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.

Visions are paired with -im's.
The eyes are
mouths of syntax maxed.
Ya know?
Yes of course you do --
The I's and We's are all elbows-n-knees,
Their voodoo looks are nooks
That hush the crannies. Look,
Don't you lecture me with your
Dictionary of dearth kept tableside
Like a biblical sigh
I know I know -- so there!
Crouching
Disavowaled owls eyes wide
shut up.
Yes yes, I know that
If I'm not careful,
These words will be
The life of me.

All is a graveyard
We stumble about upon epochs
of reverberating death knells
Living like leaves
upon one solemn tree
Enriched by ancestral spell below

Fallen
Not yet

Organics ancienter
-unknown-
That black-indigo before the dawn
Ground up between bedrock
Churned into an oil

We go because they went before
And we too will go
Gone from this whirl

The skull calls all

Either respond
Or don't
It does not matter

The worm is autocrat
Its dictate: feed
Excreting the creed
Again again

There is death
Then there's the sleep of Fall
Death's second self
As Shakes' leaves once penned

But the reflection of this
In this our complicated globe flitting
Is death's third self
A selfish giver left to leave

A self that is
Because of what once was

A flourishing
Sped forth by inner-whorl of seed
An intimate meeting of bodies
Being being
And been

Everything is chance. We name the random to create the idea of order and predictability. It's a stab in the abyss.

What is choice? Plinko. Go, pick the arbitrary with stars in your eyes. What you want is only an arm's-length away. Scratch the ticket. Feel the neon in the night wheel like time is in your corner. Let it hurt you. Learn.

the tree limb
crawls up and out
tangent into
the stuttering cool air

I sleep so. *******. much. It's pathetic, really. I've many theories as to why: I'm lazy; I'm not being challenged enough; society is, well, society; I'm a misanthrope; I'm a dreamer.. But, in the end, these all miss the mark.

The impetus behind my sleepmoresleep is, it seems, a direct result of that sentimental urge to bring order to a cosmic court whose very fabric is made of change and chance.

buds waiting
limbs feeling, again
slumber shook off
but this tilt too will end
and bring the wilt back

Start again. Turn the page. We love our metaphors. Why? Because they remind us of the flux. Things won't stay still. Ever. Dictionaries breathe too you know. New glyphs itch to get in.

Let them.

rosette of jag leaf rawr
bright yellow flower
head of seed and
a mane of downy tuft
reaching through
neglected suburb
concrete sidewalks

We met for coffee; well,
I had coffee and she had tea.
Her pics didn't do her justice --
Chin prim
Lips cursive
Skin that swam under mine,
Making the porcelain creamer cup blush.

She claimed
she had a quarter million members
That followed her.
it's good money she reasoned,
But not gloating;
More matter-of-factly.
Off the cuff,
I asked for her stage name.
She explained that she blocked NY
For work and family reasons,
Assuming I had asked so to
Watch her perform later
(Which isn't altogether untrue).

She measured every utterance,
Teleprompters behind eyelids
Feeding her perfectly crafted lines.

I use the Golden Ratio when I webcam
She said, as she sipped her tea.
I consider it an art -- or
At least that is what I tell myself.
I asked her to elaborate.
She said she was somewhat conflicted
About whether or not it was immoral.
But she was so even
With her response,
Almost as if it were compelled
By a formality
That was now checked off her list.

Her body language taciturn
Asleep, idle, screen-saved
Waiting waiting

Curve and line
Coffined for now to slake desires anon -
Her numbers in slumber, confined
Waiting to be crunched,
Flatlines Animated by pitchblack revelry
With one click

Turning them.

She said she liked to watch others
ya know, To see how they move.
She would even watch it at work,
Open in one of her browser tabs.
She took notes.

Lines triangulated
Liminal spaces given, hidden.

Digital lipstick smears
Tattooing amygdalas firing --
Allow them to slip in
Only to slip out of them
With an X.

We talked for an hour
And then left the café.
She asked me over.
I said not tonight --
The words coming out
As if willed by something
Outside of myself.

She walked off into the dark
And I kicked myself for saying no.

Her curves beholden to math --
Gyration of hip and waist,
Arms tendrils configuring, cavorting,
Slave to an inner-whorl
twirled and twirling --
One single objective truth, now
A convergence of secreting plurality
Into beauty and beauty and

That night I ****** off thinking of her
And came so hard
I pulled something in my back.

