flecks of maybe
dance in this star's columnar flit
creamy gray chartreuse orbits the were
softer than ever before
and i re-member her

you are not written down
you are always
almost poem

bifurcated breath condensed on cold window
two little lungs hung there
respirating palettes for your fingerling muse

these are darker days
see them grin

my itsgonnabeOK smiles are beginning to thin

i need something
to keep me

going

the nondescript licks
that glitchy part of me gone septic
no flora can heal it
see it choke the skies
see it rope up the sun but

here

this
is

a dais for you

write like hell poet
make it hurt

**** me with your words

spread too thin
i no longer just think about thoughts
-i imagine them-
small patches of color strung between
hung in the descent
this disc barely holding us

chance allowed
combusting pots of itcouldbe
might over must

into the deep
there
be
drakōns

they breathe the burn we fiend

let them swim you to the bottom
where maps do not dare
dwell among them
in the sliding trough of wet coil plume lit

come up for air
and tell me your where

and i will listen to you
i will stand under your words
and i will know you and adore your light

we all **** ourselves
and give birth to hurt

yet that scintilla still
throbs
little bent columns of light
creeping up this floor and up this wall

globes pendulate from threadbare string
smirks made of lit dirt
reach for the ear
till the room is seen clean through

here comes the weird af
ancient tonic yum
don't fight it jus let it stream through
megaflora ninja nook harpoon
never saw it comin
gonna do some quick love surgery on yer babblin' brook
make it run real real good again
unforever it with
botanical finite tunes that come-n-go so beautifully
petals on the floor bruise
wilt like legs and arms in that afterlove hue
this monkey suit is cool sure but we can't overstay the visit
origami god only folds so many times
but mossy mother womb awaits you always
there where the river unfolds my lovelies
so dip your toe in
fuckitjusjumpin
as this rock swims one more time
around that one star we call sun

when she gets home
i'm going to take off her pants
and eat her from behind

i'll lick the plate clean
all of it
from orb to knot

until those three muffled words secrete from her

splinters of the cross still swim
perpendicular shark token

but this muscle of mine
now returns to circled mossy womb of her
pumping out rows of teeth
that speak through it a tall tale of ruin

this fruit is not false
this body is mine
and it is true

there was no mistake - ever
all is there beneath broken hard white tissue

risk evolve complete the walk
spill the new

i grew up in an evangelical home in the burbs. i now like to think of this brand of belief in christian doctrine as the sorta "star but humble upstart" ---- a shy new jesus on the block. not very showy with ritual. not too brimstone-y with rules. but nevertheless it is terribly aggressive and convincing in its apparent passivity, summoning up a tactical confusion in the believer that petrified the will before it had a chance to bloom and raked in the imagination before it could body forth an inner-whorl.

the evangelical brand leads with a hidden, veiled threat of eternal damnation best served cold with kind eyes. these eyes, they grow mouths inside them to speak to you the truth as they see it. it assumes your consent already. it rips initiative from the realm of possibility. it rents you a god, a "real living god" amid a scarcity of eternal life. you are sold. you must be. it trains a deep, serene dispassion that enslaves any shred of emotionality. it grips ****** life-affirmation with thousands and thousands of self-induced mental strokes against the backside, moving into position various leather tentacles tipped with acute tapered bones that seek out, lick, dig and pull up a guilt that beats subcutaneous, stuck to the very core center of the hard white tissue holding up humanity itself. you are fallen now because of before, or so it goes. it is the worst kind of violence. it steals who you are and gives you back a cheap copy that tells or suggests you hate, with a vengeful love of course, these original pieces of you that keep cropping up, keep emerging through nice smooth paved suburban sidewalks, still wanting, still desiring -- new words worming through old written ones.

it starts with a lack, and it wants to color you in. "you are not good enough" it sez. "you need something" it warmly alleges. "don't resist, let him in" it condescends with a grin reaching for the ear. it is a vamp asking for permission to eat your heart out with fork and knife, only to replace it with himself - all as you watch the procedure. it loves you to death.

tell it *******, kindly. then shut the door.

https://instagram.com/p/_580FRwJfQ/

From the stifling and limiting grounds of activism to militarism, from liberalism to conservatism, from atheism to theism, what is more pressing under our current shadow of empire - that elongates by the day - than a fresh crafted nuance of opinion which refuses to cave into that realm of the reactionary and trite?

The all too familiar -isms, that bend over backward (and forward) for ideology, must die ---- all of them. They fly all the flags of Reform and push all the buttons of Fear and Morality in order to get you going about this or that thing, but in the end they do an about-face on all the things, retrenching the power and hierarchy that got them there in the first place.

