leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:

haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.

this, my greatest adversary.

i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,

and i
watch,
haughtily  

as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.

and i beat my chest.

then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.

they never
stood
a chance.

i, jus now, walked to the store to get some water
and - it's weird but - the sun
  hit
me: and, somehow, i felt
detach e  d no more;
one lit plane, arrayed
beneath my sandals

and walked my feet
along the woven pavement, which had
either come alive at that moment or
had always been so and i just never noticed it before.

but then, i felt

some weird s i d e inside of me grind
its bony armor, elide the light, and
glyph into existence, dark. it spoke; it wrote

me down. it captured me with an adroit hand. it
fed me lines. lines. lines. lines brighter than star proximal.

my insides stood divided.

i got home
and drank
the water: straight from
the jug.

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

the game is fixed
she Juliet's her face
for a min

they're dyin
to be with her

to feel how it feels
to ride off the edge of her curves

and when she wakes
she moves on to the next vic
with pretty pace

you kissed
the fist
stuck inside my throat
and read its palm
as it
bloomed open

*if you are reading this
there still
is
time
to make space

for

the whorl

i wanna be the sun so bad
but this moon spoons
my dark spaces so v good

her periwinkle lines
next to my magenta margin
precipice slid into

we are not atoms in the dark
we are not Adam's in the garden
we are not Atman's in the seat of kosmos

we are adumbrated sound, found in this form;
light in the n o   w.

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.

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

open your mouth --- wider
there, those are bones
roots known by the flesh

look at your fingertips
they too bear the bone
scrim ***** coverings, ten of them

the scar on your skin
observe it
harm came to you
visited you - did you

re
member
it?

or did you
bottle it
and set it to
the dark green
murk beneath?

is it a part of you
that you shun? embarrassed
by its inarticulate language
curling and lunging

discolored other?

animal, listen
your mouth noises: mere symbol

your thoughts:
brief shimmer o' the surface

this is black
you are but blue
that is all

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.

To bleed the binary
And speak fluent touch and
jaguar yawn
Is that asking for too much?

Think on it, friend

But there is no time to think
The hands circling
Always circling
Losing their clutch

Sloth
Downed from
The canopy

Little small
Specks of ****
Will be the end of him

All that is accomplished in cubes
-time well spent-
Mustn't ever reach
A white-eared Sibia
Alighting a Sakura tree flush in pink
Drenched
in the cool warm glow
Of a winter star that now must go

Swift quarter-inch turns of the head
Lazily nimble
In its slim space
-it could even fly away if it so wishes-

While he
files away widgets

His time is near
He feels it
thread stripped
From the twist the twist

none of these words
i muscle into existence
fill the dread
-the writhe that never dies-
that eats at my yellow bones
one day at a time

and still i push them
words words worm food soon

serrated blame
pressed down against skim
Shame
thought I caught glimpse
of me
as blame angled in

The hunt for something realer

took a walk up the street
just to see if I could still feel

my molecules
Squirm shift like the seraphim
to become to become
but all I transcend is
day into knifed

so now I grip a different angel
cold aloof primal
uncompromising wing
Slips in

Deep down
I crave the sacred
Now that everything is
Just a dust mote limping along
The curvature of a light beam
in this dilapidated house

I've winked
At everything but the kitchen-sink --
Although, I do have my eye on it

Cynic
Know-it-all that knows he knows
Nothing
Conflicted

I wish I knew subtlety

Mona Lisa's quarter-smirk
Makes my emojis feel
Sorta slutty --
like they try too hard ya know?

^.^

Heaven:
Rainbow-colored
toothbrush mustaches
And
Killer drones friended by elm trees

Dissimulation is
my religion
Because
it just explains things,
It walks back the big crutch
It makes gods into amoebas

All. I. have. are. words.
******* scribbles.
Stillborn syntactical limbs of whim
Severed at the moment of send

Yet still
I deliver and hold them
Close to me
They are my ex-press
A last confession straight to the quick

The world doesn't spin it screams
We just Van Gogh it with
Slurry nite nite sleep tight's

God, what I would *give

if only
your misty rose glowfist
were to be my heart -

glinting
all the feels
with

bright felt fingerings
expressing
so. much.

then, maybe, i
could
feel

real,
again.

are origami paper
there are only so many folds
you can make
the rest must be left to silence
tapered existence taken
in stride
wan swan indigo eve seen and scene

being; wet cloud bent down, now of this form,
how will you ever know

the whispering splinter of youaresobeautiful
that has set down
under that identity; under that cult of them,
if you do not
alter it?

ascend into the being of hallowed mud:
you are pillar and pulse
and light is yours to have and hone

Remember this very moment
when an is
became a was -- spectral flits --
The past slipping in and around you --
And you were totally in it

Almost

salsa verde is on
like
all the things
all the time

yerp

dear ppl,

we exist on a planet
within a star system
full of other massively ginormous planets which
all -somehow-
revolve around a giant rip
in the timespace continuum
that has zero properties
and vanquishes light itself

without
a
t r  a   c        e

in other words

everything that matters
in the world
is attracted to no-thing
or at least something
we can't explain

reality
orbits
the ineffable

so

forget the answer
the question is better

if i deleted myself
would the hatred of me stop
or would i become a tree
along the river of this-****-is-forever?

the space you create
the place you carve out of
the middle

is bold
is

holy

winged birth from bodied beginning

now ******* fly

i chase the poem
until my words become true

recalling all of your lines
tangling mine

serifs
torque

My powers halved,
I am laid by four walls -
orthogonal gods linguini

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