Part 1: Birth

There is only flow when I go to the unknown
I roam an abandoned home
It looks like ancient Rome, frescoes and domes
I call out, the echoes tell me I’m alone
No phone service, I am nervous
I wander through these haunted halls
The size of a million shopping malls
I begin to feel so small
A sudden flash and I am dashed to the realm of vision
A photon’s silent fission causes a collision in my eyes
Chemicals climb my nerves like vines
They activate my brain
I gain the gift of sight
I can finally see the light
Technicolor sprites ignite from the night
They surround me and confound me
Dizzy with the brightness
My body dissolves to lightness
I am one with a firework show
I am an ember, drifting to and fro
I am the spark, the flame, the afterglow

Part 2: Escape

This house that was haunting me
Is less daunting in reality
To my surprise, I realize my eyes describe a scene I can’t contextualize
I’ve lost my corporeal form
I’m tossed but never torn
I am the fabric of the universe
I fold, tesselate, invert
There is no ground, no up or down
As I fill this infinite space
My mind is racing
My self erasing
I am carved into a simple tracing
I am a thought confined inside a casing
Cut down to size I rise to the surface
Shot into the sky, I gain a purpose
I stream toward an enormity  
I reach escape velocity
I smash into reality

Part 3: Dissemination

I am a thought that was caught
Shot into the moment
Because I am where the mind went
Sent into the present
A representation of an inner mentation
A random rumination
A rogue communication
An intuition loaded like ammunition
Fired from a rifle
Too late to stifle
I ram through the fog of resistance
I slam into existence
It’s survival of the fittest
If I fail to catch attention
I will fall out of this dimension
I am rescued by a mention!
My salvation is conversation
I am converted into sound
I reverberate through air and ground
My vibrations travel through eustachian tubes and neural grooves
I move the chemicals in your head
Make you think of me instead
Now I am yours to spread
Exhaled like vapor
Written on paper
Cell phones are my savior
With digital capabilities
I avoid temporal instabilities
Evade deletion by replication
Copy and pasted
Then excreted
I’ve been tweeted!
I spread through the interwebs
Integrate into inner webs
And now I am a part of you
Weaved into the heart of you
There’s no reprieve, no undo
I will influence the future
A humble contributor
Whether I bring shame or glory
I am a part of this story

The Calm(before the Storm)

"It's not often these days that I get to relax,
see the Sandman I'm usually draggin an axe,
with my ex's new fella's head stuck on the spike,
cause it was cut the ******* like I was wielding a pike.
but today I'm very level,no need for medication,
turn the interwebs off,no need for *******.

Just me and my clan(the Irish version not the stupid one),
everyone is rollin one smokin one or lightin one,
flip the top off a bottle and contemplate a rattle,
with the lady of the hour all's fair in love and battle.

And this is nice....I like it when people don't flinch,
hear the singin of a Finch as I pinch another inch,
off the the J Jay handed me,a gentleman,a scholar,
lean to me left to pass it on to Mal another,
of the scientific,dapper rapper witty individuals,
that make up the collective that I'm part of,see our principles,
are the one thing that brought us all together,
completely different birds yet all of one feather-

as we feather the nest I smooth the hairs on me chest
and...relax...
cause its the eye of the storm,
time to take stock,huddle up and keep warm,
maybe huddles turn to cuddles as the music moves your feelings,
cause its a warm fuzzy feeling,underneath the same ceiling,
with me mates and me lover,I think I'll have another beer...

Of course I'll have another,
cause we're...safe now,for the moment at least,
from the big bad wolf hulk,the Sandman sleeps,
and while the cats away I can kick up my heels
enjoy the solitude that Skitz rarely feels,
cause the forecast's bleak,those clouds look like thunderstorms,
but just for five minutes I'm relaxed ahhhh...,its the calm before the storm."

