hazy hazy
never alone
going crazy
lack of punctuation
against the line of clothing seams;
until death again
we part constantly

reincarnation,
I never did give you a name
traipsing clean streams
we can do it all over again
the soul doesn't lose a body
and the body doesn't really
stay, anyway

cropped close, clothing
shed while leaving the
stratosphere
and all I think is:
I can never get rid of you, can I?

4 A.M My Lai;

in the lowlight
colors move off my skin at different speeds-

i’ll smear them into filth,
a vignette
plastered and permanent,

and beg
for my face to be scanned like a barcode.

oxygen is an after thought
preceding blood pumping
and following hand in hand with
checking the encyclopedia
for symptoms

with crossed legs, you tell me
somewhat callously, about
a certain something eating you away
where's the encyclopedia when you need it?
what illness has the symptoms of
heartburn, but without the burn
and the heart? and since when did
you start thinking that
oxygen was an after thought?

blood pumping
peering over the blue, eye searing screen
why not start with blood pumping? so
you try to get rid of the heartburn, but with
no heart and no burn
by pouring so much **** blood into
every fibre of your being
getting curb stomped by random joes
staring at sidewalk petals as they wilt
(iron overdose)

nose dislocated, blood is fine
remember, oxygen is an after thought
but only to me
and the encyclopedia says that
it's a good thing to breathe
so then(and this is starting
to sound like a children's story)
you say a slightly regretful sorry
and **** up the oxygen like
you had placed it in your worry
world bending over to support your
pore filled form
and none left for me
because I treat patients
in too much of a hurry.

something chasing after me, saltine
biscuits trailing my feet, salty tears soaking
them through their flaky meat, lotus dreams and
finite weeks, never running away from time, instead
waiting for it to catch up to our heels and
leave crumbs behind

time was sluggish and easy when I took it into my arms,
pliant when I bent it around my arms, hula hooping
lifting me to the tips of my feet, time knew me
better than the parents I’ll never meet,
dusty paths and soles of feet pattering on
sizzling concrete

time tells me that I should have been a runaway
ennui says I’m ***** souled and
listless and too far away
sugar in gas tanks and fingers plugged in ears kind of thing
chasing cheap thrills to kingdom come
until the moon is a gleam of white and
mixes and melds with the lines of
empty candle wicks

pop bottles popping off, night breezes, a kiss under palm trees
(ennui uplifted momentarily)
southern Arizona and cool synths, runaway dream
onomatopoeia making a home in our daydreams
furtive eyes seeking to find God, but
reality crashing down around me

it takes me back to this certain,
particular time
blue flames crawling up the wall
boy sitting in the centre of them all
clothes lined with soot and nothing
in his pitch black eyes

a tongue darting out
to wetten his lips
but what's the point? when
everything's on fire? maybe
for him
it's as normal as nothing

blood red brick walls
eyes making contact to rival them all
the start of something: usually, one
finds a spark to light their ambitions
but what does one do with
a fire presented to them?

at the words directed to him,
he perked up
soot flying around him like
masquering, ill informed snowflakes
settling on his face like freckles
and then began the start of my own
self immolation

with resounding bitterness,
I proclaim, stuck in this meddling prison,
I see mournfully
glass box lines
shaved sparks lying on the inside
at times I pause and
submit, because
what else is there to do?
in this glass box whimsical thing

two emotions vying at my psyche
wrong words pouring out
of the fountainhead that has
replaced my own head
fingers pointed to where I should go
roads pointing over the tired, tried and true
gravel sticking to my feet
pain shooting up where it isn't supposed to be

at times I truly wonder
eyes roaming the sealed dome
mouth full of tricks
if a god really does exist
the pinprick differences I feel in the air
subtle changes
heightening my sense, if not for better
or for worse?
light, at times,
seems like something I can hold
like a ribbon
and in those moments
whether my own perception
controls it, or something else:
"whether a god exists"
what a strange question.