In between sleep and waking life
I transcended
Something.. I felt

Turned.

Bat on window sill
Still as the unflinching
Lidless abyss --
Then a quarter turn of its head --
Its beady eye catching streetlight --
Careening it off into a nonplussed
Night of nights.

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

august december sun
showing itself around here, again.
the nerve.

butterknives lithe.
garbage disposal yoga.
oger cortisol dump.

i guess i'll jus eat my teeth now
and face me.

heartmaw
must

feed.

i have no reason
-or imagination-
anymore

to
stay

here.

not really..

----- pls feel all the feels for me.
this melo d is real,

i swear.

my torn tears tear
down this face
encased in rusty bladelace.

yours diaphanously,
mememe.

its so
*******
sad

i will bottle the sound of rain
and fold it
deeply
into the quietest recesses
of that muscle
just below your breastbone,
and make it beat chartreuse
soft taps slithering wet yesyesyes's

flourish, thrive, feel alive, lithe
your i, inebriate of the everyday
simple simplicities

dare pirouette through danger, confident not cocky

empath and convey other's anger to solid ground
become the stream

her vocal chords
ten verdant tendrils
helixing ocher brainscrape stir

sound re-members energy againagain
marigold tiger soft glow fleshcaress balm

my contusion
cared for
dressed in mossygauz
diaphanous cure

i feel
good
somehow

dont let me get me
please
eater of spiral
seer of hurt
speaker of word

i am not me
im the thing opposite to
the vision in the
room adjacent 
small muffled voices suggest through
this fixed wall tall
things that coulda or shoulda been said

on the other side
things that will be said

filled w dread in bed still cant get up
the sun hasnt won me over yet
im one with the moon
glowfist knuckle **** if i know pushpull hopedoom
lunacy looming over this 
wish
to be 

me
or something
bigger than me

something
i made

i am not me 
i am not this 
i am vision(less)
behind the wall next 
theres no door theres no window 
but ill find a way in
or not
i might jus warm
my hands in the corner
of this dialed-up nondescript
dark elongated room

im torn

I've been had
Stabbed
I did not see it coming

The wound waits
Red-tapes the heal
It ruins it ruins

Stilled knife neatly in my side
But look!
there's a killer twist too

As she looks in my little eye
-Stare like granite smirking-
The broad side of the blade

Materializes from a silver-lining
Now a mirror
Her lithe eyes widen, alive alive

The reflection
A scene
Of her seems undoing [hero shot]

And scene

from the foam come
uncupboarded hoary-eyes wide,
once more, too

do me
with a line or two,
wontchya?

you can
put them
anywhere.
i dont mind.

moon puddle
the soon, subtle

makes me wanna
stop myself
in front of you

troubled helix
creaky spiral

if only he could go virulent

this thought,
one texture
old sweatshirt

the roam's grin grows
iknowiknow this home is
****** wasted eaten knifed neatly

how??how!how?

texts to ex's
needy emojis
******* us

the bones are coming now

i look at her
and she is goddess 
loop and knot 
 
i look away
and she's ocean sky flow
breather of this breath 

i look within
and i am at her feet
removing her sandals 

i look without
and i'm depth ebb
space silenced

I always become
Nostalgic
When I'm deep into the bowels
Of nature.

At first I thought
It was Camp Wildwood
Coming back to me --

Capture the Flag --
My crush and I, Sarah,
In the woods alone
Using inside-jokes and "strategy"
As a knife
For the tension
Swelling up inside of us
a forbidden bloom that never was --

But it isn't that.

