the process to describe
the contour and substance of air
is now redundant, hence meaningless

(its lack of practicality
determined its void of meaning
and shall now be buried in the earth,
along the direction hinted
by dozens of pointing fingers)

moral or immoral, such a framework
has put a lock on this collapsible
black swallowing hole, and added,
in postscript,

this here is a black hole,
an expression of observable,
diagnosable,
not so much treatable,
sickness which undermines
a certain validity of the carrier

as if, the muscles of the safety net
are torn into bloodied strings of flesh
and in there a voice declares with clarity
that the weak must die.

punches, soft as sticky rice *****
a brain filled with cotton and confectioneries
never could arrange bony hands to get
the recipe right
for a makeshift bottle of glass

before the head clears enough to think,
you rot in the field like fruit

passerby, throw your punches
in the air for me as i
covertly steal bricks, pilfered
from sidewalks, do not mind me
i have my bridges to build, all
impromptu assembles, a collage of
old jokes tasting of mothballs
the skyline burns orange and i
am thinking we can do better
than tapping the flash button
tear walls down and devour
printed words, maybe soiled hands
hit harder than under pristine conditions
invisible cuts and bruises untreated
are now taking shape in acceleration
aim sentimental poetry at me,
so i can bleed a strange
assortment of lines, aim better

if i climb into your skin
will i then gain
happiness
heartbeats on sync
breathing layered
passing through you
passing you through
like an item of clothing
now pull the arms past
the sockets of sleeves
finger to finger
tips pressing tight
i take up your emptiness
or do i reside in your
innards? toss and turn
bicolor pieces
on othello board
vocal cord chorus
nail breaking scratches
open eyes wide
to look, equipped with them

nothing sprouts this april out from chipped flowerpots
broken teeth and extended claws will settle along
with dusty roots. cup hope in your hands and run,
it never overflows but drains only. the spring air
tastes of my own breath, in circulation
the rims of eyes tinged pink, pickled on both sides
with salt in tears. we shall retire into stagnation.
blow my brains out with a can of 3% liquor
and spoil my lungs speckled black with peppermint cigs

specks of light caught in cobwebs, in the downward dust spiral
we are betrayed without precedence. if my body is a vessel of water
for tears and sweat and blood, a container of salt,
maybe the crystallized pain within me has clouded
my judgment. gray little rain clouds rising
a forecast denied for all who is seeing. i see you,
from a lit screen, a cracked surface, the lunacy
exchanging i love yous like goodbyes, but this is
not the last. this house is built on quicksand and we
have heard the cracks in walls groan from long ago
a reflex put off, all it takes is a gust of air
to rip across this house of flimsy cards.

this candlelight won't last till morning but take
away my humble offerings. at least we can still
whisper. we still have hands attached to arms attached to
tired brains to make the excursion to close windows shut
from firework lights. every month is the cruelest
and the cracked ground swallows, it's no fond thought
in wishing one day our atoms will walk in air,
tread places we will never afford to go. we no longer
sleep in the same hours but the pauses in your typing
drain away the life of us both. insanity becomes the new
sanity. the flame in your eyes would be distracted
before it dies off in its own time. do we not fill
the gaps in our thinking with mindless chatter
and call it a day. you won't smell the smoke or alcohol
in my words through long distance 4G telecommunications

how did we sink low enough, so that every sound night
of sleeping becomes a blessing, how is it consolation
knowing that morning light will surely break, what then
we are suspended once more in a black tunnel
perhaps the only change is that they no longer bothered
to turn on the lights. of course, this too will pass, distorted
overwritten then forgotten, as we walk blindly,
taking distance, not holding hands, step after step after
the direction we assume to be forward,
exchanging i love yous like farewells.

sing me to sleep,
siren serenades
now i sink my head

into the clear
absence of light
strike me down

as you would a match
blow the flicker
in hiccuping breaths

my ribs break in wings
as the slumbering city
glides in graying brain matter

don't doze off sideways, the night is
still too young to be cut short, i rob
off your goodwill like a collector of debts
a smile for a smile, a wink for a chipped tooth

time files past freshly slew, if
i could i would, suspend all sunrises
the metamorphoses of bone structure is
as distasteful as the future, unsustainable

the water's at your nostrils so don't speak
or swallow, the air too thick to cut
through, tear apart the ends of your threads
and show me, bring me your casket of snakes

we never saw our betrayal stamp towards us
our bones red, catching fire, but the smoke
never blackened my vocal cords and vowels
so now i scream a old scream

here we stand, unsteady
on the border, the precipice, the top
as the wind courses through us
as we fail
to grasp concepts that are much larger
than our physical capacities, of flesh
(and not even at each others' fingertips)
if we close our eyes and free-fall
into the swirls of dust and numbers that do not add up
and sparkling red wine that tasting of rust (but
our mouths are dry no matter how much we drink it,
you don't see it but i see
the ground cracking beneath and the blame
is on me)
the alcoholic's pain of a burning stomach,
a proof of living sane
after the rain and after the flowers die out
maybe death will be the next normalcy
and thoughts on morbidity a visionary trait
haven't we lost enough already, even words
with no meaning attached behind clean facades,
arranged in rhythm, soft and without edge
designed, then, to praise and placate
is it not a crime to do so/ how can we ever
avert our gazes and say the sky is blue?
(maybe i feel too much)
you feel, but you do not understand
my jumble of words, aimed not for comprehension
(and so today i'll hope the pills work
when i see tomorrow's sunrise a bit of light
will hit my face saying it will all be alright while)
life in its entirety derails
but you still laugh,
at the mimetic surfaces of the feigned everyday
waiting for summer