It is hard to listen intently to the planet revolving
While your thoughts are dissolving into fragments
Of hyper reality.
And all that you can see --
When you close your eyes, when you try to blend in with a couple of --
white sheets.

All you can see when you get dizzy holding your breath
When you try to count all of the ways
Your Mother has taught you to behave
When you cannot contain your joy.

All you can picture is your hands with four thumbs
Crawling up surfaces and making a scene
Like a little doll show with bad balance,
It dwindles down at the lightest sneeze.

When your suspension is liquid --
And your movement is all in your head.

When you are just a head-collision away from falling asleep.
When your weary body is blue.
And that carousel in the horizon is all dim and crooked.

All you can manage to see,
Through your vein-y lids –
Is a never-ending dissection of memories
You cannot even bother to remember.

Tonight, I felt like
peeling my skin
from the top of my head.
take it really slow
making sure it's
all forming a ******
mess
within my tight
grip.

Tonight, I feel like
hindering my conscience
going out senseless -
driving this tractor
down & further
  down on my knees - picking
  these scabs. disfiguring
  all of your perfect portraits.

If my soul
is unharmed
untold
unfelt
unbent
unchaste
and unruly
surely, a bunch of flesh
and fine lines
beneath my sunken eyes
won't define the edges
of why what how and where
i begin and cease
to exist.

Don't you think
when you are in a corner
fending for the life of your
stale & weary reflection.
Crying out for help
perhaps, a dash of perception?
Didn't you think that
I would smell it on you?
Your fear is fantastic -
but then - you have always been
so full of it.

Sometimes when I dream of this city,
this city of several uncanny
severely disjointed dreams --
sometimes I get chills. I get frills.
I can't start to think
of simple procedures,
like wanting to take a breath.

Sometimes when I think about
the city - I agree that
I'm in a schizophrenic love affair
with the callous road that
lead to the gates
of your fragile city.

I get so angry in the face
with veins appearing
in three dimensional ways
all over my discarded skull - when I drink
to the city.

Sometimes I like to sit myself
down
and pat on backs
and stand on shoulders
and defeat purposes
of trying really hard
to crawl or slide
to capture these affected smiles -
within a series of dim photographs --
falling in a flawless line
telling the affable tale of
a static life.


Sometimes, in the city,
I like to take long walks
upside down.
watching people -
watching me, inside out.
And sometimes in this city -- in this *******
particular city. All I ever want is
to look at imperfectly descending
angels
dreaming a fairy-tale
for him & for her
& for anyone - who's ever dared to dance
on the lonesome streets of the city.

I lost the top of my head in an upward motion
Against the wind
And against the wills of everyone who wanted to explain to me
Just how I felt about this somewhat gloomy night

I’m not tired and I’m not sick,
Even when I’m hung downwards like pain is seeping through my dirtied eyes
I’m not hanging by a thread
trying hard not to touch the surface of this rough, needy tale

I’m walking barefoot upon open wounds and ice cold shriveled pieces
of every thought I had about driving this dowdy truck
Across the Country

I must be floating when I look down to whiff the smoke
Coming out of your tediously minuscule home

I think the light inside my throat is flickering - tickling
Making it quite silly to speak
So I think; why does my spleen taste so sweet?

I was writhing upon fading nails – patiently waiting for the moon
To break in half and for the birds to sway waltzing their way
Out of these exploding stars

I lost the bottom of my heart trying on this grim notion
But I can’t apologize

Today I learnt that my thoughts of
Independence
Intimidate your                   balance –

And I’m so intimidated by
This life of utter indulgence
I’m not looking to identify
With the patterns of trying to bury
A love for decadence
All I ask is to run along and not say too much
Within this hallucination of tripping on my insides
I like it dry.

I want you to crack your perfect skin.
Spill the thick of this fume into your rigid eyes.

I like it slow.
A repulsive movement in the semblance of a beating heart –
I want your ghost – this ******* - -
bright hollow deafening and certain

You say I’m     faking --
These shivers in my perfect spine
Faking the warmth beneath my belief
Of convoluted doors where your accidents
Fight for gold medals and blue ribbons.
But I’m not doing this anymore –

I’m a fever, frivolous and perhaps a little hasty

Turned on inside of sickening layers of mousse
And moods – and halos taking my hands
Asking if maybe I should just pray?

Hello there,
I just wanted to let you know – that
I’m not a number.
I’m not a shade.
I'm not your motionless debate.
I’m tinted
Tainted. With ideas and a verbal philosophy
Some atrophy.
Boxed, and gifted through sacred hymns.
My freaking nature is not in the stars
Is not in your blood.
I’m not a religion.
I’m not a hope.
I’m just trying to communicate
The air to my brain.
I’m just trying to suffocate
Indoctrinate, facilitate.
This delusion of being and breathing.
I’m not a country.
I’m not a ship.
Abstractly living within an inch
Of your picturesque life - &
Intricate ambitions of death.
I’m not a law.
I’m not a consequence.
I’m dissolving to my core
Bones lighting up in fear.

i trip my life on turpentine.
i smoked my wife, she's clandestine.

i woke up to a wall, of dust
and a mirror shattered by these
insisting dreams.

everything is three --

i thought myself a pool of doubt,
he bought my ego, cut in halves.
i walked behind his flawless steps,
covered in sweat.
i flinched.

i read a tale of the disintegration
of a rowdy generation.

a touch of a glimpse of her bare
feet.
and a single gray hair,
coming out of her neck -
trying to speak.
i might've screamed.

apples and oranges
and almonds on a one
way street.

i read about the disintegration,
of a vibration -
within
your chest.
i think you're dead.
you disagree!
protesting my funeral,
of a glimpse of your skin.

i've lived on a fleet,
of preachers and secret fighters --
dressed like ninjas and decaying in an
utter rut.

seiged by truth -
and one correct turn
to exit
amongst shivers and loud moans
flames
& dirt loans
creases and a handful of drones.

i tripped my life on fastened seats.
i smoked your hair,
you're fast asleep.