You and I canoe down neon waterfalls,
Smelling cinnamon and sinsemilla,
Through sockets cascading melted eyeballs,
Intermixed with honey and vanilla,
We push paddle towards combusting shores,
Cloaked in pellucid smoke and glimmer mist,
Black sky alive with buzzing glowbug spores,
We must inhale to know that we exist,
But what if the hazy vapor-stew's too thick,
Paddles stick: viscosity of time,
When the sporal secretions make us sick,
What will become of the horizon line,
Will it burn to charcoal reality
Or conjure us sublime finality?

A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo

give me that meaningless *******
sweet nothing nonsense
sonneting on & off & on again.  
everyday, all day
we were softer shades of comet spitting stars across the cosmos

I feel awful about feeling awful this morning. we were alone together in the dark
lost for the most part.

the sound of lights                
of day & of night inspire me
& I'd like to try to fly even though I'm
really really tired
&I; know I'd end up this
amorphous red inkblot
of blood & chunks of flesh
on the sidewalk.

just an absolute mess.

the fever broke then settled in &
I went the way
of the sugar rush instead.

I like you to death.

Your eyes, your face, your hair, your lips,
Your smile, your skin, your curves, your hips,
When I wake I crave your face, when I sleep I crave your dreams,
Your laugh is my nectar and your touch is my wine,
Your existence my world, my lingering lifeline,
I'm drunk on your words and high on your presence,
I long for your laughter and get off on your whispers,
You are an addiction that seeps deep into my soul,
As vile as a poison and as dark as coal,
But I'd still walk a thousand miles, to bask in your beauty,
A beauty so surreal it defies reality,
And I'd still trace your face in my every waking moment,
Counting the seconds till I can see you again,
Even though every second with you is nothing but pain.

If I ever woke up in a surreal world
I would saunter into my sister’s room
With luminescent eyes and detached limbs
And feign as if it were the way of life
I’ve come to known and held as true

Then as she'd collapse into an outburst of tears
Her fractured reality abstracted to a menace
Her sister—me, glowering, conjured too
In a world where meaning is defunct, horrifying, lonely
I would laugh, because that’s what sisters do.