She put her hand on my chest
Same spot as the rest of them
Oh, she’s up there with the best of ‘em
And she pulled the trigger
When she called me her Greek mythical figure

Write my name on stone scriptures
Internet interwebs and twitter
A trending topic to follow
And I fall low
Just like all the Greats before
They all know

Its just a matter of time
I better call to her god or call her landline
Before I’m left behind
trying to find
A hand that fits in mine

When she put her hand right here
Shot full of my greatest fears
Cause I am a mythical greek man
I’ll throw my self into the tar sands
And if I need that hand
which was place above my heart
I start shaken
a legend awaken
my actions mistaken
Greatness taken
out of context
Who’s next
To feel that touch
Is too much

For me to ask?

Conversation has become
A chain of phrases, one by one.
Motions are rehearsed in song
Like YouTube Comments, in the wrong.

Trolls are lawling in their crypt
Of rocky couches. They’re the hip
Of fame for ten plus five, or
Replies so long you must ‘See More…’

People say:

           ‘Century twenty plus one—
           Where things are thought and said and done
           In Memes—We have epic skill.’
           Say this, we always will.

Few have seen ROFLcopters
Fly between before and afters.
From ones who make no livin,
Not a single **** was given

About Chuck Norris being
A bible-thumper (or being
A terrible actor). Nah.
The Interwebs is home for all.

People might say:

           ‘Century twenty plus one—
           Where things were dreamt and wished and done
           In words—They had all the skill.’
           Say this, we hope they will.

The fad of freedom is gone.
Forums closed. No statuses on
Facebook. Nothing has been kept
In life after the Internet.

How did this happen to US?  
Z-Day and the Day Zero fuss
Released Mayan, canny *******?
Our demise was writ, bit by bit.

People will say:

           ‘Century twenty plus one—
           Where things were lame but lots of fun
           For free—Then they passed the bill.’
           Say this, we know they will.

The avunculicide of Sam
Reveals the brighter side of spam.

Its cold in my room tonight
Throat swollen, mouth tastes just like
Two days ago, weeping on my bed
Your face so red, eyes swelling
Like all the times I admitted
The hole that I am constantly trying to fill.

I remember just for a brief moment
Maybe because the past has skated through my mind
Via the interwebs tonight
I started to feel faint
As we stood, looking down at the performers from up above
We had to leave, you were so mad at me
Local dive bar by my old Philadelphia house
That my darkest past now resides and plays house in
Perhaps cooking stuffed chicken with goat cheese
And all the times I hopped in a cab and tried to leave
All the scratches and ****** marks, holes in walls near my head
Painted on me like cinnamon or paprika spices
Behind.
I remember sitting in the booth, across from you
My Artsy Cynical Bohemian
I was so much lighter before you drove your fingernails
Into the shoulder blades of my back
With black dust and pointed silver
But you didn't know you were digging up buried wings.
I can't quite pin point specific words that were said
But I remember feeling a deep neglect.

It feels like just yesterday
My life was completely different
Walking outside my little stairs
Cafes and restaurants all around me
Swiftly kicking my legs to the gym
Or a friends to smoke ****
Walking dogs all hours of the day
Sleep overs, red velvet pancake
Inking our notebooks with evocative thoughts, creations
So hopeful, full of dreams
Worried about the little things
Pumpkin spice, or all the boys I cried over
Everything feeling and seeming so complex
But so very small.

I wonder how it all fairs, without me now
As it takes me 45 minutes to get anywhere
In the icy windy city
And this is the most sick I have repeatedly been
Since I was a little kid
Mama wishes I was home so that she could take care of me
As I try to rationalize my love life
Or confusing "lack" of one over mobile devices.

I think this is the most alone I've ever been
If you could write that out just like I did
With my calligraphy pen, a sweet Christmas gift
From a dear friend
Who often sits next to me, deep in thought
His thoughts distracted, it seems as though he
Would rather be anywhere else
But we play drinking games, my eyes tantalizing
Passing out in the Lost Boys bedroom
As you read these words,
I want you to take a deep moment to think about
How richly good it felt for you to hold me in your arms
To cover me in forgotten kisses, caresses
As you fall asleep tonight
Embracing or running away from the image of my
Corn husk face
In your butterfly colored mind.

"Your body is bangin.' You have the body of a **** star."
Another said to me just earlier this week.
He's tried to see me several times since then
As I prefer my own company.