It's the genes inside of me
Ancient ones
Deep Prehistoric spindles lit
Crimson tooth claws laws
Of an order
With no defined border
Knuckles whitened ***** firing
Mounting and
Muscling out the moral

did you ride
your bicycle
today?

bodied forth beings
lamp
rock
pebble
coordinates nix the everyday ****
lifesource creep
over rock's edge
the color
cut and wound and loss mixed

space
purged for you

grieflet
go through it
heal heal
jus
be

i ride her grayed gyri,
slipping from crest to crest
as it undulates
into dank sulci; trough of her troubles
mirroring, i think, my own
interpretation of hers,
and of mine:
and this
entwine, it writhes
like lithe yeses
half-whispered, half-glossolalia secreting babbles
from faces wasted by pushpull cravings eaten.

observe ----
it hangs
from one single thread --

which in turn
hangs
from a further thread --
itself dangling

from the worn pincers of an old fool
recluse inside his comfy house of laughs
inside a room
where four taciturn gods stand
mute inanimate still solemn blank --

one of which
tilts its wilted head --
and with eyes absent
up inside his thinking thoughts
he sheds warm pools of dark stills --
unspeakable pictures spilled --
onto a being stuck
inside an existence
that has become
fully acknowledged as such

threadbare despair
despairing still  
and still
it remains
the simple bloom tumult
that wills and will

i say *** out loud
like sixty times
a day, easy

there is no such thing as
"The United States"

there is
only you
and me
and either the presence or
absence of
united states

i am the canary
in the binary
singing bars hard

distal phalanges
tap the app
till these trills mean something

the oolong tea leaves
in the bottom of the witch's teacup
told me doom and bloom

was nigh
as ****.

her words quavered
like dead grass clippings falling up
into the discerning violet scry

watching the
ants

crawl

up and
down
legs of
the table next to
my chair  

crawling up
the potted plant
on said table

i think they are trying to
use a language

to tell me something
some things
or
whatever

time
t i m e

stretches outside the tick

tock

i am three hands to the wind

wasted on timespace paused
i can't finish it

be kind
please rewind ti m  e

nah
entropy is way blah
but ghost memes claw

crawl

i'll take molecules unbound
over that

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

hair unkempt but it's aright
kicks dusty as **** it's cool tho
lame faded brain blues wade through
sleeper in my eye not noticed till, like, 2
or something like that
espresso? yes pls
barista and me awkward exchange
but it was nice still
you know, like how the skips
make you feel human again?
sun on my face such a simple thing
hello day where ya been

im not really real
im jus lines in yer device
im not really there
im just pixels in yer eyes

stay in it
stay in it
stay in it
strange innit?
this game this skit
frames hang us
yer pics sentenced
stranger days flit
vulnerable green leaves blush
nice teacups chipped
texts n snaps sliiick dulcet
stains in the sheets lonely loner
strange innit?
stay in it
stay in it

this is how the imagination is made:

your tiny origami world gets torn;
then, yer mememe death comes by way of small paper cuts;
from the periphery of this rip, you swim upstream, again,
till you see the fēniks wing glinting like a finger ring careening off the sun.

hmm's and err's now populate yer thinky time
like never before, here in Cleverly Folded Paper World.

t h e r e you are;
mmm, you feel the feels even more,
and the refresh bubbles up from the torn.

but still the big cut creeps back ---
x out old you; new document, anew anew, stares, blinking, waiting.

edits forever bloom steely wutabtme? iridium spiels around edges
of tattooed white petals, elegant writs fell; wilting; seeding...

this world, too, must be cut to fit:
if you wish to have a home for the iNGkē worm
that sillily dreams of one day winning its wings.

Today is the saddest day of my life. I am beside myself. I have not known tragedy until now. And yet the tears feel good. I have not felt this alive in a long time. Pieces of me are dead and dying. I feel light, like a kid again.

I am pretty sure there is nothing out there. Not anymore.

my computer is tombstone
s'only room for one in this, here, algorithm

i'm done

rumi was on ta somethin - eff zombie werds
shelve that ****

yer yum glistenskin skims my mouth probes  
libraries lost easily contained in each feel
makes me undoom this dumb selfieshtick kitsch i do
that kills the mood with two neck wounds incisors apart

feels before syntax

jus thought i'd let you know
*******

my lines
pinned
under hers

my sentences run on

till her vocab
comes
on mine

hack the uncanny
and head North of
happy

Zeroed
Options slim
Slept in

Him
A boy once
A life

That still had pull

The push
Is near
I can feel it
I can feel it

Nothing or I'm dresser drawer ajar
Milk spilled ---- fulcrum

Whitened zeros
Cascade on linoleum coulda-been's
Watch him
Objectify
Halfeaten lies

Immolation of self
Pokes
Reminds

And so
There really is
Nowhere to get to

Nothing more to say

Odi et amo.
quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio,
sed fieri sentio et excrucior*

I hate and I love.
Perhaps you ask why I do this?
I do not know,
but I feel it happen and I am torn apart.

