she is beautiful
she is partial

this work in progress
she is parts discarded

a long sleek
metal pipe spine
sending signals

thin flexible
wire ribs
protecting

a wood basket
collapsed and spread
to create the muscles
of a back

her brain is
a series of dense
connections

with no apparent source

(I can hear her)

as she speaks
with analog voices
recorded

(I can understand her)

as she thinks
with history
the ideas
we tried to bury or burn or hide

the cone-shapes
of what will become
her *******
are naked

she wears only
a loose skirt made of
colored strips of material

I watch her
waiting for her
to form herself

maybe she is will
maybe she is want

I know she has not yet been alone

because she has yet to
get herself together

I would never ask her
to finish

I only ever ask her
to be true

my mind is
soft and simple

it leaks and

is easily lost
in details

approach it
with care

it scares easily
and may

attack when
cornered

but it means
no harm

it just doesn’t
want to be

harmed again
it has baby scars

that still
need to heal

the past was
not perfect

and everyday
will be the past

…

the world is
not perfect

and we are
the world

…

I am broken
and maybe

I broke you

and if I say
I was wrong

will you

let me live
and learn

will you

let me be
a human

being doing
the best that

I can

she called me
soft names
like the first name

like a dove
whispering love
songs

and I was
an angel
with unbreakable
wings

until
she left me

and I slowly
lost my little
mind

I fell to earth
with a thud
it was not far

to fall

but it felt
like a new
planet

a dry planet
without flowers

I have lived deep
inside the earth
I ache to the core
expose the heat
from my mind’s eye
to weaken each layer
and break through
one-by-one
searching for the surface
where I imagine
meaning lives
never considering
that the surface
may be imaginary
and there is no
final destination
and this is my
destiny to spend
forever burning
through all the truths

I wake
at night
the stars dance
to god’s hum
nature plays
her tunes
that blend
so easily
everything
knows it
part by heart
there is no
stopping to
think
there are no
streams into
or out of
this place
you have to
get here alone
through silence

some words
don’t exist

they are phantoms

teasing our
tongues

invading our
souls

spreading through
our veins

making us believe
in them

so we will share
them with others

that is the only
way they

can live
because they

don’t exist as
anything else

I moved north
hoping the leaves
would fall;

changing reasons
for living again.

I met a ******* a lark
laughing at the trees.

She said “I’ve been
searching for you
sand man.”

She really meant sad
but she was too happy
to say that word.

She said, “I will wait
for the weight to fall from
your shoulders.

You will be my shiny, red balloon
I can ride to the
moon.”

I took off my overcoat.

he was a soft
part of the world

so easily damaged

at night
before dreams

he escaped

into his tears
the puddles

on his pillow
he did not

make sounds
it was not in

his nature so
no one knew

he was drowning

I think about
the people I love

more concepts
than flesh

like me

they are creatures
creating creatures

I trace his
twisted extensions

with my fingertips

furrowed brow
neck contorted
arms reaching
then disappearing

legs pressed
together concealing

toes up and
pointing leftward

he pressed his
hand to paper

never intending
to complete
himself

allowing me to
finish his thought

we are all puzzles
wanting to be solved

but we are always
missing pieces

that can’t be found

frustrating each other
because we can never

actually be completed

I rode a
nightmare

into the
mountains

to meet my maker

a creature
calling my name

I followed
the deep bellow

an echo of
the ancient past

I knew I
would find

life or death

either way
our war will

finally be settled

she speaks in a way
that speaks to me

she steals pieces of my soul
and hides them in her little secrets

everything she says
is an ocean

and I want to drown
I want to drown
falling into the deepest

parts

knowing that in her words
I cannot swim
I don’t want to swim
I don’t want to float

I want to lie at
the bottom of the
deepest parts

and lose my breath
give up my breath

I want to get eaten by
something with

sharp teeth and
a sharper mind

so I no longer exist
outside of her

and when she whispers
those wishes she wishes

they will be my wishes

she does not know me
but she gets me

the net catches
everything and

releases nothing

there is a reason
we forget

but the net
never forgets

can you really
call something
that doesn’t forget

a memory?

I can’t look up
when you come near

for fear
I’ll drown

wanting for
something more

my little
blue heart
aches

it can’t speak

has feelings
but no words

to express them

so I take a walk
into a dark field

and lie down

surrounded by
yellow petals

I fell asleep in
the land of

the sunflower
and pray for

some of their
brightness

to leak into
my little blue

heart

Like a tall, thick tree
struck by lightning
I am shocked
at how quickly I fall
and how quiet
the forest can be
when I am alone

