i endeavour to burst
my glum queasy organs
by binging on the sun;
like a fattened sow
that wobbles to slop
against the mist of *****

i'll **** the lemon hard
mouth spasming with beams  
till the rinds soak up my gums
where the nihilism clots
like plaque around a tooth  
fouling up my lunch

maybe i'll explode
across a hopscotch grid
they can twist my guts for rope  
and the sticky sun will mop me up
sour blood to goddess rust
now that's what hope feels like,
i'm sure.

I draw the curtains open,
unlock the window,
let the sunlight in
and kiss my bare skin softly.

The trees are waving
welcoming at me
while the birds
greet me with their
cheerful chirping.

I can feel
the fresh breeze
dancing through my hair,
then I breathe it
deep into my lungs.

I keep myself alive,
surviving night after night
so I could waking up
to another sunrise

And look forward
for sunshine
as warm as summer
at noon.

Death is to become sunshine,
To break open the self to the world,
In sunwheat gold and peasant hearth,
(The sun is the only empire of peasants)
Every grain of annihilation is still a seed,
And the sunlight carries the sleepless dead,
Their melted voices are warm upon our ears,
The sounds rooted in, but when we do not hear,
No more than the dead worshiping the dead.

I WANNA FLY,
I WANNA FLY HIGH
SOAR THROUGH THE SKY

I WANNA FLY,
LIKE A BIRD,
WITH NOTHING TO BE SCARED OF
WITH NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF

I WANNA FLY,
IN THE OPEN SKY
WITH BRIGHT SUNLIGHT IN THE DAY
WITH DAZZLING STARS IN THE NIGHT

I WANNA FLY,
WITH THE SUNLIGHT ON MY SKIN
WITH THE MOONLIGHT ILLUMINATING THE SKY

I WANNA FLY,
I WANNA FLY HIGH
SOAR THROUGH THE SKY
LIKE I’M BORN TO BE AIRBORNE

apart from the city, steven is sleeping
his fur is made of sunlight
steven's retinals, archives of memories, are glowing

beneath is a lake that reflects the shining
steven's relaxed glimpse swims on the surface
earlier, his pack was murdered

above his head, an orbital cloud is floating
ghosts of the dead ones
urge to communicate

across the lake, a maze of wishes
drifts through the water
empty faces, eyeless and earless

In this moment,
All swamp air and sunlight spotlight,
Sat atop an old oak log,
I wonder
Who listened
To the swansong sinking melodies
caught between opulence and open water.
Who will listen
To our deep-space golden records
lost between planet and pale blue dot.
Who is listening
To my hushed hums on an old oak log
that once fell and may have made a sound.

I wonder.

And I listen.