shoehorn, white poppies
pockets all full of teeth
within one white whisper i swallow the key
too many pieces of pearlescent cutlery,
millions of tormented gnashing the air...

what is the culture's accepted state of satire?
what is the current world's state of affairs?
i think to myself, pondering like a child
for if i just knew i could laugh at my fears...

now i sit,
yes, i sit- in my cold echo chamber
sonic reflections, electronic lies
all my past memories calcified slowly
my skeletons lie in the back of my mind...

in the midst of an easy, northern-bound rain
from one shore,
a gust,
another’s clear day

in the midst of the courtyard,
a brick-laid patio
igniting an hearth,
who’s embers dampened long ago

igniting the fire which therein warms my heart;
a simple red peony that rose from the yard
it rose and was nurtured by delicate words,
then brushed during night,
by the sensual rough of a scourge
oh the power of words...

but alas, the easy rain soon starts to harden
as nothing is safe from the truth’s vacant burden
and my courtyard, once blooming, peonies, red
is wilted, long-shot, and over-spent.

we picnic during solstice,
neon-chartreuse vertigo
vision morphs and bends,
we're weightless, astral high
in constant ego death,
eyes so lunar dilated
bits of stars surround us
on the f*cking moon

seven violent truffles
i’ve been high for so long
i rise, thirteen a.m.
in a drab and dreary coma
when i take another sip,
like a wilting lilac-
then spring begins so soon

everything inanimate
speaking in slow tongues
living and observing
from their place of immobility

slow kisses to your skin,
it melts on my lips quickly
like cathedral waxes
in the carmine breeze

everything is alive,
sobriety is so silent
we get high on the roof,
an ashen rocked collision
seven violet tablets
violent constellation
vibrant vein pulsation,
euphoric crystal lines
a new cosmic collusion,
peripheral discernment
we ascend to highest heavens,
just to plummet to the sea.