In its stead, we'd be wise to replace these fake hallowed grounds with a felt expression of direct existence that is so ******* thoughtful in its rendering that it summons up that weird blurred area where all regimented terms of ideology stand down so to admire the life-affirming phenomenon called art.

raining
so much yay

us uncoiled
the whorl came
now laid between legs and arms shedding on the floor
shiny carbon lattice wilt

the flowers must die
legs and arms shed
our pretty petals fallen on the floor

these long lines of me
have begun to curl
and split
along small vulnerable points
-separating-
till i stand blank as bone

.. but then you too peel away your palimpsest

new page
new tone
driven by us

a place where my alone is not read into
where your sidelong gaze allows for this core ruin of mine
to be unknown and unknowable

scribbled sick blue skies
gray clouds somersault and lick
eater of hue
it cannot be deleted it cannot be scried  

this is the waste we do not wait around for to be fixed
it is a space where margins are let in

as is

and i no longer feel written down

i chase the poem
until my words become true

recalling all of your lines
tangling mine

serifs
torque

i confess it's true i'm flesh not god i'm prolly the tip of "icebergs ahead!" that you totally don't listen to because yer too cool, but little did u know below rows of punctual shark teeth divvy up the righteous like pew pew pew, sans the zombie ******* and the holy ghoul to throw you a rope of c

we crush on hurt skies and eat our own inners alive. we r, yuh know, killing it right now. right?? idk lately i jus don't feel like my me anymore. it's weird. these bones of mine will hafta do i guess, and this alone too. but this tear is torn --- i mean, it tickles my nose and brims but doesn't wanna fall, and i think it's made of scars found at the bottom of the pool. and these knees held to my chest are like two pipe cleaner harpoons, rocking me to sleep when i've clearly already slept too much.. listen, all of this will be spelled out -- but not fer u. they are for her and her word alone. i've heard that if listened to - i mean REALLY listened to - it is able to world forth this one last single curl that i've long been searching for in this dim lit corner of the room, which is a rune, marked, startled, summoned by someone somewhere close by, like a muffled noise upstairs making its way down here to stay.

i don't have anything to say. not really. how can i when my own bones feel like strangers that pilfered a body when nobody was looking? when i speak, small echoes of some one else kindly pull at my fingertips, slipping under the nail and past the cuticle where it unfolds like sad gods found to be made of origami swimming in a sea of memes. it hurts like hell. and so, i've come to know silence. it holds me. brand new shell. my process, felt.

and then, with one flex of thought
i torqued the possible into
the most beautiful cerulean sky you've ever seen
with this pixel of might
over must and muscle

that moment when
you haven't smoked in a long time
and then you do and
you remember oh ya
this is what it feels like to actually feel again

one long difficult
brow hair  
sticking out
with a slight whirl toward the end
bending its once linear course

i pull at it
whiff on the first three tries
but get it on the fourth

one smear of red
marks the deed

holding it between thumb and forefinger
i observe its root
pale translucent box-like tag

bags layers of me

the shaft of hair itself
wears three layers

its cuticle tells species
the cortex tells the sort of hair
and the medulla tells ethnicity

but the follicular tag
brags of my very own me
that i cannot see
ladder of unusual protein
pirouettes
and scene

and tomorrow is tomorrow and the marrow
of this bone's blood slips off
like a shoe worn
for too long

i touch myself
wiping serifs from the elements
pressing this object's edge up against
my writs
where old lines layer

i'm having thoughts of editing again
until the blue cursor blinks over white nothing's glow

i can sense it's call
like autumnal grip
about to fall
into short sweet no more

if i focus hard enough
i can
budge
all my molecules
that once were snug
embedding slivers of space
till solitude is my room

if this it'stoofuckinghard
could
just
speak fluent scar
im sure the pebble
that landslides my little stream
every now and then
would slip and slide and elide into river run but
it never has
it's always mum

stress stress stress
stress stress
stress stress stress stress

stress
stress stress

stress stress stress stress
stress helpiminhell stress stress
stress stress
stress

start
wars,
we should not

box that used to house magic
now you are jus an awkward corpse
that won't lie down

old bony black ear encased in steel and window
you once were a god
with your promises and movies and whatnot

it must be lonely
now fading
graffitied  
or does it feel like bliss
to no longer hear all the feels of mere mortals

drops of rain
wet the left side of this thought
all feels right as ray
beclouded
fury of were
put behind me ******* finally

i'm looking for a space
a place to be

where aha and yes arrest my waketosleep

tune this breath of mine with crunched elements bent
toward a wavelength like large steep icy hills that spill
up into the whiteblue nipped expanse

pressed against
the back of your throat
as if from a string
i'm lifted
up
and pushed
further in

our fling with romance
a flame
blown out by darker carving winds
leaving a charge that rakes
an aura past the tor

