frominside
  the heaving molecules
gargles,a new lament

for courage, they cry out
as electrons are forcibly
stripped_

leaving art-****
nuclei
in voyeuristic
[ display]
for hungry
magnetic mouths   to
                   s p li t

Inverted hermit

Hole in time, like a well
Clay
Bricks swollen with memory
Diving deep into long churning oceans of night ink

And speak your peace
By standing softly
And letting time swill together in collected tidal pools - in the recessing draw of the ever-black


Bourne a-mast to the windly observance there

the instant she opened the front door   .   it hit me.
i was about to blurt out the usual, dont let Chava out
i swallowed the words
Chava was behind me in the car that had just began to pull away.
inside, there was no cat.

later i found myself, conscious of my own lap in a way that knew it was empty.

[the corners of my eyes deceive me around the passing of each threshold ]

touching is like a hairy arm in a loose long sleeve
dust particulates breathe space between us.
the news comes on the radio.

she laughs like breakfast cereal hitting the side of the bowl
                                                   [maple syrup in my hair.]

nothing is created nor destroyed, 
energy to mater, only changed.how many forms are there that are being changed between-
the good and the bad in the world,
is that the purpose?. get the most out of a net zero game-at what point does there become so much something that it becomes the nothing and  the nothing: the something. what is the difference between a blank white and a blank black sheet of paper. at which point do the negative and the positive space switch definitions? does it need to be perceived to be real? and if in the end, when there is all of one thing, and none of the other left anymore, does the other start to grow and become the new something?
the behaviors of subatomic particles and the units which compose what we think of: change when observed, what else changes when observed. electrons become particles, electrons become waves. in one place. now another. both never and always here and there.
and
i often wonder if i'm crazy
of if everyone else is crazy and i'm among the sane. few and far between.
of if we are all crazy together,
and the craziest thing of all is that we never let each other know just how crazy we are.

that would truly be the most tragic.

for each and every individually to believe so much. feel so much. break apart so much in every instant as to doubt the sanity of their each and every moment.
and
never be able to tell you exactly how it feels, or even to hardly
try
while all along, i know. and you know. and they know. exactly what they could mean.
if only they could ever decide to talk about it.

or if words and impressions were enough to know someone by

i wonder if you've sat in the bath tub as a child- while the water was running out all around you
pensive about the whirlpool twisting everything small and fluid around it down the drain.
i wonder if you've wondered what it would feel like to be really small in the water as it got ****** down- not an object, just a view-point.maybe like a disembodied perceiver that can see and touch and feel. and what would it feel like. and be like to be washed down and plunged into swirling sensory overload.

almost like something that would happen on the magic school bus.

what if at every instant we could be everywhere in a way like that. every possible place the magic school bus could go. or explore. or know. we could be. all at once.

but at the same time we would be big too, so we could put it all into perspective  make sense of all things things and live by them. live in a way where we knew how to be right to each other because that was true.

what is we could magicschoolbus into things that were not physical- like feelings. and love. and comfort. and personalities

that would be pretty cool.

what if everyone i meet, knew instantly that i was the first born of the many cousins on my dad's side. and that my grandma lived downstairs and  my aunts and uncles were always there. and i was babied. and all the time i was was young, there were babies and children and people who loved them there. and i was always around that and that i have never left that place. and that i am young.
and i am very sweet. and very sincere if i can get the chance but i cant; get the chance anymore because its hard. and i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. for my casual insincerity and defenses because all of my stoicism is me so full of feeling but i'm not supposed to show it anymore.  and all the people i can't run up to and hug anymore would know. and that at any given moment- i'd give anything just to make a blanket fort and fill it with stuffed animals. but i'd look pretty foolish. and everyone would probably say i was mentally handicapped. even the ones who used to baby me. and the babies i built them with.

isn't that something.

i know that smell
he said
those tweety-bird treats from the ice-cream truck-
with those weird gumball eyes
i haven't thought about those since my little league days.
i always ******.

i was young for my grade and very thin and gangly-
except for that one year, when everyoneelse moved on and

me and that one other kid who was also young for our grade
stayed in the league.
we killed it that year
i'm not proud. but it was our chance to shine

it's amazing how these things can come back to you.

i said yeah

a bit later on my way to the train station, there was a homeless
woman
with oxygen tubes and a wheelchair
she was limp, directly in front of the door to the stairs, eyes
closed
baking in the (late day) sun

i didn't check if she was alive.
i thought about it though

oh
sebum heart
you are more than the cells rotting in your
body
.than the hive mind of bacteria in your gut
telling you to rip the
place to shreads


in shoals of sticky wet erasure

your friend's tongue presses forcefully against my ****. as if
it is a
muscle  
desperately trying to prove factoids
we
learned about it in middle school.