on one house
on one street

on that house
on this street

they wait

biding their time
watching me
as I walk by

slowly

everyday I walk
by slowly

I don’t want
to startle them

I don’t want
to alarm them

I don’t want
to be the one

who awakens them

they already
live in my dreams

there is a
loneliness

in truth

the path to get
there is hidden

and not easily found

and once found
it is jagged and

difficult to hold
onto and share

in any known
language

swallow hollow hallucinogenic
colors are manufactured

I walk white walls
and speak with a
red mouth

my arms are
contained in
artificial skin

there are more
mysteries in
this strings of
words

pouring the *****
into the machine

the biology of
plastic dreams

small *****
of black magic

mashed together
creating their own
connections

we control
the dimensions
not the relationships

I wake to print
in three

now you can see

the silver strands of a
splitting cell

she prints a blue
bleeding heart

mixing metaphors

we race to be
the first to
make the future real

will the young
lose their memory

in their machines
can their machines

forget or is erased
the same as forgetting

is the nature of
knowing changing

what is the source
of an idea

and where is it located
will we all be implanted

or have we always
been implanted

is innovation alchemy
and what are the

ingredients

do we know our
own recipes

can we recreate
ourselves

and become our
own young

the thought never occurred to me at least not in its complete form fragments maybe at best come to me at times I am not ready and then quickly abate into confusion I do not like sentences more to the point I hate punctuation I would rather throw words together and let you figure out the starts and stops because where you want to stop may not be where I feel like pausing and this way we can both figure it out on our own there are no obligations for us to ride this thing out together but if I look over one night and find you on the same trail that would be great not saying that it is meant to be just that at that moment it is and then I will know we are both honest living our own lives close to the same spot on this planet if I am near you because you are you not because I am me there is something wrong with that inherently the daily interactions of our simple lives should bring us together so put in your own pauses or let it continue without stops until it burns out whichever way you like is right and when I want to stop and pause or start all over or elaborate I will do that

energy I do not expend
eats me

unexpressed expressions
are so hungry

they smell my
every weak scent

like a pack
of rabid dogs

digging wet teeth
and disease
into me

I fight trying
to hold in
just one piece

that piece I
never want
you to see

tonight I will
try to sleep

counting
electrified
sheep

We hold our arms out
as if we are
airplanes
and fly around
the yard.

Bumping into each other,
we understand
the excitement
of mid-air collisions;
the sudden explosion
and the heat
of new flames.

Then rolling around
we quickly
become alligators
our arms become
mouths
fighting over
a piece of fresh meat.

Then we turn into
professional
wrestlers
and I lift you
in my arms
and act as if
I am
going to body
slam your
body
slam your
body
to the ground.

The grass is freshly-cut,
loose blades
gather together
waiting to be raked,
we make it rain
green
and huddle
together,
my hands
become
your umbrella.

It smells like
summer;
it smells like
strawberries,

***** blond
strawberries

and my hands
become
your brush

and your arms
become
my belt.

I don’t want
all the words

to behave

I want them
all to mean

something
but not always

what I had
in mind

they can dance
to their own

beat

create a new
sound

tell a story
I never heard

I try to give
them the space

to grow

my fingers
cannot draw

but my soul is
made of art

so I organize
words to express

the desperate
longing to belong

to a world
I know

I can add
value to

I was afraid the day
you said

I did not understand
I do listen

I hear words and
their meaning

I see words as
they are spoken

as if they are real
and have substance

I do not hear
what you meant

to say

those are other
words that I

can’t hear or see
unless you say them

Death was before me, lying still
the way he would sleep in his old
wooden rocker

I put my hand on his hand
the way I would when he was asleep
in his old wooden rocker

but this time it was cold

like last winter
when the heater broke

my brother stole
the blankets and
wouldn’t give them back

I couldn’t stop shivering

you are fire
deep heat
an ocean
of flames
you take breath
from me
suffocate me
in love and
lust
your skin is
fine china
delicate
vulnerable
I would not
expose you
to the elements
I save you
for those
special days
those days
we are together

if I shave a
bit off my brain

will I be normal
will I see less

will I be shallow

and be satisfied
with small talk

will I carry less
weight

and ask less
questions

I have a wing not an arm. It is only one wing so I cannot fly. Sometime during the development of seed to man a message was misconstrued. It is quite easy to imagine, a gene gets distracted by a sudden movement, she says yes when she meant no. I have done it many times myself.

I live each day of my life with the same choice my parents struggled with for so many years. Is it better to remove it and be a man with one arm or leave what nature has seen to be fit? Maybe I am the next evolution. Did you ever think of that? I did.

It’s not that bad, really. I just have to remember to use my arm when I wave; otherwise I create quite a stir.

I sit and stare at the birds perched gently on the wires outside my bedroom window. I can only wonder if I am a mistaken man or a mistaken bird, because I do so long to fly.

tonight my mind
is running in place

in a desert
I am a boiling

brain

there are no
words to express

or there is
nothing to feel

I am raw but I
want to be naked

exposed to my
demons

I hear
the black bird

screech I watch
it descend

I want it to
enter me

I splay my arms
display my soul

I want it to rip out
all my elements

so I can start over

Less a friend
than an addiction
big shoulders
pushing boulders
up thick grass
gaining mass
losing breath
with each step
a passion for pain
a predilection
for black
scratch my back
I'll stab yours
end my days
in a haze
I know the ways
to get lost
fingers crossed
on my knees
heaving lunch
or was it brunch
no matter
we're all a splatter
in the end
less a friend
than an affliction

I am long legs and big feet.

