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Orion Schwalm Apr 2021
Nice to see you.


It is.

To see you.

To hear you rustle the ground.

               smell what you were eating for lunch

taste your sorrows

the salt
tastes like cat food to me.

I'm not mad
I'm just glad to see you safe.
Sad to see you go, of course, of course.
I hope that doesn't seem coarse, of course
everything sad runs its course, of corse  

but no

Don't fall in love with a farmer.
You'll never surpass her horse.

Never enamor a catgirl.
You'll only eat tuna or worse.
no further questions.

Mad at this world of hard-backed chairs,

Impending toe stubs every time that I get up.
Bruises where love left me rained on to rust.
Beautiful blue maroon yellow half moons
on my rib cage
Many noons overhead have burned tunes in my head that I sung and I bled to commune with the dead at the tombstone I'm led to the old riverbed
still to this day

there's a hole in the ground where you bury a body and
             a home in the sound of you carrying all my
                                                                ­            unease.


I am swiss cheese.
Pain floats through me
and onto the breeze.

I will sit and eat this plain tuna bowl
because I need to complete a macronutrient profile
I looked up on the internet
how to make this temple
   a place where people will come to pray
  and play
and stay for longer than
a fortnite

Tastes like freedom.
Tastes like kibbles.

There's a pretty lass next door
who tastes like tears

And the sound of a breeze blowing through a hole in my wall.

Without hole,
how finish bowl?

Frame hole.
New role.

A door, for the strays
A fine feast of fish.
Dinner is dished.

Dinner for kin.
Home again.

how will my family know when to come in
Orion Schwalm Jan 2021
Dark Part of the world
Hold on
I am looking through shredded bed sheets at a sliver of open sky
                                       like it's the only exit left
                                from the cave we entered in

I am healing in this hole because I do not want to die
I am heading back to heaven but it hasn't been my time

Open-ended ending open sky open mind not my time.
I drench my arms in gasoline and give myself a warm hug.
Hold yourself, and the child within.
I deserve I deserve I deserve this burn.
I slowly unthread the *****,
                                      showing red, showing white, showing blue.
I slip off the mittens protecting my hands,
                                       showing blood, showing bone, showing bruise.
Get a hold of yourself, you're not a child.
Grown, Growing, Gone.
I gently unstitch the seams,
                                       showing red, showing yellow, showing green.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
I try again.
Cut off
         The dress
                        You once
                                 Were buried

                                                                       Relax, Regress, Routine.

Bury the scent
              In comfortable, callous, code.
                                        Secret Secret Never Gonna Find
                                        Down in a hole in a hole in the mind
Code the key
Pretend you're okay

That time
You opened your mouth
And breathed
The very first time

That was it.
The opening.
The exit.
The ending.
The craving.
The air.
The sky.
The dark
        cold      and        alone
                                    but not lonely.

holding everything that came before
and a sliver of lips
open to sunlight
and all that will come
when it will.

it will.
Orion Schwalm Jan 2021
a sound that carries
farther than where our ears can hear
beyond title
beyond nation
beyond fear
carries reminders
of the end of all we hold dear.

to hear
to say
because we cannot stay.

We stand on a foundation of pain
And smile
because we know
we share the fall

    we look each other in the eye
       without uttering a word
it is understood
Orion Schwalm Mar 2020
what are we






empty space

grasping at each others hands
hoping for
for a small touch
to move the hair on our spines

trembling to stand
daring to
to walk away
afraid to die

we are worms

sightless soundless


rubbing fingers together
hoping to
conjure control

we made fire and what else?
endless boxes to isolate in
obsessive walls
invented power
aeons of escaping
our simple claws

our feeble knees


and straighten

our spinal fur


and straightens

when our hands

touch other hands.

Holding anything

but empty space.
Contemplation from the bunker. R U safe?
The disease was already inside us. It was loneliness.
Orion Schwalm Apr 2019
I am the mountain man.
I am the shifting sands.
I am the laughter through gritted teeth,
I am the squint of concentration,
I am the missing piece and the stone that won't roll.
I am the Zeit Ghost.
I am the Underwerewolf.
I am the Pseudonami.
I am not what you say I am, until I say: "I Am."
I am the Red Sun Samurai.
I am the Locomotive Provocateur.
I am the bones of kings and slaves.
I am the breath of the wind in the trees.
I am the Electrocuted Interlocutor.
I am the whip of the matador.
I am sunken cities in the swamp.

I am Firestarter.
         Spark Guarder.
I am the assembly line whereby the machine reproduces.
I am capitulated capitalism.
I am the captain of the sky ship to
                                                        Ghost Country.

I am a natural amphetamine
         a synthetic homeopathic
         a cure for the sad
            curation for the lost
            death for the solid and unchanging.

I am the mask of roots.
I am a treehouse full of books.
I am the sword in the daytime.
I am the Day Waker, the Cloud Shaker
the Continent Unmaker, the Deep Laker
the childhood of broken dreams and unbreakable boulders.

Half-slumbering in your living room.
One eye on your joy, the other searching
for answers to the unanswerable question of:

where did it go?

Fully alive, pacing the gravestones
kisses to flowers in the new moon
and a pocketful of reality checks.

Helping you let go of everything
                                        Holding you back.

Hoping you'll hold onto me.
Orion Schwalm Sep 2018
Awoke to the sound of gunfire
Chewed teeth pacifying the burning rage against the disease
Mother's Milk a distant dream
And the sweet salt of your super nature
Caressing the cavities in my head
Swallowing the holes in my soul
as metal shards make more young soldiers whole
completing an illusion of control.

How long can you hold onto a necessary reverie?
As long as you need assuming you both agreed to dream tonight,
To face to face the side by side
To never ever lie
To reprobate the profligate
And accept the overwhelm
All allowing of the atmosphere
Loving every moment hard and soft
And every crevasse in the journey between.
Revive the sight of yourself within the mind of one who reveres
the eyes with which they have been blessed to look upon
a ****** deity,
and to worship fading gold and cracked plaster,
knowing it was born to age and die.
Orion Schwalm Jul 2018
There once was a time
Gone by, gone by,
Picking blackberries till the vine was plucked dry.

Pricked finger and the blood of kings
washed the riverbed clean again
paving path for new bled love.

Story of my life: Hot Hand-Grenade.
Tripwire tickled by trespassing travelers
Red wire arteries
clipped and clipped and clipped
and simple minded times when birds sang songs to other birds
and chirped lyrical lines in the dusk.
More wonder. More trust. Less wanderlust.
Dust in the air. Still in the sunlight.
Through glass.
Broke. Fall. Cut. All roads lead to home.
Wood, River, Stone. A guide, a path, alone.
We all walk on our own
Striving for independence

Now is a time of faded glory, daffodils in freshly-mowed fields.
I still catch myself wishing I had the words to share
The bigness of what's out there.
I still hear myself singing your song of longing.
Still find myself longing for days of childish peace and ignorance
when we could pick blackberries from the bush without bombs falling in our basket.
Still a long way to go to hear the sound of surrender and the silent unfurling of egos into how alone we feel.
Still my heart, that lost love long ago, and surrendered a savior forever.
Hart, of dreams, slip into the stream.
Interstitch the seams.
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