//strongest lb. for lb. in the human body.

you take yours lips and drag them across her.
parting her open with little fingers-
wishing they were able to reach into more
places
at
once.

they came dressed as the moon, sang about death and warned against time .
they came dressed as the sun, sang about death and warned against misbehavior .

the radio tower tuned in
to my
legs
pounding downward into the
grey sand:transfixed
like a static
node in  
the
flail-winged embrace

as waves
   comprise

the multitude
swarm
of
unheeded prayers shot like
fugues
out
from the center
of
observation,

this
decomposing gemstone
coast


beacon.4the.undertow

with dog mouth
with nylon tongue_
like seatbelts
riding up on your stomach.peeling off skin
like a dead favorite jacket just out of
6


unodysseus    a n t i t h e t i c a l .   to hero
grabby and
into serpentine arms.each  with it's
own
fake religion
like a ribcage.putting pressure on the insides-
holding
it
in
-
all

clinging to stonework like a chimney clings to relevancy,
fell asleep before you could send nudes

it's another perfect day out there
and all is
happening .to and around us

it's another perfect day out there
and

.you are a slow burn at the bottom of an ancient crater_
a hole in the chain link fence.





i am the broken clasp of your necklace,
your
knees buckling at the sight of
the job



//




Wielding a perfected form of
Inward
Arrogance.like obsidian mail


Sleeping like
Dragons upon great spoils

You are the arrow aimed true at the missing scale above the
Heart

Myself, having been roused to
Action -
Once last

Boils over
As god’s soggy **** reeks out from
The unbuckled Bible Belt of
America.

Take lashes to your
Crooked
Spine, for
Our thoughts and prayers
Go out, this night,
To the unburdened
Minds

Adorned
In crimson. (Read : red baseball hats)
Crowned
In thorns.

As each day passes,
It churns.

Weep for your daughters
Bow for your sons


////

And now we find that
Spoiled milk drips
From
Plastic ****.

//

A dying exhalation spooks out from the cracked and bloodied lips of the
Earth .
And      the

Saints
***
Marching in-

Devouring each other,
With gleeful religiosity in the dim light of our final
Awakening ,
While the very concept of humanity itself
Is being torn apart and
Reborn


Our final prayer :
May g0d’s children
Be
Hit by an f-350 full of unsecured
Kitchen knives.

artificial doesn’t mean not Real .
passions are self-crafted.
we are self-drafted_

It doesn’t rain the way it used to rain any more.
And it doesn’t really snow either

(Insert office scene)
( insert childhood)

I am changed
And everything I had is
Gone .



**

[
The sounds outside my windows]

sunday's midnight is driving_      
a  n  d    the trees are a wall of dark monsters, hemming us in.the
 road
wants to funnel forward. we will let it.    the
morning will wake early with us- even as dark as now .
there is a task wanting doers tonight.
a brother must be delivered        (         )   .
celebrations must be forgotten

No good news is the news - and
The witches’ brew
Bubbles over
again

Flanger fire .
Dragon spire
Call me .crash me .cook me inside
And over and over, I rolled
Down the grassy hills. Down the dying dirt.
Down with man and his upheld promise
Breaking bread beside me
Bedtime brain rot binds me

Hold me. Hurt me. Hit me, hurry, with something good.
Or at least better
Than
it’s been

It’s crass enough out there
Without your green scaly eyes
Take some time. Prepare a surprise. Make me feel alive.

It’s about time for us to finally
explode.


It’s about time we took the *******
End their ****-eating grins

Skin head ****-faces must die

is

what do you hear Chavala.
laying hear in the morning, sick.
you find reason to peak up and think
sounds have stirred you and i.
where as before we had slumbered

hair in the shower drain
lets the water sit
in a sick kind of peacefulness.
blissful
decay
scares us into dormancy,
just before spring

it will always be emma's room.
(no mater who moves in later)
and on we go.

it's 2oclock in the morning on election night.i am driving over to the east end
projects with my mother in a blue minivan.

