i want to climb a mountain,
i want to look upon the earth
from a different perspective.
to feel my feet flee from under me,
and to fall -
slip -
into a lucid madness.

i want to feel no fetter
as my body folds upon itself -
twisting free -
as the ground approaches me.
as the . . .
as the sum of existence comes to a point.

to be young and alone,
and your ears just wanna ring
and your eyes just wanna close,
to be young and alone
with no girl for the night.
(born in the wrong place
and at the wrong time)

it was in that one moment
that i was the
perfect level of righteous.
it was in that moment
that my vision
found a point of fixation.
it was in that moment,
when our eyes met -
when i was blinded by radiance -
that i heard myself whisper
' please destroy me. '

these thoughts travel upon
tracks derailed;
awaiting annulment,
awaiting loss,
awaiting rebirth -
awaiting eventual awakening.

"betray your gods
before they betray you,
before they deny you
your Soul."
(but i don't know why)
rearing,
i never spoke up,
to be unnoticed is
easy without a name.

a wanderlust spiritualist's
view of the world -
to be read.    to be found crazy.
and i was layin' me soul down
when i -
a nameless one -
must have whispered
' please, destroy me. '

you abided.

i find myself exhaust'd
without words to fill
the gaps between breathes
standing in a garage
scavenging ashtray for
more cigarette than ****.
feelings of a cut and run
history. always cyclical, always
flooding. again, repeating.
i may not be able to
tell the future, but
i will laugh should we make it
together. my memories
have been lost before, never
quite wiped clean.
i once could live.
these days writ of longings,
of fated desperations, writ
of corner'd separations
while eyes haze and lids droop.
while connections are made
between the breaks in
statements you had to say.
lemme be straight, i am done.
taken to apathy. absconding
with nil thought of leaving
negative remembrances behind.
leaving yellow-paged notebooks
of a past life.
days of the deifiers, days of their
fat-trimming inquisition. For
the flesh lusteth against Spirit,
and the Spirit against the flesh.
and those were scrawnier days.

delving for memories, and when
i begin to account for one
my mind is already moving on
to the next. the next. the next
subconscious whim to
cause expression of itself.
and onward. i am not quite sure
i can tell you the future. hell,
i knew the moment i acknowledged
you, thought of your existence again,
you'd come questioning.
twenty minutes,
that's all it required.
twenty minutes,
as if a spans of the
last year had never happen'd.
twenty minutes,
simple question ask'd of me
from you. inquiring of my welfare.
do you not remember the
night you rip'd from the ground
my tent. with me inside.
    deliberate pause.
i gave you reason, of course.
as much as i am a devil these days,
i was worse then.
    to left of door upon entering.
i gave you reason without
doubt, but i knew where
your mind would go.
i knew without question.
i knew because he drag'd
you through a parking lot
by the hair. long, beautiful.
i embraced you
when you question'd why;
i embraced you
when you understood;
and i wiped tears from cheeks
when you couldn't believe what
you understood. i was there
but never seen, figurehead
for your old-fashion'd typewriter.
you, i've never forgotten.
second house i knew to be yours,
over by the college.
roach infest'd, general pest
infest'd. when you had
the younger boy around.
     drank whiskey with him when he was sick.
     had to leave shortly after arriving.
awkward settings. not sure
him and i were ever friends.
quite sure you arranged
competition between us two.
him, boyfriend;
me, the close friend.
boyfriend got ****** and problems.
i got you when sleep was no answer,
i got you when substance matter'd.

to do the things
you intend to,
to be the person
others cannot see,
to live in the mind
without spoken word,
to smoke cigarettes
in place of consumption,
to refuse any thing
unsuitable to your palate,
to find dissonance and
ride articulate mathematics,
to pierce silence with swears
in drunken lucidity,
to wander affectation
of a better’d body,
to close eyes and know
you’re the only movement present.

i sat at her typewriter
wearin’ plain white v-neck,
plaid WalMart shorts marr’d.
i sat at her typewriter
as we discuss’d life problems.
i sat at her typewriter
dividing interest between her and
the powerful feeling received
through uniform ballyhoo.
i sat at her typewriter
feinging, waiting for her
to say she’s too drunk.
i sat at her typewriter
as she went on with her
first-world problems.
i sat at her typewriter
as they exchanged
insults yell’d and
shard’d glass of broken jars.
i sat at her typewriter
as she dispensed her drug.
i sat at her typewriter
when her and the secondary-Virgo
did move to grind.
i sat at her typewriter
as i forged fragment’d
statements to poetry.
i sat at her typewriter
when she had
that look in her eyes.
i sat at her typewriter
as my life end’d.
i sat at her typewriter
after the snow sweat.
i sat at her typewriter
when she snap’d the spine of
her first horse Sassafras.
i sat at her typewriter
when i deluded myself
about loving her.
i sat at her typewriter
never any longer.

fumbled getting the key in the
lock. took ‘bout five minutes
before i heard the tumblers click –
nesting in the notch’d metal.
with gentle press, i swung the
door open. light hit me, blind’d,
as my perception bled in constant
to the left. nothing seem’d to have
it’s own place, or space.
i would turn my head from the left,
and the world would be right’d.
stop’d movement,
world bled left, and
i went for the couch.
“Where have you been?”
the maternal commandant.
“Where. Have. You. Been?”
    out.
my left-most body
felt stretch’d, felt warp’d.
    out. i’ve been out.
“What’s wrong with you?”
    a seconds pause.
“Are you ****’d up?”
    she’s got me.
“You are ****’d up,
aren’t you?”
    how obvious.
dialogue never left mind
through mouth. knowing better is
ninety-percent of the solution.
of the problem.
“Who are you?”
her voice rising.
“Where is my son?”
her voice peaking.
“What have you done with Cole?”
    he’s taking a break from this,
this… this reality.
    he need’d some time.
she huff’d indignant, and turn’d
to return to a yellow-lit kitchen
where she hosts a friend.
both ******, both drunk,
both lost to me through slurs.
    But I am your son;
bleeding left, pupils constrict’d.
    But I am your son;
bleeding left, sour-smelling breath.
    I am your son.
bleeding left, falling right, falling into
the darkness of a thousand-year sleep.

i remember being alone;
all done for sake of exploration.
plaster'd walls till copy paper
gain'd some ground, infinities
of translucent words.