semantic satiation: look at a word or hear it
over and over and over until it stops
looking like any thing of any sense. becoming
any random collection of syllables
any old snarl of letters:
love love love love
love love love love
love love love love
love love love love
love love love love
till meaning slips away.
water evaporating from your hands
before contact is even made.
a shiver at the edge of your sight,
disappearing before the movement to turn begins.
matches that don't want to be on fire,
covered with wax; you wanted them water proofed.
staring into your own pupils
watching them contract and then dilate
until they are no longer any part of you.
until they could swallow you whole.
gilt edges framing your face-
not your face, anymore.

if you practice this enough you stop being afraid.
or fear takes longer to arrive.
at least it looks different when it gets there,
love.

In the pathway of the sun,
  In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
  He shall ride the silver seas,
    He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
    They will call him brave.

we go hungry
go sordid
drugging ourselves with lack of sleep
slow blinking
fast talkers

go dancing
spin circles
sweat out
but don't completely lose our
nerve
nerves

spit on the ground
it's a shande, a shame
drinking our coffee black
like momma did

we don't like it anyhow
tension click clacking up our spines
staring wide eyed at the world
three am's spouse

faithful as anyone
**** failing us
closing opening

staking out cafes for the company
pretending to wait for friends
ordering small pastries
portioning them out slowly

they don't even taste that good
sour stomaches
lip biters
failing to locate

sights for sore eyes
only finding sites for the healthy
the normative
the well at heart

I'd like to talk electricity,
chemicals,
living better through

I take medication
and when I don't
I feel
effortlessly
lost

thoreau would be so proud
I cry at provocations
that I would sneer at
in better days

waiting for better days
I can imagine them coming
warm and sweet
sunny fall days
nippy but still safe

even winter seems like
it could be all right
in better days

but they aren't here yet
I want to burn myself on them
push myself nearer their fire
than I can stand

I cannot bear to run away
the ink runs off my maps
staining my fingers
till everything tastes bitter

trying to redraw in charcoal
the places I know must be there
but all the familiar landmarks
are dragons now

and even when I do
even when I remember
and I even eat
and sleep
like I did when I was
ok
years ago, in a country I can't find
now
that might never have been there in the first place

even then
I'm maybe not drowning
but the air quality
is a little suspect

drown an old shirt in a moonlit creek
hold it under, cover it with rocks
it should be plaid
but polka dots will serve
leave it there
you don't need it now

cut your fingernails as short as possible
try not to make them bleed
but if they do
that's all right
it's all all right
rubbing alcohol though

you are going to get sad
sometimes over and over again
choke on your own spit, up and out
bite your hand like an apple
till blood leaves for a while

blinking lights like petrified fireflies
on and off, off and on
you are so thirsty always
and the liquid in your veins
might as well be the yellow paint you swallowed
because the happiness wouldn't come
won't come

go back to the stream
there should only be rags left
soft, crumpled, and wet
bind your wounds
cool against your skin
feel the heat of infection settling
and breathe