why is it that when I have found happiness,
my urge to write begins to cease?
and as I stare at the crease between your eyebrows I wonder if perhaps the reason thunder trails so far behind lightning isn’t a matter of science
but instead, hesitation, as if this sort of happiness is noncompliant in which its outcome is simply consequential, but I doubt one second of my day is spent doing anything less than adoring that crease, i need not express the happiness you bring me through the lines of a poem but instead through the storm of emotions that constantly rise and fall, yet all in all, not once have I hesitated.  
the happiness you bring me never falters.
I have yet to witness that thunder.

I live in the absence of presence
proximity filled by emptiness
I look for a god in the machine
but the schematics are held by noncompliant fingers
tightly clutching my rightful deeds
and pointing in the opposite direction.

I’m alive so I feel compelled to live but don’t know how
so when I want to have a night I’ll never forget
I get ****** up
and when I have a night I never want to remember
I get even more ****** up
I think I’m having a good time
but my memory is pretty ****** up.

But something shines through my ****** up memories
a vision of when we first met
you asked me, “What are you up to?”
I misheard you and responded, “Yeah, I’m ****** up too.”
then we talked about this ****** up zoo
and how we could help each other through.

The connection we develop engenders nightmares
I have two kinds of ****** dreams
the ones where I have *** with people I don’t want
bizarre **** like relatives and ghosts
even ghost relatives—and relative ghosts
those dreams can get pretty ****** up
but the dreams where I’m with the people I want
are factored by the power of two
and are exponentially more ****** up.

The dreams become fantasies I can’t reconcile with reality
burying me in insecurity
thinking what keeps me alive is impossible to hold onto like air
I keep wildly grasping in desperate futility
suffocating in deprivation
until eventually I can’t feel anything anymore.

You notice my weakness and attack
you’re a vampire bat
echolocating past relationships you enjoyed more
I tell you you ****** up
and now must slum with a *** instead of number one.

I keep eating up your batshit insanity
contracting your coronavirus
I just want to sleep
I feel like I’m going to die
your fever dreams are sweat submerged stress nightmares
once I start drowning I try to scream
but all that escapes me are the bubbles I live in
they float on the surface, eventually popping.

You keep calling me a clown
so I joke you can juggle my *****
with dismissive sarcasm you respond I should try stand-up
but that’s already what I’m doing
you tell me to jump off a cliff
but I already have
exasperated, you scream I should literally **** myself
but I already write of my own death every night.

You separate from me like a head from a neck
after the noose that tied us together severed our connection
I fell to the ground and realized I was still alive
and started downplaying the bounty on my head
which seems much larger when one sees it on a wanted poster.

I’m not looking for a person
I’m searching for a feeling people are capable of delivering
I don’t care where I find it as long as I do
people often ask me if I’m more attracted to men or women
I find the question somewhat annoying and I’d rather not answer
but if you forced me to choose by putting a gun to my head
that might turn me on even more.

Striking like a match or unforeseen jumpscares I feel it dull;
it bubbles and broils within the delicate dead cells of my skin

Sudden like when the sky opens up and cries on new pavement
the road begins to flood oil and water don't mix, and you wonder why your mind conflicts with every inch of you as if your soul is being stretched towards space but a body can only stretch so far —
noncompliant.

I flutter against gleaming windows and it feels heavy;
I dance around conclusion like a jester in merriment.
I evade like a thief within a crowd ever keen ever stupid;
I play amongst champions my hands mouth and heart dwell with them.

Tumbling I speak many things, and many things still yet fall on my ears.  I am suddenly deaf and many things become constant a neverending stream a verbatim.
Now I speak most silent —
I rip my teeth out

The following poem crafted
not quite thirty months ago,
when severe bad hair day
found yours truly self sequestered
toying with notion
to coif, primp, and tease, his limp locks,
(whose hirsute trademark noncompliant)
donned, heaped, lacquered,
and puffed up swiftly tailored,
and the harried style
analogous to infamous forty fifth president.

I stand, (albeit figuratively) athwart
current mainstream popular opinions concluded
(i.e. swirling) within
metaphorical eddies storied Senate high court
case in point constituting acquittal regarding

good and plenti jinxed
high crimes and misdemeanors
purportedly linkedin quid pro quo
then president Donald John Trump,
whereby Republican partisan tipping point

ultimately decreed triumph
able, eager, ready, and willing to escort
kickstarting naysayers, rebel rousers,
and woebegone yawping zealots
(think Democrats) courtesy,

a fictional humanoid robot christened Gort
first debut appearance in 1951
20th Century Fox American science
fiction film The Day the Earth Stood Still.

Smug mugshot depicts
victorious commander in chief with jutting jaw
can now figuratively wring his hands
(more resembling puffed wheat bear paw)

whereat he reveals sharp glistening
barbed freighted, galvanized pointed claw
daring any elected official to follow scofflaw
(think Nancy Pelosi, who got hustled off -

her role as speaker of the House
security details immediately did withdraw
faster than greased lightning,
and/or Quick Draw Mcgraw
after she ripped Trump’s

State of the Union speech),
she definitely decreed guilty of fas paux
undoubtedly wincing how she got raw
end concerning high stakes Art of the Deal.

Drama under domed capital suddenly
(hello kitty) meow my
tectonically shifted analogous
to hydrogen bomb that fell out of sky
starring loose cannon shot
supremely above United States government law,

oh my dog I wanna die
versus enduring four more years,
one garden variety generic guy
who doth agonizingly decry
what will become of truth tellers forced to lie

thru their teeth...
er (yours truly) dentures, whereby
that will pose no deterrent for bluetooth to spy
every painstaking action cumulative data
nowhere off limits, yupper even

becoming American as apple pie
plus embedded into skein of ordinary house fly,
thus essentially fomenting grassroots
freedom fighting militia to stave off doom...
analogous as one after another protesters
dangle over the River Kwai.

She screams, and I wish you could see more than you do now.
Her claws raking the ground in invisible agony.
You do not feel her restless.
Her wings, entrapped within a room, not large enough
At all.

She tries to spread them in all her feathered glory,
And whenever there is enough room, you gawk.
You are struck, with awe.
Yet you mercilessly tighten your hold.

How would you know how high she can soar?
How do you know she is anything but a bore?
You wonder why she is angry.
You are cruel, for you take her agitation as character.

You tie her down and find fault that she would claw at the chains.
And then you whip her when she is noncompliant

Eagles soar to heights you cannot even begin to imagine.

So how, how to you live with yourself,
If you hold her back with your petty intelligence?

And yet you say.
She is, Arrogant
Furious,
Fussy,
Overbearing,
Irksome,
Rotten to the core
And to hell with all of them.

You say that.

Well, you dare
Now.

31.03.2022