I stand by the river
Then strip off my flesh
Place it neatly by the trees
So the mud can digest it
For their fruitful ambitions
Then I slip down to the river
My bones soak in
The air, the wind, the land
The flesh waits as it gets eaten
By the worms
I watch it all
And shout
“Leave no crumbs behind, please!”
Then the water enters my skull
The wind takes in each bone
And kisses it bit by bit
Breathing it
And I believe I have tasted
Freedom.

Life is a waiting,
don't let yourself wait
in vain.

Our true self is so far from us,
that it doesn't even know that we exist.

Upon the supernal court,
Love, facing Death,
Spits obscenities and cries:

“Thou shalt be forsaken for thy thefts;
I see thou art but a thief,
Taketh life and giveth grief.
Beauty thou knowest not,
Turning wood to ash, and man to rot.”

Death, as cold as night,
Responds soft, a quiet croon:

“I am not a thief, for when it's dark,
The sun is not taken, but changed for the moon.”

When the Red Death held sway over us all
There is no pain
There is no remorse for life
Only blood flowing down lucidly
And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time

When he jumps off the 13th floor
Does he feel the wind
Freeing him
Or does he see blood oozing out
As his flesh slumps in it
Like a sleeping infant?
And he seeks refuge in it
Every time

When he cut his ear
Did the blood rush to his head
Or hands first?
Did he pour it into a cup
Or let it speak lazily?

Do you bathe in the very blood
That forms you
Or eat yellow paint instead,
Van Gogh style?
Do you let the waves brush you
Or build another door
That doesn’t tower over you?
Do you let the shadows watch you
Or do you sip your drink
And wait for all your hallucinations
To come alive?

And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time

A rapid succession to mobility,
limbs dragging ourselves
to the minutiae of this moment,
heaving and desperately
black aim to save myself
needing hydration
of the blazing fluids,
water shooting up
sprinklers are a cup,
Distention of the cancer,
in contrast to the dancers,
fluidly moves,
the shower show
are their waterfalls.

Some days,
it feels like I am outside myself
watching my child-self drown
beneath a skyless surface,
eyes wide, arms reaching,
and I, the adult,
do nothing but stare.

The water is still,
but heavy,
each second dragging me down,
each memory a stone.
My child-self drifts deeper,
hair flowing like seaweed,
a mouth open but silent,
watching the shape of me
blur in the distance.

I see the small hand
reaching upward
not angry,
not afraid,
just desperate
in a quiet, aching way.

And I,
frozen,
feel sorrow crack open
like a fault line,
a grief so old
it forgot how to scream.

I want to dive,
to pull them up,
but my feet won't move.
I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s too late.
Maybe I never learned how.
Maybe I believe I’m the one
who let them fall.

And still,
the hand rises,
the eyes search,
while I remain above,
a ghost
with lungs full of air
and a silence I can’t explain.

1st gust
drowning puddles with chimes
underneath
the hem of a guava tree
when i am robbed
of choruses
sung by the rain

with the coast
comes warm white sands
but never the taste
of salt on the ground
packed in like
grandma’s sweaters
permeates the smell of
freshly cut skin

i am fond
of bruising peaches;
no longer as
youthful as they
used to be.
expired hearts;
they are only fresh
for a week

how do i keep warm
the memory of you?
do i stash it away
in the arms of a girl
ready to be birthed
into a world
too desolate for its own

i watched the hope
crumble before my eyes
a stale concrete prison
i pushed my way out
just to see you
being burned alive
and i could not
weep, nor
could i cry

left me
to die in a moat;
acrylic coffin
meant to be
a gift for someone
happier than me
and watch my
expiration date
at my end, join me

you watched my
petals wither away
robbing me of
that which
i first loved
because i missed
you

i wish
i could
keep you
warm