...                                  Roars
                      ­           The      King
                             on                  thrones
                          upon                   heights
­                      of upper                    Heaven;
                    Tier        ­                          upon
                       Tiers                               suspended
                         Tiers                                resplendent
              Crown                                            i­llumine
         Where  Chaos                                      cats-eye
is more            than a                                      vision
  jungle                or sea                                       / in the
     but a cosmic ocean                                         even-tide
           of starlight /                                                         Peace.

I am fruit snacks and dragon tales.
I am trips to the Cape and tan lines.
I am country music and pearl earrings.
I am black raspberry ice cream and late night drives.
I am yoga at noon and apple picking in the fall.
I am Loud.
I am Loved.
I am Alive.

Pac-man is like
                                                  nom nom nom
                                         nom nom nom nom nom
                                nom nom nom nom nom nom nom
                       nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom
                       nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom          
                       nom           Inky            Blinky                          nom                   Pinky              C­lyde                
                       nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom
                       nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom
                                nom nom nom nom nom nom nom
                                         nom nom nom nom nom
                                                  nom nom nom

When the dust settled the young man was alone.
His mother torn apart
Slowly bone by bone,
And he would never figure out
What hid beneath his home.
His world was ravaged by a beast with no direction
And all he could do was scream
"I'll **** them all"
As a promise for redemption.

wet stoops
wet sleeps
down beside
vibrant hulks
of day into night becoming
a persimmon fleshed in robes
of sweetish musk of raging dark:

that blind canny o' comely marsh
where sweats tallly the brisk frigid
smirk of winter coming into between–

i cannot fathom
nor wonder 'pon a thing more
violent **** or primly stolen
than the absurd tumor of suddenly
which every immense second of life
Is.

and how do i call it?
how do i name it by itself?
is it nameable?
is demanded some strict finitude of immutable logic?
or is impossibly monikered in nothing short of illimitable self?

(and who have I been? have i been myself? where did i begin? and shall i ever end in knowing?)

Weird how distance is such a relative thing

I mean, we live 15 mins a part and we can't seem to find each other

It feels almost as though we do not exist near

I can't say, won't say that I don't miss you, if you were to ask

.