When will you
and
I
escape to
some remote island
-afloat-
in the middle of the sea
constructed by our wits
alone

where we shall sustain ourselves
not with
food or drink or sleep
but rather
words words
words
of our own making
tapping ananda
that
***** the **** out of
our minds
and makes us both
***
simultaneously
together as
one?

i hate myself
out loud,

and
make
things

awkward

er.

i am openshut basket case.
a real cool hand luke
who throws febrile shade

on all
the things.

step on the corona of my silhouette
and i wet gods red
with bottled up passive agro tactics.

king.
crown.
thrown

into
this ****.

i didnt ask for it;
so, now im asking
for it.

i like to think i was,
once upon
a slick timespace,

******* whole -

instead of
flipped chan-
nel;
snow s t  a ti    c,
no signal;

running TVly
with bulls that pushpull the cool

that keeps me
from editing me out
with metallic deletes.

It gets my attention
I sense it
thumb it
When it isn't present
It is what I look for
When awaking

Lips are too ambiguous
Hips
too calligraphic and
Precious
Fists too ******

So...

I'll stick with
My inanimate object
Glitches n all

if the sky were torn
-which it is-
the stitch
inside your oblique
would take the glow of
sun beclouded
and
make it
its own

a cut carved into woundnomore

numb
is
not a thing

itself

it
waxes wanes waves
of photon streeeeaaam
crepuscular crawl of careened being
pilfering
life force
vamp ***** siphon of tor

it is yours
to have

all of

it

awaits your gait
sidelong face lips pursed poised
antidote to troll

you are light
on your
feet
because you are
i think
light of soul streaked

and

smeared across the Verse
you hold space
and black holes inside
one small dixie cone cup pinky out

you are
writer
written down

this glyph is

I traverse these curses
like a standoffish simile
writing i still luv u, k? to metaphors torn
between your reality and

mine.

The simple pirouette of "less is more"
Is itself a palimpsest
When you are you.
My deep divers fail to resurface. Truth.

Instead of being alongside you --
Apart yet with you --
I am stupidly fixed on
being all the way inside you --

Bodies twisted and twisting,
as your thighs ride into hips, and
mine into necks,
gaunt, spent, hung.

close your eyes

right
now.

space
the **** out.

watch and

wait

for those
****** thoughts
to surface. and when they do,
describe them.

give them crazy long fangs.
give them a mane made of fury.
let them summon that buried hatchet.

let it
do its
worst.

then
watch that ****
dissipate
into the forest
of thinky thoughts.

and friendship is underrated

the more you Romeo-n-Juliet things
the less you see of your surroundings

*** isolates
friendship joins
a crowd a fest all one voice rolling

******* is the mt. top
friendship is the foothill

climb too high
death will meet you at the top

thinned air petrified growth
thrumming bountiful growth

******* promises ****
that it can't follow through on

friendship just is

effing flakes out
friendship stakes out
waits listens doesn't try to fix

eff **** buddies
i need more friends

let's all get high on friendship

...

..

i mean
uhm
im still gonna ****

but

i jus need more friends

Falling
I panicked and
Snatched a passerby winged creature

I held it close
Us nose-to-nose
Tumbling

It called itself
Something Like Awe Perhaps

Spiraling
toward that pebble
That I always sillily perceive to be
A rock unhewn

This whispering loose leaf
Culled from the air's tangent
Impressed upon me

Sense, dear

Wan swan dip eve to cleave ars

Not once did it
Plea to be to be
It simply breathed breathe

face down
back of her head
before me

the part in her hair
almost
oracular
jagged line of white scalp
a lexicon i alone will never know

i palm it and push down
activating some strange fate

and with much trembling
i carve up into her

unknown rune
lit
spell of ruin
flushed
consumes our us
the crush begun

quickened flesh fiends the bone
and wipes the faces
we wear

inside the creases of us
lies bending curses that will purge
diagonals crisscross
ivy writhing
growing bolder

a swarm of form
shape-shifting tor

torn and torn and will
no more

And we
both become
transfigured
spent
two loosed beings again