no longer a poet
or a muse / simply
an inoperable tumor
/party tattoos and
crushed cigarettes
one/ done / fast /repeat

a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.

I feel the weight of nearly a hundred moons upon this suggestive flight deck, overtaken by transfusion in a high formation rhythmic way. Fluorescent headphones—neon red, rotate around neutral zones. Push in, pull out. Swim under the pink, towards some aerobatic link to mother earth. And still, we're not in orbit yet. Your dawning glow you blow into my lungs. Will you catch me if I blast away?

If fire burns
and destroys
everything
in it’s path

then why
do I want
to touch
the stars

so badly

can self destruction
really be so
beautiful

Take me to the place I know.
The lake that looks cold, where the wind stings your skin.
Take me there, away from here. Away from
saltine tears and diminishing reality.

Take me to the place I think I know.
The cliff by the sea, where the waves crash loudly.
Take me there, take me anywhere.

I don't even know what is reality.