you gag and grab yourself
nails elongate
dig in
your hair rushes and becomes long
primal spots splotch

maw
of you
glyph of this
lit

choking
gasping for air
you ask me to
come in

so six and nine makes for two and one
until i paint your insides the color of skies slid

bold glitch grip
you've been colored violent by It
code writ scrapes
large like star whorls flake

one solitary chromium petal fell
into a river with a mien of mum
where it wilted
filled with ****

and you watched it come from afar
you saw the small sun become runny
don't lie

dear scar
you must collect yourself or
the ruin of ars
will still
what is ours
into petrified mime

form doesn't hafta **** content
but it often does
with modes of operation done to death

all of us
are its vics

so i rise up and **** it back
w slant rhymes that tickle the oblique
consonance that creeps
and an assonance that grabs

in my arms
she felt like telephone
super long twisted rubbery beige curly cue cord or
was that me hugging myself?

we live in both dark or light days. they are
the color of binary flips saturated in malaise plus
a dash of crass

one hand
driven up sunken
inhaled midsection
resting at wet sternum
pausing to spread
five fingers
i can feel the beat quicken

digging them in
i inch up toward her

body angular  
waves of her churn
i eat dishes beastly
her entire plate clean

this
existence
one small round
mass
filled with harmful and
arms that pushpull

this
exit
is one rectangled act
away
cascade of wait's
run till none is left

happy is not
a crime
it's just a circled thought
on which you cannot climb

twist of wood
gnarl of segment found
there will be sad enough
after you **** it
with slants of sounded furies
dropping you a line

Talk to me. About all the things.
Render your blah thoughts. Even if it seems unworthy.

Life IS art. The high flung must leap from somewhere.

That's how we can take off - together - attach wings to your everyday.
Watch it soar above, past the blue tor.
Even if it feels silly. ******* do it.
Make your pain winged. Writ. A narrative with stairs that lead up.

Meet me in the air, even if the **** hits the clouds. I got you babe.

me in the mirror

i stare hard
as if im waiting for something to

happen

but all i see is
this
always this

every time
the bore the bore
it eats at me

but then a storm

fist
rising up my throat
here it comes
to grab my tongue

i slept
like there was no later
glyphs of ink winked
upon flecked paper

i wept
i thought they were gonna stay
but they slipped through the brink
where my blues become rain

if only the rip
could kiss these lips of mime
and make it want to speak again

i pick up the instrument
cold but not aloof
angle and roll my wrist
watching one thin voltage of line
zip up and down
from tapered metallic crown
to broad black foot

glint of bald brilliance
swimmingly alone
one singular streak so very true to itself
reacting to this act
uncut

struck
am i
by the lean careen
i am unstuck
agreeing to its scheme
exact
cupped

i fashion myself
written down
code scrolling upon my being
informing conduct
with form of fury
it glows with obligation
it knows no theory

i do not try
i let it scry  
history's sloughed golden bones
hover above vision's groan

i slip it in the inbetween
wings shook violent
no longer lame
ferocity of aha gained

two saturated pools
consent and
circle the hurt drain
only hue of heal of remains

carve the bark
you plus your love
testified
made hard

heart needs a box locked
otherwise the feels fly

or maybe the big ought's that hover over us elide
that long hair lush inside
a sin if let down or
maybe jus one small discretion
to put behind you

or maybe it's an observance
to a rune more ancient
than history and its codes

your orb at work
his swell under spell
turn around and don't look over your shoulder
little spoon arch
wrap it in silk
spill the milk

im gunnin for it
the black come as you are
fertile yeses eyes wide
let's make something

my soul closed up
till my next lifetime becomes a has-been
big spaces kinda like me
and so i write them into being

my head n heart
are stolen parts
lying down w dogs
pilfered pregnant pauses

these days are darker
cold steel rusted rain comes harder

i do nothing so well
i make it hurt like hell n back

but i see you now
the white is so translucent

who knew
it has a kind of gait
a tall tell

there's an art to a sort of despair
that does not care
so much

be still
it'll

cool pools of red
n fetch your trusty bones
it lets you bare something realer
no matter the shadows of then

yuh know
it won't ******* **** you
to have nothing to say sometimes
except a knowing look or glance

blackbird eyes me up from its wire
sez im aright
sez i can fly higher
sez there's no period at the end
only a halfhearted comma

but i dunno what for

blackbird hops over
makes room for another
makes the saddest caw you ever did hear
then dashes off to lick the sky clear
till eleven shades of bluewhite appear

but i dunno im not sure anymore

this is the part where i carve
one little hole in my thoughts
watch the me breathe its last breath
watch the i beady turn tor

it wasn't your kiss that got me
it was the open hand
that covered, stroked and

allowed for

the white-knuckled fist binding
that broken muscle just below the breastbone