de facto fabrication just after the fact
the king mackeral always
dealing the blade to the sword fish
in a hasty attempt at drawing blanks
all confusion no feeling
the cowboys from those western films would have hated you
you could never tell who the good guy was
there's no duality only extreme alienation
and the tenuous fabric that exists between
man and everything else
something is always measured by the difference
it has in relation to another
the charisma from the hero
turned out only to be a severe drinking problem

a man of conversation
like a typical neurosis that's linked to

la machina de mi corazon
como la manzana de mi ojo

i'm a bug and the magnifying glass
is my mother and the hand that holds it is god
and as he picks me up from the pebbled ground
he gazes
but i'm too busy feeling the inadvertent heat
emanating from a palm that glistens
and carries me into a nightmarish comfort
of both unknown and like I have always been there
there is no start or finish
and i'm happy
and i need it to last forever

you took me to the natural history museum
the one next to the flower garden
you didn't hold my hand
or you might have
my hair locked in an abrasive ponytail pulling at my ears everytime
the ceilings were like giants
making me feel meek and important
in a forgetful way
the way you don't think about the leaves coming back
in early March
one day they're just there and you're opening the windows again
the way you're meant to
you walked the spotless corridors and I trailed behind
always fearing the immense T-Rex at the front of the room
that followed you with its' eyes
one blink and the head could swivel
the knees would buckle and the colossus
could devour you in a dignified gulp
ending at the bottom of a salacious belly
full of tender body parts and terrifying things
like men pretending to be gods
trapped at the bottom of a well
no invention of fire could extinguish that darkness
reaching into my pocket for binoculars
when I finally look up you're gone past the ancient artifacts
there's a grin and a woman attached to it
and I can see that you're nervous because your feet are dancing back and forth
from their heels to their toes
and the laughter echoes through all the rooms
poignant and full
each room has a theme and I swim from
one diorama to the next alone
I can feel myself melting
with history sticking to my clothes like gum
cotton candy falling into a puddle
gone before you can even taste it

a sink with broken eggshells at the bottom
skin turning flush red from the inside goo
always making you itch
because everything is so nervous
if it wasn't there would be no purpose
no jackknifing or tossing
no thrashing or abrasive arm wrestling
to feel a stillness inside your stomach
like an eye of a storm
patiently smug
because  the turbulence is never
in
only around

the debris will never hit your cornea
no splintered pupil
always wanna be tender
but I think brave is best

a plastic duck in the middle
of a fiberglass and resin expanse
there's still a swarm of water
dripping lethargically
down, down, down
as if they have nowhere to go
sinking but never completely disappearing

the tile is cold under my feet
no steady movement this early at dawn
the window outside equally
tells of a deluge
frightening even the pebbles that make up a gravel road
but the birds are frantic with delight
a screaming song that could electrify
a sizzle more than whistling
almost burns my ears

domestic life under a wooden roof
my eyes always half closed
in contentment or excessive worry
i can never tell the difference

a pattern of small footsteps approaches me
a mop of hair and dreamy eyes
always reminding me that this is me
a grounding technique personified

scattered clothes grazing
that curious part between ankle and sole
reminding me that i am here
everything has paused
there's no reason to look at the clock
what once was midnight could be noon

the plants croon as i brush
their dusty leaves with neem oil
drooling over all the attention
a freckle in my arm spends an eternity
prancing around the fact
that I've had the same repetitive thought
for an hour now
but we are alive
that's all I can know for sure

I dream that the frogs in my backyard have wings
and they fly up to the trees
in the dewy light of dawn
to meet their maker
and kiss under the canopied shade of listless leaves
grazing their backs
and reminding them of simpler times
down from the watery swamp they came from
their webbed feet leave prints on the bark
muddy and cumbersome
but innocent in their doings
a flash flood of lightning  awakens me
i'm laying in damp earth again
time to go back inside

my shirt barely fits over my stomach
my belly is a bag of granny smith apples
**** and plump
misleading in their sweetness
underneath growing ten-fold each week
all the different fruits for growth
leave me anemic for heartier things
tenderloin heart, blood steak
there's a biting pain on the side of my hip
that feels like what I imagine a dog nipping at your heel
could feel like
and I hear it
the small squeak at the bottom of a storm drain
a miniature kitten trapped in the middle of concrete and hot cement
it hasn't rained in months
and my mouth starts to water imagining
the dehydrated lungs of an animal
that's destiny has been sealed