Who are you
but a spark in my bone matter
a bright ball of
green energy bouncing around
the ocean blue of my heart
residing in some sort of residual
cave of dreams that I conjured up
many nights in a row
many long
barren months ago
under the influence of sleep
your tall shadow frame
blocking the view
and my hearth of alacrity
bounding out so true
for what it’s worth, new friend,
you really have me moved.

In a game of one
It’s nice to think that someday
There’ll be a two
In the game called life
Happy endings are the ones
That are created from
Those moments when
The whole world falls apart
And the only way to contain it all
Is by lying under the wooden slats of a bed frame
And feeling the press
Of those sturdy wooden bars
Dig into your head
Because you can’t contain the outcome
You can’t make it just appear out of thin air
Like a filthy magic trick or sleight of hand
Life just doesn’t work that way
It brings heartaches and sickness
Moments where you cannot get out of bed
Mornings where you lie awake
Questioning the just and quick of reality
And the mysteries that lay within it
Embedding themselves wrapped around a system
Of congruent vines that are almost touching
The pole to which to climb
But it all takes time
Moments where your brain is a tyrant
And your dreams are so realistic
That you dare to put forth and live in this
Minutes to minute frame
Ticking by slow or fast or slow or fast or slow
And those dreams speak of fear and wonder
Of grand libraries and future lovers
Of doubts and claims on meetings
That haven’t even happened yet
That is when you have to reach inside
And pull those doubts out
Like the removal of painful wisdom teeth
Crowding your mind
Crowning at the edges
The white poking through pink gums
When you finally realize
That you can’t control
Everything that occurs
No matter how hard you try
And each boundary gets bigger
As the freedom dares to taunt and swallow you whole
In one big gulp
You are Jonah inside that whale
Searching for an answer
You can’t see through the thick wall of baleen
Because the thickness is murky
You sit stubborn waiting
For a miracle to happen
But that miracle is you
And you realize this now
Typing out a poem at three am
When people start to go to sleep
You have just woken up
To reap the benefits of night
And all its flippant grasp
And pull of darkness
But being Jonah
You know that in the belly of the whale
Is not a dangerous place to be in
In fact it’s quite comfortable
Also humbling by making you sit tight
And think to the maximum capacity
About who you are
And where you are going
In this great speck of universe dust
You call home
So much like Jonah after
He escaped the game and emerged
Stronger than ever
Free of childish notions
A fully formed adult
Or at least a resemblance of one
That stepped into the light
After years of dingy darkness
A lift off out of the cavernous hull
Of bright pink flesh that was once his humble abode
For so long he knew of nothing else
And then like you his hands parted the baleen
Like parting thick coarse hair with a hot comb
Head emerging like a second birth into the open blue

The ocean crashes and I dodge jellyfish
carcasses, bloated, white and ****** like
loose spittle, drenched across the sticky sand.
I hop over this dead thing, so limp, so fragile.
Then, I see it. A black shine. A giant pupil.
Turn it ‘round in my hands and the rock is
smooth as plastic feels when wet.
Black, contrast, battered soft and hard
by the tumultuous waves that had
birthed it from existence into a sandy, shallow grave.
Oblong, like and oval smashed,
I slip the rock into my pocket,
sinking pink toes into mushy
wetness as the salty water laps at my thighs,
chilling them.

I am a cobra,
spiraling upwards.
Curling and slinking.
I am a cobra;
dangerous.
fangs dripping,
head dipping
lower
and lower
and lower.
Until I break up
and tilt my
forward.
Forked tongue
slips out.
I hiss away
all my doubt.
Folding my lanky, tall body
to fit my lengthy  personality.
I am a cobra,
and I do a sultry dance.
I will not shake or dodge or prance.
I linger after every thought,
slip my way into the cold spongy grey tiled dance floor
until you cannot see me anymore.
I am a cobra,
you’d better watch out.
Sparkling white scales,
they shimmer softly in the moonlight.
A young
destroyer of worlds,
I take over the floor
and curl inwards,
then up,
then lift my floppy head
bristled all about.
I smile and sway,
then lick up the blood.
I am a cobra,
(so you’d better watch out).

There is a stirring in my chest,
an elation I will not and cannot resist.
There was once a moment where all of life stood still
and my feet grew heavy
barren heavy.
Completely empty
and ready to fall.
There is a fire down below
where the depths of sight can’t grow.
It still feeds off my worried brain
like a fetus planted hover-vein.
The Venus Fly Trap sets its will
spiked teeth ready, for the ****.
There is a place where spider webs
and crawling things fit for nub ebb.
All my flagrant floppy body
deteriorates, demotivates, deregulates
into a monster of the fiendish kind
one where holographic glass goes blind.
there is a feed that ***** in silt
it still eats grits, their shiny pelt
slimy, sloshes, ready, in
frigid waters’ under-grin.
Come follow me, dear Venus Trap
into a submarine unsnap
there is a blooming in my groin
where dead things lay there
shivering.

Becoming something of a legend
cast out from far away
alone in a castle upon the darkened hill
lives the person of today.
Trapped.
Long ago you vowed
to become something grand
one day you shall release
slip out without a sound.
Cursed forever loner
you live within these walls
invisibly Confined
and break away you shall.
The corrugated gates
of your own sharp sexuality
awaiting the clerical moment
when the barren gates break open
by kiss you shall be free.
And spill forth forbidden riches
whatever they may be.
But you are a vastly legend
alone
kingdom come is your only home.
Blackened night is your frame of mind
color buried iced sublime.
A ghostly haunting
in tight black leather clasps
in cold clipped metal chains
you snip your way
you slice your path
though through the peril
grace is slain.
Past the autumn winds
winter seeks its call.
You are a complex monster
who loves it most of all.
Confined inside your castle
you might hear the call.
Collecting cobwebs
Collecting dust
Collecting heartache
Collecting rust
So the edges start to fray
and in each corner that you find
lives a hope that soon one day
you’ll have some piece of mind.
To be loved beyond what mortal words can say.

Ages pass
and
shells of resistance
shrivel up and die
leaving a fresh new chrysalis
resting in their place.
Like a shiny newborn baby
wiping the crust from its eyes
with tiny curled hands
fingernails as small as sand
and
love of life
has wedged its way
beyond all hints of
**** negativity
and
the only way forward
is found
before the sun even rises.