old light. there's
mold on your
information.

your me
is flipped through
photo album. i am

somewhere between
the solar spasms,
deleted and spatial,
****** off. holding

no grudge, i
just can't care
that hard anymore. all

i want is
soaring silent synths
and eyes, mine, closed,
holding vacuums on the lids.

the arm
of this scar
always at my elbow
dulcet flicks
of the wrist
cheekcornerlip kisses
the let that grabs

i wish to eat her petals
and swell their colors
from lowlight misty rose
to highlight magenta

and have her
burst into my mouthings
an unspoken
torque

bent toward winged skies

her petals
fell upward
into the sky fecund,
spelling energy again.

cavalier blue delugecloud loud
end of history: juxtaposed, prolly
poet tooth uncouth harbinger slurp word is
tut in a tux is untucked in the back slackers unite brackish worm gonna get that last laugh
proud nevermore immaculate grip slip yum
crown lookin a lil drab cue the last can of  laughtrack
drunk offa this dram a petals fell
sipped from a chipped pinkbone china teacup
from gramma's cabinet
puke green Davenport wrapped in plastic
kept nice for company
the last novel is coming without comma
i can feel it now, cantchu?
oh, and
im not mad
im jus madhatterer than you

i try to curve a line
with words
but this place is flat

i have lived
my life.
i have made friends and
mistakes and love, and
all the other things between.

i mean, i don't like to go out much - so what?
i like my room quiet - is that weird?
solitude is
sorta my
thing.
i feel alive, there.

my thoughts, alone,
in my
head, are
still real.

i have
lived my life
******. yet
i still feel
a hand
as cold as the window sill
in the middle of winter
crawl up my back
and give me that
condescending pat -
"we know, kiddo. we know."

here,

angle this
energy ball truthward
shape your core dragon breath

feel the fist
open into
seventy-two handfuls of

felt self crush bloom whoknew

I Blaze green skunk
Close the blinds
Trip ***** and fall up
up into the rafters of the mind
Astral backpack
Through the timespace continuum
Mind over matter

At least
until the latter
starts to pitter patter again
I spit ****
that'll make the pineal gland
Shape shift
Into the Buddha chillin in a full lotus
Position
I don't seek stardom
I seek the stars
that jump started this
Cos I'm sick a glitchin
We are a way for the universe
To know itself  
But we've built scars from stars
So I manifest mind and spar w the mar
Wear my ego on my sleeves
Rolled up
Ya I Put my demons on blast
Caught flak
forearms busted up
But still I laugh
Every single day
Roll my boulder up the hill
W a Mona Lisa smirk still
I'm Rebel w causality
Innate violence doesn't
Befit my species
Sorry I don't buy it
That's puttin the fist before the hand
And that's jus some silly ****
Maaaan

collecting quail eggs
in the morning summer heat
eleven spotted shells

anyway, i can't think about that
anymore. the abyss gonna abyss.

i push pixels
bent on ellipses
****** up on extended metaphors
they turn me out
my sweater dismantled
these holes got socks in 'em
enamel from the storm god's tooth worn
and he knows i know

awkward eschatological talks ensue
like: "i always knew you were faking it."
stuff like that.

threshold deniers, behold, the new day: nigh af

i'm bad luck. struck sad and oblate
weary, dedicated to the swearing ground.
chivalric pulp, my pages
don't bind like they used to.

rhyme me sad. adder fluent, sistines
vaunt these heads of mine. but wise
enough to feel these molecules murmer
and mouth the corvid in the wellwater.

annihilated profiles in my coming wake.
i am bad luck and prose. slipped
my shadow, i walk a bare life.
not broken anymore. not here all the way.

don't canter.
never could.
haven't loved. will

of a ghost. hell, i see ancestors
trailing behind me
in a mass of quadruped brutes
black as the day i was born
and sounding a great horn
made of gold and unprophecy,
babblings of a river older than talk.

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

cut stone
lichen roam
over your
shut mouth

mineral lochs
run through
slowed vein

ex
tend

your hard hand

take my face
and wake the sleep
that petrifies me
sunk into this bed

ancient thing
ancestor to the mountain
what tales of brokenness
you must have

break them
over mine
widen this time
give me eyes farther

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.

take me
use my body
and write

all
over
me

crushed parts
flush limbs
**** mar

row

the felt
swell
of me

till it comes hard

sometimes my wants lust too much and my feels turn thin as cardboard cutout

i feel like worm. i am crawler of light dim. i am
him
that guy
and it makes me ill worn out wasted

i don't wanna do this anymore but i will ialwaysdoacquiesce

i guess poetry can be used
to inspire optimism
and make people feel good,

but i'm looking for the kind of poetry that
eats the air
from my lungs and
sifts my holes
with a fistful of dead flowers.

