when the precipice met
the abyss, they
f
   e
      l
         l
and tunneled into each other.


            losing my religion
            is my creed
            saying nothing out loud
            trying not to try.

i pretend
                    to want
                to have
            to be

i pretend, i pretend.

to tend --
to give attention to
to care for
to wait on

pre -- \before\


                        that is me.

"Look what I did!"
proud, eager eyes
that beheld a universe
"What do you think?​"

a glance
buried elsewhere
"It's nothing special.​"
"I did the same when i was your age."

eyes meet
"It's a phase."
and turn away
"You will grow out of it.​"

​
nary a word spoken further.

I imagine death is a beginning
     OR anonymity a release

Food and ***
             is all we ever really talk about
money is
                 a quiet thing.

The roaches hide behind the closet.
Cleaning their home
                                 dirties ours even more.

We won't miss these secrets.

let's save sanity;

write about
the insanities we
see, think, know,
commit.

it will not last
a lifetime

but can save a life.
​

I made it somehow
through the tempest

of you. Now
the voices have gone

and the heart doesn't
look any further

than what is here. I
know, right? I can

smile at losing
live with nothing
believe in myself
and best of all

just     BE.

you see through me
the way shadows are cast
on the ocean floor

slit between
open mantles
i seep unto you

Little specks of profanities

   c a r v e d     t h r o u g h

       and into my chest.

i lie in this empty box
where sunlight shines through dust

my hand lingers on a knife

i see the alleyway and wait
watch dogs devour their meal

i wait for you to come

i tasted it
i held it

i am

10

She knelt
in the hunger days of youth.
Castrated, *****
and ****** up.

"All in the mind,"
they said
"don't isolate yourself
from the wolves."

One by one
a chunk of flesh
is just a piece of
stolen candy.

"Don't fear us,"
they said.
"We'll keep you alive.
It will be our pleasure."

  20

My thoughts are written
on the side of my head.
Yet, they hide from you.

Under the letters,
your commas and clauses,
your conditions.

Words.
They mean nothing.
Yet everything is seen in them.

Why.
It never ends.
Well.

  30

It went on. This series of
talks. It ails me. 
The cheapness of this
masquerade.

The farce 
is fun to watch. Happy with
this comedy
of silence, and the cold.

Children used to play,
now used for play-- 
like bots,
or chess.

If I didn't have
a God, a heart, a soul,
you'd be happy
with your ghost in a shell.

  40

The legal guy spoke as if
he knew what was right.
Legal is something else.

What do i know.
"You know nothing, John Snow."
is a fine meme for one of us.

I can hear the anger in your tone,
the hysteria rises each time I dont go along
willingly.

When I was a child,
I thought like a child.
How convenient that was for you.

.                      



                       Love, I write
                       you down,
                       send you flying across continents.                    
                  
                           It's a grey-sky dawn.
                           Kowloon bay calls me,      
                           the warmth of an imperfect city.






.

in your womb
the silent
indistinct chatter
and a slow pounding

there are no choices        here        it's
a stifling
pool of ****, saliva, and sweat, dying
to come out

my hands are tied
like my neck
growing while you feed
me. more and more tightly it grows.

now, the air is gone
and the water is fine
the blood red moon
is a clear blue sky

i can hold my breath
and breathe
under water
outside the tomb

You find me waxing the floor
with my hands and some spittle.
A mirror of you,
papertrails and clips of words
brush aside gurgles of incoherent thoughts.

Midnight comes too late, bewitching
the deep lines on my face as your
hands wash clear the blood and putridness
of another
                      long,
                                   buried
                                                    day.

Our tight ****
holes make
sure everybody gets
their comeuppance.

wrapped in cotton shrouds
and lake ripples

i looked for that man
a detonator

up five steps
a bottle of petrol
an orchestra of people

where are you? i thought
of nothing else

the red button
a faint tap
keeps playing a morse beat

I could say...

make love to me
and touch me here...there...
etcetera.

I probably shouldn't.

Some things are better.

there's no sentiment
to express

there's no sense
without utility

there's no point
to feel

convenient emptiness

thanks for nothing

Next to you
sunlight echoes
its last breath
forfeiting to touch
our fingers.
What comes next

is not lost.
This fantasy
between us
sits outside
your hardwood door
on my granite floor

lying in the rummage
of papers and voices.
The high notes
and low tides
of our time ran out
like your balding

heart. Maybe
my children will have
mental imbalances as well
I can feel it
trickling in like wearing
black stockings

and padded shackles.
Theres no simpler way
to throw caution
against the wall
and strangle it
to escape the fantasy.

It's not because i couldnt live without you
I just want
to have those moments
we always talked about
to have closure before you go
to remember you
with a sense of accomplishment
knowing we completed something
i can hang on to.

Im not ready
to go on my own
knowing we started something
not yet full circle

for the white matter slipping between
us
       sorting itself
to make another way back.

Tell me
       some oratorical satire.

I want to believe you
then laugh at you.

We write the truth
What is
What could be
Not what never was

We write in convenience
Kept short
The necessary evil
Cut to the bleeding bones

We write
To hear the listener
To anger the mob
To announce the obvious

.....................

The soothsayer questions
Not the visions
Nor the whispers

The witch doctor
Dances in flames
Ruts in waters

The prophet profits
In times of plenty
In times of war

that artist who brings red roses to his mother's front yard everyday.
He stifled a drunken rebellion
in time for us to sleep naked under comets and Jupiter's eye.

I never knew what became of his sister
or his wife.  He makes
the most beautifully haunting music,

the way the tell-tale heart beats under the boards.
I see him in black
against falling snow and a brown path.

No one ever thought to ask him what happened to his neighbor's dog,
or his newly manicured lawn. But there he is
each morning, walking down the street; and we greet.

I sigh each time he bows his head
and tips his fedora to cover his eyes as we pass each other,
hoping to see him again.

Do not fear life
nor death
but being caught in between.

I gave birth to an egg

It cracked on the way out



The pavement is lined

with hunger.

The mighty

is risen.



I gather her up

and wipe her tears.



No horses, no men,

no snakes, no dust,

no king, no queen

come to see me roll away.

a dietary
satisfaction of senses
in the midst
of black

it passes through
uninterrupted eureka moments
severing known and not

sometimes
i think of you
all that we are

polarized plasms
refracted by shatters
splinters and shards

did i tell you how

the little bird sang on

the way down to

the ground?



did i tell you where

the little bird met

the sound of

"thud"?



did i tell you what

happened after

the little bird lay

quiet and

still breathing?



yes. i

still am.

twitter
twitter twitter
a parakeet in place

echoes in
a forgotten
crowd

There are worse
things than lack
of your    stuff.

It's difficult, but
all that stuff
you want, really
isn't worth me.

we watch

fluffy clouds
blue black gray

a reflective inferno
fades away