the limit to what I say
around and when I lay
in what seems like
my seventh grave; I have
many lives
to keep, and many scores
over which I weep
until each music note
becomes one elongated scream
pulled out piano wires
baring guts like a burst seam
whiling away time as if
this is the eighth dream:
each sonder and sundry
under the tips of my fingers, god is

just out of reach, six armed swordsman
feet, sixth life just spent and beat
as if I require murderous intent, to be
a swordsman, like god
omnipresent lines(I see them!) and then
vocation slipping between my
rigid fingers: when will
my time finally come? and when
will god slow down for this
mere mortal? it seems that
only time will tell

swim seams in cluttered
dreams, god in between
the light beams - no space
unkept by him, full to the
edges of the fabric
a carefully calculated scream
manipulated daydreams

all the bars are full at ten
past or before ten, sloshed
clocks, someone spiked
the punch again
("aren't we in a bar?")
I thought we left this place
a long time ago, but it's ten past ten

trying to remove a face
from a head, failing miserably
it's such a mess
the subject of my adorations
because I made too much of a mess
switching my own face in the progress
(I felt too mean
to leave him with nothing)
(and now, it seems,
I've been left with nothing)

I won't even see him again?
ten past ten, only in my delusions
do I think I can
warp ten past ten
to ten past nothing

it seems that
I want everything, god
I want everything

yes
at times I do agree
to the things you say
about you and me - at times
I agree
until nothing at all
comes undone
knots having been burnt
by the zany boiling suns

at times I think
that each word crawling
underneath the seams
is worth eating
and each promise I steal
tastes like melting butter
and steel beams

at times the iron
builds up in my core
and I can divulge no more
at times, there is no time
because
for some reason
you control my reality as a whole
and when my world starts to crumble
you simply press reset
so things go back to the old way
where I would agree with you,
again and again

I can get away with anything at all
with just a purse of lips
and then something happens
to the people around me:
I cause mass extinction
of morality, black and deep cracks
breaking society's porcelain skin
shower curtain face split open
and veiny, fabric hearts
separating like liquorice strings
when I disassemble people
I can feel their golden
odd little hearts
in my hands
and when the time comes again
it makes me slightly more glad
to hold something broken
that is meant to last

half moon, melting smile
all serene and
screaming limerence;
at times I feel my body
responding in kind
at times, at night, in the darkest moments
car lights travelling up the wall
incense turns into hallucinogens
body composition changes
arm and leg being replaced
with the frame of my bed
skin nowhere to be seen
eyes craving to rip the seams
and my mind?
deep underneath
the throes of need.

wretched self consciousness
the curse of thinking, the curse of
cursing the ignorant
heads floating over my shoulder
and then I wonder
why I spend so much time
worrying twice
head split in two
melon guts spilling out, because
to the ignorant
the mind is no better
the mind is simply matter
and then
all I do is absorb
the light that dapples over the window frames
that is all.

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?