She is lady-like,
legs crossed
and curled
under a skirt,
under a swing.

I push her away from me
knowing she will return.

I watch loose black strands
escape from the butterfly clip
and dance
ritualistically
across her neck,
frenzied and forbidden.

When she is alone
her eyes cry
but she doesn’t

yet know why.

My body is mechanical
like this swing
her body is natural
like the wind.

I can hear them calling my name
the older boys
the men
for softball softball
church softball

but I ignore them.

I can’t touch her yet
but I can talk to her
like I am.

nature is so
easily buried

beneath the
artifacts of man

their rules are
my structure

and I walk in
straight lines

and I step on
no cracks

but I know
when I meet you

you will change me
you will set me free

we will have a
relationship

like the wolf
and the moon

I

when I was young
you cut me with

your words

I bled out slowly

when I was young
I was a tear

flash floods

salt and water
burning skin

when I was young
I was broken

not like a bone
that heals with

time

II

I share a lot
with my words

and
you think it is

everything

you think you
know me

from my words

you think I
am exposed

but I am never
completely naked

I wear masking tape
to hide my

deepest scars

There are things that I see
that are bigger than me,
blades that resist being clipped
and stroke
the stalks of
sunflower
bursts.

Cattails that appear
as if antennae
for something buried
deeper than death.

There are things I don’t see

but can hear whisper,
as I hear a clock
winding down,
before time stops.

The wonder of it all
does not escape me.

she sits in the back
swallowing her words

she knows the answers
to some questions

she has questions
about some answers

she has a voice
inside her

telling her to be quiet
it is not hers

it was given to her
as a birthright

and she doesn’t
know how to give

it back

sprayed by her water
scared by coronavirus
I still say bless you

I love words
when they are

handled with care
to nourish and grow

…empowerment

I hate words
when they are

used as weapons
to crush and destroy

…enslavement

People lost in
popularity
democracy
run amok

seeking hits
without highs

connecting line
to line
not mind to
mind

I don’t mind
if you borrow my
lines

just give me credit
in the morning.

everything breaks

healing does not
mean the pain
disappears

memories
clench into
the present

like fingers
and teeth

bleeding all
over the future

she felt alive but
she did not know

if she was

he told her things

but he was the
only one

so she had no
comparison

she felt unique but
she did not know

if she was

there were versions
of her

before

but isn’t that
true of all of us

did she have a
heart?

wet metal
flows but

is it blood?

her feelings
flow but

is it love?

in the corner
legs crossed

hands folded
head bowed

avoiding eyes

she thinks she
does not exist

she thinks she is
not noticed

but she does not
know her power

the potential she
can never allow

herself to see

the way she
holds the world

together with
her quiet ways

nosing into
everything

eyes wide

searching
behind every
crack and
crevice

finding the
dirt

hidden
for years

whiskers
twitch

antennae
hearing
starlight

messages
from the past

and I realize

there is not
enough
deep in me
to bury

everything

the moon is full

the stars are
singing a
rock anthem

the earth is
deep and dark

and I am changing
so fast

surviving
everything

I taste thunder
on my lips

I spit lightning
from my eyes

nothing is
bigger than me

I outlive everything

when the fairy
tale ends

I follow her
into the woods

she was happy
as the moment

called for but
I knew she was

more than a role
and while this

ending could
be happy

I knew this
was not

the end

I knew she
had more

to say

so I followed
her into

the woods

I: Impressions

I want to
love you
I want to
feel so many
things
that I don’t
instead of just this
one thing this
one jumbled
unidentifiable
thing, this…this…
monster on the inside
made from
the unfelt
parts of
emotions;
leftovers
of moments
not one of
which was fully
experienced.

II. Explosions

All was quiet
at the beginning
of time
the big bang
made no noise
a startling spectacle
of suddenness
it was all sight
and no sound
color was its
afterbirth;
a by-product
of chemicals mating
and procreating.

III. Inventions

the universe
was seeded by sounds
the wush
of a hand moving
quickly
through a dark cloud
the tiny fingers that
crack
as they grasp
for a meaning, any meaning
and a stiff drink to
glug
glug

I know something
out there has to resonate
something has to be
real

Doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?

speak a treatise
on belonging

I thought
existence

into

the being
part of

human

birth is a
pressure

to escape
stillness

and peace
and every

day after
just continues

that path
a pattern

the longing
to return

at war with

the need
to move on

I desire diagnosis
more than ***

beauty is
connecting
my my my
mind to body

the flow of
neurogasm that
creates aha

pleeeease

put me under
your microscope
so that every cell
I have
is revealing

dig through my skin
with your needle

penetrate that
one vein
that is willing

sit me down
lay me down
inside your
machines

send the
invisible disruption
of your
magical forces

through my body

until it
tells you
my secret