#dissolution
Sometimes it feels like my mind liquefies
and drifts somewhere unmoored.
The room begins to pearl at the edges.
Wallpaper sweats into watercolor blooms,
the ceiling lamp hemorrhages amber pollen,
and every object acquires the viscosity
of something remembered underwater.
I sit very still
while the evening dilates around me.
The radiator clicks like wet arthropod limbs.
A glass of juice ferments beside the bed,
its surface lacquered with the faint metallic scent
of pennies pressed into the tongue.
Outside, rainwater sluices through the gutter system
with the sound of silk unraveling from a throat.
My body becomes increasingly theoretical.
Hands first.
Then the jaw.
Then the entire architecture of my name.
I feel myself dissolving by teaspoons
into the upholstery of the hour.
Thoughts stretch into translucent filament,
gelatinous and luminous,
like deep sea organisms surfacing too abruptly
through pressure they were never designed to survive.
The mirror across from me
cannot retain my reflection consistently.
It blurs.
Reconstitutes.
Blurs again.
Sometimes I think consciousness resembles
a fruit left too long in summer heat.
The skin intact.
The interior quietly collapsing into nectar.
Music leaks through the wall
in muffled fibrillations,
basslines thick as petroleum.
The sound enters me slowly,
fills the ventricles with black syrup,
turns memory into a liquid medium
through which old grief drifts half-awake.
There are moments
where I can no longer distinguish exhaustion
from transcendence.
The carpet ripples softly beneath my feet.
Streetlights smear themselves across the windowpane
like gold cosmetic powder dissolved in milk.
Everything appears touchable
yet impossibly remote,
as if the world has been sealed behind aquarium glass
and I am observing it from the ocean floor.
Even language begins melting at the corners.
Sentences lose skeletal integrity.
Vowels elongate into pale ribbons.
Meaning slips its vertebrae
and slides soundlessly into the dark.
Still, there is something strangely exquisite
about becoming unfastened from oneself.
To feel the psyche soften.
To feel identity loosen like wet ribbon from a gift box.
To become briefly indistinct,
mercurial,
mouthless,
adrift beneath the narcotic fluorescence
of another sleepless dawn.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 3:29 PM UTC
But for opposition, thought disintegrates, dissolves!
No contradictions noticed! No doubt and no resolve.
Take away each yes or no, eliminate off and on;
Neither true nor false decide: discrimination gone!
Time and space evaporate. No concepts thus remain.
Though reality still constant, no knowledge to retain.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Reality is an illusion
That shelters from the unknown
But the walls easily dissolve
You just must accept the idea
You might never return
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 6:09 AM UTC
I don't want to die
A ghost is an echo
I want to be the opposite
Shout through me
Can I leave my eyes here?
To see but not be seen?
I dream of dispersal
A trillion motes of
Every place there's ever been
Everywhere at once
No walls to see through
No body, no mind, no stride
Transcendence of senses
To fade into the blue
To know every side
To know and nothing else
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC
To Destroy, First Build (The Construction of Human Dissolution)
steely Ironies begin as the end nears, leather torn by fabric,
when humans begin the separation protocol, **when first
we intend to dissolve, we need construct, ***** barriers
so true, good fences make good neighbors...no. great enemies.
the invisible ones, freight train tracks running down the middle
of the bed, new lands of “his side, her side,” shut your light off!
he makes a joke, she don’t turn her head, maybe she, offers instead
a secret grimace, thinking inside too little late, bothering/thinking
go write your breakup poetry, that’ll keep you truly invested and
ocupado, lock door’d, why is my toothbrush in a moving van, that I didn’t hire, no destination home, notes passed via refrigerator door, what was that “have children chatter?” months+words recent, huh?
just months ago, not confused, don’t touch his diet drink! man-o-man,
thank god we didn’t do a vaca drive up the West Coast, hanging with relatives in SF, LA not your town, you hate tinsel and pretense. BS.
arguing when we need to add gas, a wonderful double entendre, when was the end of detente, we abrogate the Treaty of Versailles, another place we won’t ever get to go-gether,** that just makes me sadly happier, and
I think; now I understand why he always booked us seats on airplanes separated by the aisle, no head upon his shoulder, in my lap, holding hands needs disinfectant, social distancing solves many problems now,
need now, no asking how, to conceive destroy, imagine concrete:
first you must build, it’s how one does it, human dissolution requires work, malice aforethought, we both master builders, see yeah, that’s a joke, a good one too...let’s laugh not together at us, our edifice crumbles
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 2:22 PM UTC
This is the ending
your vows foreshadowed
you sung out
'til our story is told'
and here I am
writing the final chapter
The storms stop today
coven
give me solace
as I burst open
like a dark spell
Your last embrace
burrowed deep into my shoulder
you were trying to find ground
I looked to the ceiling
begged it to crack open
to rain down dust upon us
celestial beings to steal me away from this
horrifying outcome
From this
opening
I need a waiata
I need a war cry
I need to summon a god
across the water
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 6:40 PM UTC
inside this black hole
where no light trespasses
his linga alone does,
smoothly into the event horizon
marking a point of no return
even sand clocks
at this gateway to heaven
tick slower
as gravitational time dilation
takes over
upon entry
no escape routes
or parachutes
exist for exit
only a free fall
into singularity
where space-time curvature
becomes infinite
odds of mere mortals
surviving this plummet
are nine billion to one
any volunteers?
© 2019
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
If you ever think that I’m talking too much
You should just -
Bold faced, just kiss me
And make me shut up.
Be sure to make it seem that it’s -
That it’s just because you love me,
Me when I speak..
And not that you think
I’m talking too much
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 2:12 AM UTC
I thought I knew you
Your green eyes and how they may wander
The touch of your thick, ashy hands
Your determined heart, may it not go asunder
The strength of our tight wedding bands
I thought I knew you
The heart in your chest with the strength of a lion
The mileage and baggage of the grief you've traveled
The look in your eye when I know that you're lyin',
The realization that all that we've built has unraveled
I thought I knew you
The idea that you could betray me for another
And I thought we would fight 'till the end
Yet I knew that you'd go and find a new lover
And our love now I cannot amend
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear,
that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving Finger hut issue,
when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence humans analogously held hostage
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling
(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill by Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,
and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled
within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,
indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors
scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin **** sapiens
bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against pearl jam killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled,
but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,
justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame
via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
***Estranged in summer rains'
landscaped dissolution
evincing season's discontent
neath sun's suffocating alienation;
used to rhyme with warmth
and effulgent delectation,
emotional realms fizzled in a
heated halfhearted sizzle
of down-pour's restless manifestations***
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
I don’t like it but I can’t look away
The gore dripping red wet paint
The oily canvass viscera stained
Sick shades of swirling crimson
The artist bleeds what is burning
Blackish blue marks from bruising
Lines etched deeply under her eyes
Thin skin so pale that her veins bleed through
This is her truth the only art that she knew
Swollen spots sporadically cover her flesh
Some were her doing others were
The dark artistry of someone far more disturbed
With every fist with every brutal brushstroke
With every vitriolic word his voice spews
Acrid acid rain and plumes of toxic fumes
With ever horrible day the art turns grey
Pierces her membranes till the last vestiges of
Her once animated identity
Evaporate into a state of insanity
And clumps of paint still cling to the brushes
And the canvass still blushes
But the body is just a broken specter
All art with no spark just bleak black dreams
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
On the water's edge
a stork in meditation,
reality faces illusion.
Under water fish
peck at stork's reflection
reality tastes illusion.
Flying stork's shadow
swims on water plane
in competition, fish chase.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC