be again?

I think I left my keys in the car.
the nightbird sings a song
the humid air beats down like
a while-worn five hundred miles.

a roach tapped against the glass.
a gasp is stuck in my throat like
gross times *****-up and eye lids
shut.

the keys are in the car and this poem means nothing.

the shakes own my body they make it harder to type so i peck at my keyboard like a ******* animal and i keep smashing the power button every time i hit the backspace and i'm afraid the whole godforsaken thing will turn off. macs arent bad though. i might be okay.

wow this whole ******* thing just went to ****? can i even say that? i'll be ******* honest with you (aside from the avant-garde scene and the nihilistic WOKE poetry ensemble) i really don't know if i can say that or not? i mean when was PC invented? like 2008? *******. that was ten years ago gimme a break.

jesus man the shakes are horrible tonight. they're so bad im really just relying on autocorrect to do everything for me but sometimes it misses and so do i. i could use diction on the mac but then they would have my voice and once apple took o ver the world id just become one of their drones or something.

i know why too. maybe the "substances" im constantly ingesting. (oooh "substances" s cary word ayh right. you're an idiot.)

or maybe its the lack of creativity and originality in everything i see and hear and do? maybe not.

(taking a break to ____________).

all the bugs and trees are talking to me and you know what in not eve n gonna bother with typing at this point so if are still here then good for you,

.... six, no wait, make that, 12 bottles of wine. and some whiskey. and some champagne. and a jug of sangria. and...

it's **:05 as I write this. so if you're awake and reading this then either you're a night-owl or you live somewhere thats not here or there.

i m really truing to see; the shakes off and I think in doing pretty well so i have to just keep it up. right?

im going to shrink down and sleep with my succulent. tomorrow will be where hell is waiting.

******* come in early. 2-3 AM. i always wake up right about then.+

creeping madness slicks black and manic

spider high up on the wall

eyeballing me nervously,                                       "who are you?

why are you stalling? whats come crawling back?

you know how this ends don't you?"





swift answers and an amniotic happiness installation.

                              speaking of stone, wired the lilies grow and the intrepid sank there was quite a stillness in the air.

sunken sand around my feet water cold and green.

     out to meet the entity

     her languorous form so ravenously tempting

     so utterly repulsive and unspeakable.

looking for lights offshore

          heretics of the unimaginable disciples of the moon

          chemical ooze gels burns in the stomach

lit on up and walked out over the water.





after his peak, went heat seeking to the east and he ceased his babble easily, stuffing his mouth with pennies and bits of charcoal. we called him land-lubber and left him for said.

there is no part to this.

there is no heart in this.

                                                    blistering and out of control the fever spins.

wandering tills the level.

                                 filtering cold and pushes me out into the yarns.

spoiled milk and wilted flowers dried up like tobacco
and all the air musty the litter and entropy of it pulls at your
attention. roaches and moths and junebugs tapping against
the glass or skittering
across your floor, climbing up the walls and into a corner
eyeing me probing the air with its antennae.
oil caked on the glass thoughts in my head
spurting red broken bones and shredded muscle
deliciously sinewy.

flush it down. inhale and head rush legs weak smile written across my face as my mind
recoils in terror and confusion
the world waves and warms. it shines.

nag champa blackwood currents and shisha
oily anticipation. just a few hours now and there will be reprieve
i can go back and heal from this confusing binge.

skies are blue. helicopters hover their way over the city and suburbs.
the tower spins its light. floating and warmed I wander back home.

the dreams might be hellish
sleep might not come at all
the time it takes to readjust is staggering.
yellows shades and water and lots of **.

now to disappear completely. leave the damage.
not a trace of yourself though.
run a massive burn
and then escape unnoticed.
sayonara.

not morning but a yellow gleam
encases my surroundings
developing the world
in a faded nostalgic glimmer.

last night i wandered around a club having ditched my friends
just for a bit. it was i needed some space to fill my lungs with
something like impropriety. i ran into a woman who said she loved
my style. she had heavy but well-done eyeliner on, black lipstick
and a serious spray of piercings or diamond studs lining the right side of her face. i gave her a nod and my best i'm-not-drugged
look. i noticed she had a platter so she must have been a server. i clicked my cigarette holder in my tongue and stumble off.

i walk on the other side
im pumping blood to a body that doesn't experience to a body that
cannot relish or feel. both liberating and damning it is.

slaughtered fruits, abandoned plastic, clothes like rags on the floor.
what filth is this
what time has come?
caught and corrupted and cornered.

will anyone read this and will anyone make sense of it?
the importance or the symbolism? the intimacy?
but a poem is just words.
and a cigarette is just smoke.

contusion clouds burst confusions under the sound.

underground, through the air, and softer the sea.

     a pond a barrier to you and to me

          song as sweet and stiffened at the



                                                         fireflies and jello eyes watching shyly

                              your fingers are blue and ivory they burn in the light

                 song as sweet as the purple dew in the crook of your fingers



                    you are told as strong as sand

                                    you are rock

                    you are clinging to rock atoms

                                      be honest

                     you are shrapnel arriving early and departing late.

I am,

static bring me back the stone

bring back us the grave.

I am,

weathered and the stones

surface is covered in moss.

slipping my sleeping head beneath

slippery stone.

dead particles clinging to static.

I am,

shadows over your mouth

full feeling of weight and listless

ness lifting you to meet the sun.

I am

sound and soft waters

crisp undulating waves

polish my face.

     my teeth are sharp and white.

last night on the drive home a street sign waved hello.
the heat has come like a fever
it fries the nightlines in a humid soup
it drys your throat and chokes your eyeballs
oh **** it burns the tiny cuts in your sweaty hands
you've a need to break a melon and drink.
you've a need to roast sugars and tell tall tales of distant frights.
what real horrors lurk there
beneath the surface like smoke?
a dream, a fever, a skittering nightmare
it will come it will pass and we will all freeze.

tonight the sky died a little.
baked us in a soup thick as roux
           ****** lips,
                        loitering less,
                                meditations rests your head on my shoulder.

psychic fever functions as an embryo

                                             EAT. EAT. EAT.

you were amniotic happy! stifled great! pushing jelly feeding the joyous ooze!

black and fuzzy and walking through a vivid nightmare of things moved around and skewed. rushing and a sharp zephyr that grazes your skin and rustles your hair. its incredible. there is bright light. burning my retinas and pushing on my brain.

i walked around again last night. pulsing in the temples and sniffing e+++rs or whatever you call them now. the urge to binge boils in the pit of my stomach.

infinite visions of infinite timelines of infinite versions of me and myself and everyone around me. my bougainvillea froze and slowly obliterated my memory. the page turns and the blur comes to wipe out the color from my eyes, shut now, fractals danced and the phosphenes came. then stuttering im coming out of it. what?

is this? what is this? another shallow poem that considers itself? low art on the internet begging to go viral? an avant garde approach at a genre begging for something new? just a puff of smoke?

the yellow is nice it takes the sterility of my surroundings the color of it all drained and depleted. at night I choose the sterility and let the colors sharpen and blast.

the smell of earth. that dirt and wind smell from the rain and the loamy soil. the imagery and lucidity glows in the background. feeding on my periphery. come and whisper with me.

lets hide under the bougainvillea amidst the summer thunder

lovely rocket teeth flaring up pick me up make me dance

lets prance along the docks

like the summer lilies and how the water

so cold and green

like the shade in the nape of your neck.



coffee cans and the guts running like black

muddy swirl me around the bottom of your glass

and slick me gritty across your teeth



it was so time it was so e l e c t r i c

the vibes and cicadas and the wind and is turned the air

and under spider webs drops the dew and moist

kiss and kiss me



fried minds and fired nights and

smelly pumpkin teeth ugly goofy

grin hahaha we ate their guts

and left their skulls on our

porch

I.

smile and drop the facade

tune into your suffering and lie to yourself

he's lying                         (watch his lips move)

take whats mine

take the pulse under my skin

**** it all away

                                                           ­ i just need one more day

II.

half pack of cigarettes no wrapper

next to the body of a man fallen from his masturbators

walls plastered with the back of his head and a

dead body saturating in excrement

gun on the floor one casing spent

wasn't long ago he sat there smoking

one burning red fountain is sick 96¢.

the hole they put him in cost

4000 rounds.

III.

open your mouth and ignore the

scorched mounds dissipating into the wind

your whisper your breath your flesh

go they all go

c'est la vie.

amniotic caves. brushing up and flavors darting round your tongue.
     dancing and
          fresh soft and smelling like snow they
               melted in the sunlight of your eyes.

                                       eye am sound.

a birth a vacancy pushed. major arteries walled surrealist retaliates so often shot subtle and then rearranged.

can you hear me?

                               from out of the ooze eye return.
begin.

a transmitter roughly

                                          feed a rat or pump Mother with a nailgun

               brained easters confetti eyes and shredded vision deserts.

                                                       ­                               frosty spectacular

                          oracular suffocation push & bringing in the changes

                            hyper-faced you got crushed by this crushing rock.

heady aches binding teeth like a calf and its mother frozen in mud....

I have taken your teeth with the seeds of an orange fruit

I am ingesting your breathe like a poisoned candy sweet

I devour your voice into thick and rot

I turn you green and black and blue

you can no longer be the only you.

the bed is nestled in disarray puffed and creased and folded
all off kilter mattresses scratched up air pad
nightstand bruised by rings of white where water collected
laptop pushing yellow light weakly through the red currant smoke
its warm and inviting your face is tingling and a soft smile lurks.

the trip and walking in the storm

          in the rain neither wet nor dry
              
               skin neither hot nor cold but feeling

                    something smooth and searing pushing on the brain

               fierce winds and acute awareness

          a new phase an evolution a transformation
    
     it flings you up but pulls you down

to that sleepy groove in the shade.

dead leaves on the windowsill and the silhouette of leaves
cast on the fading white wood and the wind
***** the torn up mesh a broken insect screen slashed up
stuck with my head in the blur and the sizzling haze
there's still sound in the skies.

we awake and i whisper to u a little while
with all of days gone by us
suffering to palliation and joy to dust
they dying of the light
and the ephemeral sadness in our bones
only the shadow and sleep to call home
melt away
with the fizzle-drip-dripping
skip tipping our hats like madmen
crashing through the black.

here I sit
eyeing my peers and ****
trying to figure out
whether its serum or
fear that makes them
sear spit and tick.

       later

candy chronicles pushing mama
making her mad
             so sad making a midnight carnival,
keeping the house up
       yelling it down
no one ever comes around.

I don't leave anymore

I am vacated, with my
head stuck out the window I

left the real world; prayers stinging my tongue.

purples and blues and black
orange green blue.

there is a basket of rotting fruit beside me.

the night is cold it
eats at my fingers and they surrender to
numbness and the
anticipation that tomorrow will
be somehow better
still teases my brain.

there is fire hanging above me.

we walked into town with our heads encased in cotton

     my tongue was leaden and molten it poured out of my mouth

          like a fountain I was powerless to stop it. everyone was excited they

               bounced around the place

          like loose atoms and ball lightning. outside a three-legged dog bit at

     frogs jumping around in the grass.

               it's soon going to be time for mass and I will be nowhere

to be found. i always laugh during church and make mama frustrated. she's

     exasperated and I don't see what the ******* deal is. church is a

quiet place, a cool sanctuary to smoke a joint and relax and not

          have to worry about anyone listening. it's so silly

to pretend otherwise. at night

i have my own mass with a confectioners Jesus and some wax for my

                     cross.

one simple sting on the tongue liver shocks and
drop by drop you
lie through your teeth.

six Septembers and nine days to the mark I

was gone like a cat hiding in the drains.

                                  look at me. I am yellow with anticipation.

     corrode dates and twist memories like rags and red soak

                             sick and perforated you proliferate and the

cycle continues..

the freeze came in the night
    
           it ate the lilies and froze the
                                
                                water in the pond it killed
    
                                                 the limes on my tree
                              
                             ­   now the moss and shrubs

           are matted to the ground like

your ****** hair that day.

[ i am going in the wrong direction].

walk with me through windows and pull the flowers from my head.
you are a lovely ghost of decomposition.

you are a ghost past the bones and past the flesh. you have no mouth anymore.

there you go again, floating out past ascending Saturn. chasing your own tail and eating your neck again.

empty space floating away why do you accept to this fate so readily?

cracked blue glasses and old blood stains. is that you?

what strange secret shattered and charged

a mighty foe with the wings on a blast

but bituminous the glow and from hell

dangerous to think things ringing in your ears

slip into a still watch it slip through

your fingers like sand through a sieve.



under-swept and as said so differencing from distance softer than you could sea

the skies

                watching the clo(u)ds collide.

couldn't pull back an escapist so fled the paint into a sick barrel of venom.



                               dis

                                app

                       ­            ear



listen to the end

quiet and seek through thunder

clouding your minds scrambled thick and ****** slick.



                this is not about them the things are as he said.

flickering was the night
you were fast asleep
and in my eyes you
might have died.

your breathing slowed
and your worried eyes
you looked so calm
around us the night's alive.

when we drift into
some slipping place
I look at you with
your saving grace

we depart to sleep
nestled arm in arm
waking in a world of vision
and a field of green.