I haven't written in a while, but today i find my insides anxious and agitated, banging on powder blue walls.
Each dawn I rise and wonder how much lower we've sunk into the ooze.
Denying the humanity in each other, even when you sit close enough to count your freckles in my inky pupils.
I drink rye, lip to bottle, and slip it a little tongue, as though the warm brown ***** will blanket me in calm and rock my heart to sleep.  I long for the cavernous burn of a cigarette, exquisitely gross.
The heat is getting to me now and I sit upright, my back speckled with rug detritus from an exasperated, sticky summer sweat.
I yearn for moments decades old, barely a feeling, just an itch in the back of my skull.
...Maybe if I dive into your life I can make more sense of mine, and view our reflection from underneath the waves.
Go grab my noseplugs.

Some days I wake up with my neck slick
beads of sweat soak the pillowcase,
my hair as though I've been bobbing for apples.

Perhaps I should be.

I'm starving, I think,
for the kind of knowledge which is dubbed
forbidden or shrouded,
hidden.
Written in redwoods,
eyes like nebulae
and sandstone futures.

If I could read the Andes like braille, what revelations would
erupt?

I'm yearning to greet the haunts and beetles once my clock
runs out.
But I lie
awake
and am greeted by
no one.  
I'm frozen, now,
with molasses
feet
like running from the Golem in a January dream.
My fingertips leave damp, checked cotton, reaching out with an earnest desperation, and
I'm left sticky, swatting at vapors.

I'm not a poet.
I'm just ******* a lot.

I am a monster of my own creation, yet
Unnamed.
I'm the doctor and the beast he wrought.
My face is wan, and eyes sunken; Strong and capable, but fated
for destruction.
Come, wave your flaming rods and I'll run for the hills.
Find me a cave where I can sit in a viscous
black tar silence.
Ears to knees pulsing from
what adorns me
These fears
like trinkets, leaden filigree spell them out.

But fear is an anxious heat and a flirt.
I'm drawn into a seductive
reunion with the chilled ground.
If you're lonely you may visit and behold this undoing.
"More weight!"
I'll scream,
until my bones are white ash and my organs are muddy
puddles
and I can, at last, declare I've accomplished something.

My heart stings like it's been enveloped by wasps.
Or maybe I swallowed a ball bearing
and a magnet now summons it through the flesh on my chest.

My breath is a tidepool.
Fills up, froths over, but never quite empties.
My company are displaced, rooming in ill-fitting homes.

It's like I mourn for you
even as I hold you tight, and inhale the memory of my dreams.

I want to build your high horse a stable
let it rest a while
let it lay down with mine.

I want to mill that hot air
see it put to use
turning wheels
blowing glass
warming the soil after a frost.

We'll skip stones across still ponds which once were cast in judgement.

See all that manure bring forth lush vegetation
so that winged beasts may perch and call to the spring.