sweet black bile
that sad smirk
hurt's so good

i'd eat entire moons for you
and sleep in till noon
spooning the day wasted

if only
my boredom
could become alien
to me. maybe
then i could
feel, again.

i dreamed of being amongst
tall, ornate
cherry blossom trees,
and they were all wise

they reached high into
indigo-colored skies
capitulum crowning space, tasting
cool air

when the wind came
they spoke to me

and i listened
-i still listen-
but miss miss miss the vision

...

there is this one
c blossom
2,000 feet tall, prolly
that was not only wise but

silly and fun too,
and she drew me
drew me
into her,
her roots
curled over my feet
her petals snowed
on to my fevered lips

giving me 10,000 sensations
-senses-
I never knew
existed before

but, ya know,
"things happen"
and whatever
la la la la cliche **** me now
plz

vision blinks shut
rub eyes now
cuff of Do
cuffing your you w I
comes to be
whom whom are you are you?

climb down
into world
nine now
five soon

we all get to have gold jackets
when the sun comes up, again
that ferrari thought is just a pumpkin

feeling slightly disturbed
about my bed sheet's low thread count
old *** shots destroy it

eye starly
cut thrumming
cherry ember dwindle shutter

speeded up
us lamplighted
and brief

Looks like I'll be on the road again. Nowhere to go. Poor af and no motivation. Shadow without a body. kicked pebble. road marginalia

one slice
would be nice
to finally see
the feels

incision speaks

lol's spurt
as i watch w my distant

eyes
a glass w crushed ice

nobody is
who they say they are

all is light and lighter still
ppl flake ppl flake

i am not ok w the chasm
of rich deep that
stares and mocks my shallow
reach

im tired now
lights dim

im almost out of
things to make up from
thin air

it's garbage
and yet it
stills things for a time

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

I'm always off
The beaten path
Tryin to beat back

This rift

Rivulets

Of the purest dark
that could lift a ship - I slip

into thoughtstreams
of
red
blue

green  

I thought love was a thing
once
but now I know it's a
process

A memory in situ -SPUN-
stitching pastpresentfuturistic flits

Catch it in the ebbflow
grasp it
and it will saturate the glow

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

As the night gets darker
Deeper in
My head growths thick
With taut thoughts held
My grip feeling it out

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

night callers all, drink
your dram of dream
lick the moon clean

this night sits
low on my brow
alighting thoughts thoughts thoughts
i can feel this lunar weight's fist
it's knuckle
the color of come

The few times I realize I am content, I just as soon feel like I'm cheating on my usual sadness; worse, that it is only the eye of the storm; and worst of all, I'd be duped into writing a happy poem - anything but that.

death crept up my back
and fingered each one
of my spine's nodules

breathing icy wisps
into my left ear

laying me
deeper into my bed
dread penetrating

butterknife seppuku
is my fav way to go

lottsa little deaths
to spread thin

till the last edit
of these things
swims
upstream

away from me

blank white page:
prompt that yoosh pomp thatchyoo do;
he'll stoop he'll stomp his frill till it's

shelved, docu'd
spelled out,
to the point of mellifluous flu.

his coy is beggining to cloy.
but it stirs still.

he wants the inside of his alonebones to atone
for the unimaginable thing he has to do.

hero that doesn't  
want to know
tragedy is real.

it won't stop
the feelings of it'sallwrong
tumbling inside my gut

ocher yellow
oxidized
waves flake
sheets of
metal tides
rivets fixed to
crest and trough

i come
i go and
little nothing's
eat at my
sloughed bone

i am going to ****** this moon

arranging flowers
snipped from the flower garden
makes me feel close to

something
beautiful, or

whatever
you call
that thing
that makes your
insides

light up.

you are alone
in space,
waiting on the edge,
making room
for existence to start, again.

cleanse the doors of perception
and you still get cleansed perceptual doors;
sure, it's a higher, more complex order of doors,
but it's still a door.
it still opens and shuts.
it still reveals and conceals rooms,
one door at a time.

the subject always objects
in the house of many doors.
it pictures. it members. each one,
a massive concatenation of rooms framed.
but the rooms always shift
with each new door opened,
because we always

think.
imagine.
wonder.

and we
re-member.

remembrance is always novel:
the old, new'd
with visions truer, because broader in space.

thinky stick binoculars can never be put down
in the house of doors and rooms reimagined.

heartfist
open up
become five wings won
chestburst and
fly

fly far away
far from it all

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.