Two serpents
Across the nile, swim across
Their sinful, hedonistic seed
Defame the cross
With delicious realities
Of an inevitable purpose
It just makes me wonder
If soon will come a hearse
Of everyday's escapes
If so, I'd rather not pass out
Before the end of this parade
What have I gotten myself into?
A dying cycle
Never anew

Drawn deep on the seething alcohol sting
Of a summer-sweat mask made with every effort
Drinking down to the bottle's bottom.

On the way, we'll see a dozen devils in familiar faces,
Friendly smiles and devilish grins, temptations,
Invitations beckoning attention and so much more...

The heat washes down to lingering hands, to lips, to eyes,
Dragging them away from propriety, tangling their leashes,
Stripping away restraint, shattering will.

i got lost
in the library
to think my time was wasted
or rather - borrowed
and left by the orphaned paperbacks
like the last dog remaining
at the rescue shelter.

i got stalked
in the library
to think i worried
about finding cover
when, in fact, i found thousands

and i hid behind them
skipping through
hospital wards
where the bereaved
wore glistening plot armour,
and American homes
where paternal affection
was grievously mistook
by European men
with lyrical prose

and when i emerged
found my bearings
set my feet
in the tar of reality
it did not treat me kindly

so, to the librarian:
if i disappear again
please assume i'm safe and sound
because if this is what being lost is like
i'd rather not be found.

There are certain hours / when we deteriorate / our mouths go hot and / the acid lining our organs finally start to burn / the bone / I wish the hours that wearied me the most / were in the middle of the night / all the black ickyness which sticks to me / and drags on the ground behind / wouldn’t clash with the geometric sun beams / but it’s the late noon sun / dull and filtered / and my meds wearing off //

Instead of being made of matter / I wish I could evaporate myself out / into a water vapor room / with all the warmth trapped in / I like the way that it almost looks like a hazy beauty queen evening / with dreams of perfectly pinked skin //

But instead I center myself around that spot where my ribs push into my stomach / I’m a creature of humanity / deteriorating into the soil //

I want to write a poem where I’m a bluejay / or maybe I just want to be a bluejay / I’ll sing while i fly for no reason at all / all matter and air / maybe i feel some need to escape / but mostly I think blue is a pretty color / and I want to make something pretty //