Its funny how my mind will imagine
And write stories
Doors closing in my face as new ones widely open
Back to you.
Lets freeze time for a singular moment
Walking past the train that sunny fall day
Damen blue line, your hand gently grazed in between
Where my wings use to--
Where my wings are--
Where my
What a sorrowful day that was.
You agree with me, you say
As we text across the bus or train
Adoring each other like strangers
Fleeting, intoxicating moments
And the hard cold fact
Is that I haven't felt this way
In a very long ******* time
And I don't know when I will again.

Tick ******* tock.
If I were a superhero
I would fly high into the clouds and give everyone lasting
Happiness.

Until something levels better comes along
I am reassured,
My throat welling up as if caught in a blender
That I dive into with blueberries, frozen banana
As you cuddle me, big white tennis shoes
But such a small frame
I see you and I see you and I begin to still
Even see you
For who and what you really are now.

Nina Simone
I watched her on my computer screen tonight
What a mighty, mighty woman
Worshipped, misunderstood
Beautiful, talent like a phoenix
Crooning her art into existence.

And there it is again
A fleeting moment of the past
And how hard I tried to make that
Into a lasting entity.
My God, I have spent my life
Trying to make it work.
Buying a drink, waiting for you
I remember the first time you almost left me
I was so ashamed of myself the next day
For having almost caused you to do such a thing
We met up on the street,
The Philly sunshine springing towards us
As you patted and tapped my *****, so lovingly
Like I would always be yours.

But we changed, or maybe we never really were
And I see the twinkling lights
Of when my mother smoked a cigarette in front of you
As you both inhaled and exhaled smoke
In what I wanted to be
Our fairytale story, purple cauliflower
And I knew deep in my heart
That you had no prominent plans
For our future.

My Little Peter Pan
You are the first to really
Do that
Since him
And there is a sense of such love, contentment
In those love taps
On the backside you deem:
"So Coppertone."

I worry and I fear my own ticking clock
Of being stuck or isolated in never fully moving forward
As powerful women sit merely feet away from me
Empowering and inspiring, living and dreaming
Having their art, their families, their love
I want it all.

But in time, in time
As I gaze at age 25
Lament not having this or that
So many text messages
You or he or they
Shield me from ripping your heart into pieces
As I lay next to you floating in a terminal of wine and whiskey
Men around me saying they have never encountered such strength
Such empowerment
How threatening.

When I was a little girl
I always broke the rules.

Muffled laughter and click, click, click
We have probably listened to this song
At least--50 times together
Reflections in your window of sculpted body
You love it so well, but I love to give you hell
About you needing a strong ******* woman.
Hit play, I can do a dance to make your lips
Drip and get wet.

Long brown hairs found in a ***** kitchen
While you praise me up and down
I can pile it all together, pile us together
But my past, your past--we sweep it outside
Store it in the utility closet, I'll uninstall
Shelves that don't make sense, but I can see
The deep South twirling and dipping me into the midst
Interview me underground, I can see the skyline
But hardly afford--this $12 lunch, with the big wigs
But here I am, playing the part honestly.
As I was awakened this morning,
Knowing you must have been in the next room
Little white night gown and ******* you love
So well, ongoing droplets streaming
But it turns you on, you say
To see me so prettily cry.

"Pretty little Layne."
A scene partner of mine once said, as he wiped the mascaraed tears
From my face, but baby we talk and say
The craziest little things
I can bring you coffee, tell you no, get you going so
That my red wine guides me throughout the night.

A row of blue seats, check your bag, security
Maybe its my face you will hold in your hands
Before you fly to a world I can barely imagine
But while you lay on top of me
Lets taste cupcakes and discuss my dreams
I could make you feel things you never have before.

So come back, come back and find me
I will say it for the last time here, now recorded
In type, text, font, interwebs
Lick me up and down
As I breathe life into a world
Neither of us have known.

Look for my electronic soul
In all the places where you found my electronic heart
By the ethereal light of the interwebs,
Through an electronic connection
Dancing to electric heartbeats
Pulled to your electric guitar
Singing words that color me lovely

Suicidal tendencies are condemned infinity worth of light years in insanity, but the bloodlust shown in children's palm imprints on stale walls after every Adha Eid is righteousness: sanity in all its glory.