my nana
is having  another nervous breakdown. she's already called 911 twice about a rattle snake in her kitchen closet .
we get there to find a
peanutbutter-and-jelly sandwich cut into
three uneven peices
it's
wrapped in clear plastic,
set aside for a nonexistent maintenance man who fell out of the bathroom window
  while painting it.

we learn her very living daughter has died in a motor vehicle accident while in transit to see her husband, my grandfather- who died when i was in second grade.

she explains to me how she shut the closet door in such a fashion as to make the enclosed space entirely    airtight.
she
won't let us open the door.
she
laments the ****** of the snake by her
deeds.

the conversation turns to the positioning of
furniture.

we spend an hour and a half there.i
check the results on my
phone
i don't think i can go to thanksgiving
anymore.
a few neighborhoods away,my girlfriend is

crying
my nana        explains various recent births
in
the family that are untrue and
biologically
impossible.
most of the stories involve people  
supposedly
   next door.or in the basement

she talks about Elizabeth
who doesn't exist.

we go home after she finishes her peach
yogurt

i spend ten minutes outside my house , zigzagging around the block.

i catch my first snorlax
who
is my favorite pokemon.

it is a foolishly low cp

What arrogant beast in the history of all living evolution gestured the first false witness ?

but understanding that doesn’t change how it feels.
all fads are
real

the wayback machine doesn’t keep them : a real, contemporary library of alexandria moment


not a product of the internet
a product of THAT internet

something that has been
both
       systematically expunged
and also simply left to decompose

digi-deathbed .
scrubadub head.

my little broken bread_

apps don’t **** people.
app developers **** people.


..

I am not a patriotic person, but what these zealots are doing makes be beyond sick.

If you have the slightest inclination about what has ever been, or will ever be, good about America
You will not watch at they tear it apart.


The forces which created us were once
Science, Art, and the Human Condition.

In Boston, we have done it before. It can be done again, if needed.
I do not seek to need to,
But I ask your courage, should the time come.

Do not let them set hundreds of years of progress back to appease their wallets and their hateful notions of god.



One, if by land.
Two, if by sea.

there is healing
and a sky to pull on the
sea.

the ugly things that crawled between our teeth
were cool.
while the slang was new, the sky still irradiated us-but[cloud-hurt and uncautioned]we didn’t mind .
while the slang was:
we built things out of graveyard-ingredients in order to survive past our youths
and
insofar as having not yet been annihilated, we look at eachother with nothing left to say that won’t sound out of fashion and
_                  changed





//:it’s a dead mall universe
and the squatters just set off the sprinkler        
  .system

I take three sips of water before looking up to meet your fragile gaze.

You very deliberately dribble lukewarm coffee over bare *******,
Thinking to mean something
By
It


—-
You say :

The Underworld is a plane of understanding at its rootmost lv.
The unseen sketch behind the painting.

It’s the bottom of the ocean.
1st sedimentary layer of that which may receive attention.


It inhabits the same 3/4 d places as we,
Yet shinier things cover it up.

//

Excavated  out through archaeological digs,
Through layers of
Carefully structured cities of daily tasks -
Crystalline life :
The salt bricks and landed footfalls of
Each
Generation .


//

An ugly, honest answer - under so many
Pretty
Lies.

yours is the knife that
lies in bottles of pickled
berry fingers, the night
is is the way you move- groove:
how it stains them-
the sun that shines on the other side
of the
moon craze.
so shut up (and sit down)
with all the garden things crawling in your hair.
cut it short, babe.
end it
soon. but
gimme good-
eyes like stale jellybeans tumbling out
the bag, over-ripped-open.

he's still out there.

still coming for you.
don't tie your shoes.

don't love me well
don't find a way to
get away

we need these            and more.

and when the toes break
from kicking at
everything,

history will show us that there is no good and evil.
only
cruelty
and different directions in which it falls at certain times.

and when you are brought to tears
by an upload of an old toonami ad-
that ******* takes you there,

you will know about it.


and living,
you will fall into
the spaces
that
sleep
ever just out ofgrasp

churning like a bellow of
me

gulls rule the shoreline in nobility.
as we are all subjects to our surround -
sound - world
so too, must the place
         subject

Behold, the aspect :
As the permafrost thaws
And ancient wings
Take to the air, once more.

