[скажите, вы слышите?]
Those bells of the sirens! A lullaby, distant
ringing so deep within my heart, quelling the valves
and commanding me outside! Further!
Into the warm earth.

Off he climbs
Into that thick outside! The air resistant against his legs
that hushes my ears, soft hands that soft my ears
down, down, tiptoes on the ground,
gliding in waves...

you’re like my own personal drug
my drug of choice ranges from
rolling you up like a joint

to snorting you like coke
or shooting you up like ******
and sometimes popping you
like a xanax

to even placing
you on my tongue
like a tab of acid

and when i’m without you
I get horrible withdrawals
i cry myself to sleep sometimes

i have to be with you at all times
or else i’ll go crazy you make me
forget all the bad things you make
me feel something like i’m wanted

i’m addicted to you

You ride
Inside my hair
You are eveywhere
Green beauty

With buds a color
Too perfect to burn
Green beauty
I make you my home

my shoes are caked
with brown mud and
my arms have new burns.
getting high alone in the woods
is fine until the paranoia sets is
and the trees i love on lsd
become my hated enemies.
i find a book of matches on
the ground, twenty minutes
after my lighter died.
they are wet and do not light.
the cigarette between my lips
dangles there, before falling
into the mud i trudge through.
i use my own name in vain
and try to pretend that
losing my lucky isn’t unlucky.

The petals fall
One by one
Like a body on the 18th floor
The sky turns dark
The end of a day
Like a brain after an OD
The fire burns up
The trees are burning down
I need a new way to cope
The kids line up
And so does the snow
One by one all day
The walls are getting higher
The room is getting smaller
Oh god I need some help
Take it away
Take it from me now
… Let me have one more

An impish dweller of
sunless times, but a Guardian
of the monsoons within which
our thoughts raced as fast
as lightening did across the wet
patio tiles and those pouring black skies.

My brothers, they smelled
of grass blades,
of sun-ripened wheat.
But I smelled of barren
waterlogged dirt, sickly and twisted
with sour veins, but left flowering
a heavy rain-sodden smile.

Only now as I sulked
in years, ruminating,
fermenting,
I grew sullen.
Sapless and fruitless, I sought
the meaning of your touch and devotion.

For, I grew no roses,
sung no sweet scent,
sank spines and dried sympathies...
But you stopped
a moment,
And your cheeks
teased my petals with warmth
that rivalled any sun.

i toy with the idea of
buying a bus ticket to
somewhere on the west coast
to a place i would be new to
to a place where i could be
as invisible as i like
i don’t know what
is stopping me from
being a burlesque dancer in
Portland but I keep spending
my money on cigarettes and
**** and all i do is
smoke and cry and love
and i need to get out
of this house that has become
such a miserable place to be
such a miserable place to live
but when it comes down to
it i’m more likely to
**** myself than flee