you're spotting me
in a bubble made of
dreams

poke me to love you

"i have been suffering under a loss. can you help me?"


"ain't no big deal you gotta pass avenue h
then you have to make a left to reach starbucks

when you're standing in front of it
move your head to the right and focus the end of the block you'll spot a lantern

(not the one with the rectangular shape but
the one that looks like a strange cone; mind that difference my man)

yeah
and when you have reached that lantern
you walk 25 blocks to catch a ride

ain't no cab i need you to look out for a gipsy car ridden by a female driver

(can't tell you why now would be too early and will be explained later on the phone)

hand out $ 7.000,00 to the driver and tell her to take you to emigration oaks; that's close to salt lake city in utah (never ever try to get there by plane my man)

after you'll have arrived you gotta dial a certain number –– 1-800-reveal-a-secret –– 
and listen to a voice you have been fearing

its message will be relating to you personally

let everything go
show courage
become yourself

one year later smile about your former life.

do you understand that?"

Every morning I microwave myself

Reheating stale words on my lips

As I shuffle toward the inevitable

Sleep that never quite takes

In the vain hope that tomorrow

There exists a new "me"

Who is finally ready to become

drag it

that way

across so much of me

in need of coming open.

that utensil is a convocation.

i have seen so much,

doing my undoing

in a matter of lines i draw

and draw and draw through it.

these, the transgressions of my body

assume sagging

just as simply

as more unbroken flesh.

my bathroom mirror

cannot bend nor mend itself

back into existence

as you or i do,

becoming human.

Did someone crank up the gravity?
It's getting harder to smile...
Like my lips are being held down by weights.
Feeling as though I am being pressed into the Earth.
Crushed by this neverending game over...
It's becoming harder to smile.

Let alone, breathe.

torn free from the ground of
pregnant ideas and withered
internal dialogues.

aloof in the face of destiny, crying
for refuge among the disowned,
the dismembered, the disinterested.  i
alone exist in the maelstrom of abstraction
crafted painstakingly through my ages
and seasons.

a mind as sharp as mine
to raise me without feathers
and place me
among the mulch.

i blanket my canvas with
woes and worries alike, neglecting
the foul-mouthed begotten son
arranged among the pillars left standing.

crooked trees and iced stone to
vibrate
through these ears of clay.  

i miss the days of youthful
ignorance and exuberant hope shot at my
future like a cannon of pride
and confidence.  

today the final summer flowers exhale
notes of sweet becoming, ever mingling
with the hum of nature's eternal embrace.  
the bodies celestial in ambiguity spin and
swirl in irrevocable sincerity.  from rise to
fall, through night and naught, the world
recurs again to weave itself anew.