And while their prey
Squabble over the distinction between
Wise
And wizened,

Feasts
Are
Prepared .

ringing in all new winters through brass hoops
on the old ride
wooden horse yelping towards its three
brothers .
a hidden sister
in the woods
in the woods
/

without, in the villages of the kingdom :
a
failed technocratic empire _
illusory knights and squires
go diving for **** fuzz
in a heartbeat
between your legs.
they beg.
but
torture is a twoletter word
i f
w e
b e
,and other sundries

a l l
t
he while ,
i hold harnesses out of your hipbones
like graveyards hold our families


and  

false fibers, like torn banners bind
us
through indecisions.and the glowering repose of all intimations

whereas
it’s always nasty
weather
     in the time of
Man.

we sink
like a trade-off of gestures inside a heavy winter
coat,      out of season
standing gawky
and graceful like little dancer, 14 yo
creeping along, cross-legged as a vampiress

they will be
wild-haired in well kept soil.
histories, cleaner than they should be-
still mourning our lost autumnal,
we
skulkfully, drear around corners, peering downwards at that
which we want to scare us back

there might be
          things
just below the top layer
with teeth
we just can't help running our fingers through-
gut, twisting- hoping not to get
that
text
message.
that phone call. we know might come at any time. any minute now. at any hour of the night



//

Inside our gut
Gurgling forth it’s ancient
Hive
Mind

Mastabatory self righteousness in the
Plastic heart of the
Androcyne  

Churn
Churn
Churn.

under the burdens
is pure, crystalline /everything-you-want./

it’s already there.
burning so hot, as to give motion to the locked-up places of this world.

force of nature,
(my) tectonic heart.

by the stories it’s people tell of the
past

like tasks that will be accomplished //
_my newly distended belly stakes me to the
  ground , having
overfed upon [virtues.]acrest  this
        windblasted highroad
which exists ,
     t r u l y ,
nowhere upon this
Earth.


our hands
drip
out from hiding
and into eachother’s hidden place.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Yet, we find that the ink on the paycheck is mightier, still.

_                    trash.
like the   compost.   bin in the cafeteria of a school i don't go to
               recycling.

like dharma. like thrown lead.ransomed  .like a hostess with a gun to her head stone. carving metal casting dry mouth hair ropeand as you.            shrank
backwards into the sea.to taste the salt that i become. head around bone thumb entire histories of shoetiers into the innocent briars.like the hairs- scrubmust mosslust.under your fingers.each breath shoveled on
like.every single unregulated prayerdamaging us all. though i stabbed
away greedily-   verily, we could come back home, waiting for the
crash
that never comes.thrushly.tearing awaythe sick branches . tumbling down the
stairs unrequited
and

convulsing.
*if i'm the most interesting thing, than we have a problem.

Deranged reflection in the pantheon of
Spoons
Dripping dry by the kitchen
Sink
Flashes across the unknowable
World that wraps around every tiny surface that has ever
Been.

Buzz buzz.
Come the particles ,
Like electric.sand into our
Squinting
Gaze

//my hollowed out coyote heart .

Both freeze atop the cliffface’s edge to
stay
Hard.

Taunts me
Into
Unraveling waves

.


I seek
D i s c l o s u re
    inside your

Folding
    Pattern.of
[ wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww]

Is a shattered cathedral  .

Through the dusty air, hot light
Skitters across the corpse-cool
Glass

In perfect, manicured
Disarray.

Is for everything to bother you.

A grief
To
Last

Light footed across your thin carpet of storm clouds
Each toe-touch flashing lighting across the world-dark sky

In embers, you fall to me
Your hands, like watermelon seeds
caught in my throat

Your eyes, gloaming in that fractured world- without me.

We are walled-in peoples
We are isolated from each other’s history

We are lost to the timeliness of actions against our well-being
Now,
At the uneventful death of all human love

it's ******* you over like the memory of a 7th grade dance.
lissome where it hurts.
dreaming like a hallway.running hot from throwing up over the railing.

chest-wet
and dripping into the ringing of my ears.
your slender limbs fold over themselves for convenient storage.
i'm
running out of options in the smooth outside of your fantasy
                                                                ­                                rings- many digits a-caged
i've fallen down before you.

stuck inside the wills before you touched your lips to my fingers.
i am repeating in your forests,
dark as they are.
before the world is lit,
i stumble, blind enough to the lake. and the
unshod calling that bids me
                                      to you.

and even now, as the grey waters wimp away into the other side of the opening - the frost that stays close to the dew          takes lives.

The ultimate thing?


You use what ever you have
You do what ever you can
You artifice Art

No more -no less
Nothing better has ever been attempted.
Attempt it.
Every single second. The world needs it
Hard.