Flashbacks in action:
1-It's sunny, it's 3 pm, July 1st 1750, a man murders another. The first is a landowner, the latter is a slave who tried to stop his master from ****** his wife, the woman is also one of his master's slaves and that reads: he owns her womb. It's starry, it's 10 pm, July 1st 1750, two slaves discuss the the incident that occurred earlier in agonized whispers, one of them says "he declared his head ripen and ready for plucking when he tried to say no", the other replies "he must have been insane".
2-It's  raining, it's 8 pm, January 1st 1950, a man kisses another. The first is the second's lover, they meet in secrecy twice a week in an abandoned meadow, their footsteps echo the two aforementioned slaves' whispers. It's raining, it's 8:05 pm, January 1st 1950, a third man announces his presence by stepping out of a nearby bush, a step so loud it could be confused for thunder in such a weather, "I only followed you here because you're my friend, and It's because I'm your friend that I will tell you this" he tells his fellow scholar "I won't tell on you if you try to seek help, we now have treatment for homosexuality, you don't have to spend the rest of your life mentally ill".

Only those who show no sign of imprisonment in their desire to be a continuous flow of living generations further are mentally ill. Those who rob others' time,  space, and energy are only trying to live. We feast on mountains, sunlight, water, plants, and other animals. We claim consciousness as our bride. We claim reign as our fate. We claim superiority. Cannons as either angry battle cries or smiles fired in the face of any other, cannibalism shows as we shake hands. We're constantly on the hunt, as both preys and hunters. But that's the way life goes isn't it? Tigers hunt ghazals, ghazals hunt grass, and earth hunts us all the moment we fall or die. We even have a name for this hierarchy of sacred hunting: the life cycle. Such an inappropriate name for a process fueled on constant deaths.

But this juxtaposition is the ultimate definition of all there is. We have also been throughout time told by doctors, by the ever changing science, that in order to be the most active during the day, we need to sleep well during the night; to get eight hours of oceans-deep sleep every time sixteen hours pass on. We say pass on to mean die but the same two syllables have two more meanings; all hail semiotics. To pass on means to die, to give, and to evolve. this I was taught by my mother, and although I don't trust her judgment when it comes to people she remains an exquisite cook, and an exquisite writer. She distinguishes the different spices and synonymous on first sniffs and I will always be grateful for her trial to pass on her nose, high and proud, to me.

Van Gogh passed on his seven sunflowers and twirl-spiral Suns to the humanity whose tongue doesn't always speak in haikus. Van Gogh's second sunflowers burned in Hiroshima. Van Gogh had been rumored to eat yellow paint: as yellow as his sunflowers and twirl spiral Suns, because he couldn't eat the yellow land, the yellow skin, the yellow Japanese utopia. Van Gogh believed that there is a Japanese utopia, Van Gogh believed in the existence of a utopia, Van Gogh believed in the no place, Van Gogh passed his no place on to this humanity.

I inherited paintings in public museums, and paintings on tree leafs. I inherited orchestras in far away operas through the Interwebs, and I inherited movies and dances and all the beauty that this humanity managed to produce. I inherited life, and its deaths, and I can see how in the very root of its injustice there is also grace growing, that clean sheets are not the warmest. I inherited mental illness, and I inherited stale stability. I inherited love, love, and more love. I inherited preys and hunters and I inherited the ability to see the beauty of the accuracy, the run, and the play on capabilities. I  inherited prey and hunters and I inherited the ability to see how preys are hunters and how hunters are preys.

I wish I didn't doubt myself,
drowning in thoughts of
"Why can't I be like him?"
These words flow from my arms,
into poems that come from my heart,
yet coming to perform them
I constantly doubt if they're worthy.
These words are either
my pride and joy,
or just some teenage angst
cut into the fabrics of the interwebs.
"Why can't I be like them?"
always the question on my mind.
Are these really my open and honest heart?
Or just some teen ******* written out
in an attempt for attention and a cry out for love?