I fall apart
and they put me in a hospital
piece me togetherand
take my temp
they draw blood  
inquire about my bowel movements
draw more blood
do more tests
Some hot shot doctor comes
speaks in tongues
Something about metabolic acidosis
My kidneys are not functioning well
My liver is not in the best shape
An idiot could have told me that
The problem is not in my abdomen
The problem is in my head
In my brain
In my mind
do more tests I cannot pay for
tell me something else I already know
transfer me to the psych ward
give me my own room  
feed me more than I can eat
fatten me up
speak to me in low soft tones
I will startle
ask me questions for which
I have no answers
adjust my meds
try something new  
get the same result
refuse to give me the one drug
that I know works wonders
The one that calms me down
The one that shuts off all the noise
I don't want it anyway
Drugs cannot fix me
Doctors cannot fix me
Thanks for trying
I can fix me
If I want to

Haley says Juniper is like a seed which, in his season, never flowers
Says he finds none beside the blossoms in the bench-worn courtyard
Surrounds, does metal which plants plug; deaf, embroiden, decipher
Does Haley, by talking to paper outstand the barrier what Suns for

Juniper swears Haley, from the trellis cracks, listened. Sweat-dent,
He jokes, like acidosis on the two sitting stones her feet frequent
Eroding because they grew, separate, together. He, a secret, and
She absorbed him, recorded, quickly became like the tangent

More like a seed which, all time, can’t flower
Besides, she can’t much see the blossoms within the courtyard
Front metal, surrounds only the smells of perennial ciphers
Comes Haley, her paper never tells of the shadow so felt for

Haley says Juniper is too passing. Says maybe the court is just desolate
Prays “Oh, fairy— one who, flapping, could some restore his deficit”
Hangared, windswept of oil lanterns which dangle, fictional, redolent
Her fairly good senses in put down that wall sitting, stasis indefinite

Juniper bellows out muteness. Stokes, quiet, her imagination,
But there is plenty to water or duck under inside his veranda
Aging, growing uninteresting even, though hardly unfortunate a
Situation is being captive to another’s not seeing your stagnation

Perhaps it’s her which, year-end, is desolate
In wishes, hope for prayings that float for her before his courtyard
Not wick in candles she can hear whisper sick, circular severance
From Haley and Juniper, whom to each other is definite

The sky was nothing, but nebulae stretched across three-hundred million years in distant patches of dust-streaked systems.

In-between was a common substance altogether defined as something missing. In these pathways, voidspace, were waves unrecognizable as thoughts left over from the explosion of a sun.

I spoke. Softly falling, like the last raindrop in a storm, my influence not considered as much as my absence was before. I say that I don’t have a body, but I have a form. A pour of peaks and troughs, and thoughts- somehow- and will, and more.

My quilt of neurons-were is here, is stored in voidspace. Clears of filaments, antimatter, hem as far as vibrations embrace all of them.

I awoke in the afterlife of Earth. Am I air, or something of that sort? A momentary retreat of the excessive supernova? Still… I’m coding the breadth of time between breaths when I was my body. I am able to be.

I am many changing frequencies. Human parallel with the stars behind me. That before who I described as exploding was nothing more than a constellation of molecules hopelessly enframing. I may have gone young, but I was not aging. I realize that we weren’t designed for changing.

The sky was an uncountable series of lights, and too an accent of infinite black. But the void plays gently around my intent. We express all that can be, and could be expressed, in the smallest differential of space distressed.

In a motion I cry for the atmosphere I lost. Lorelei with her sheltered grove of strife. Layers of nightmares come-to-life. And a leering monkey attached to her back, the prehensile production of what ultimates death.

Her worst fear was always what others would remember. What they used to call her. And now we have all been extinguished together.

The waveform oscillates, up and down. She begins to panic, and suppose. If I am here then they are too. And they know not for whom they grieve. Is the void- is it all the same? Did I fail to coordinate with the end of the world?

The sky was nothing, responding back. Gas formed a rainbow of pillars of salt. Swirls of memories standing at the edge. Groups of Galatians stabbed with knives. Blood in the water of Spring in Order, and everybody else who has ever suffered. White chalk, my dog who only ever knew my old smell. Crying solipsism on the steps of a cathedral. All the screens in all their phases. Because she must create noises, brittle, as the rotting ragdoll’s needle. Bugs wrecking, inseperence, roses in acidosis imprint; all their healing in all insistence. If you all stayed longer you would have met me-

In the voidspace I flatline. The microscopic adjustments flutter as I emulate her heartbeat. It’s one thing that I don’t remember. I realize how cold we are in-between. She must have formed during the winter. All the veins are clocks like pulsars.

Can any of you hear me?

mother
father
sister
brother

I was born, I think, to be loved.

voidspace
sun
father
mother
of

She was born, I think, to be loved.

But the air I fill is never warm. Void. Sky, in, I exist is never still. I thought the process of negative matter would effectively displace the isolation. All the cells are fluctuations.

Light-traced electromagnetic ranges are making me in the naked night. Void. Separation. The eye is nothing to the observation. What amount have I thoughtlessly absorbed since the very first particle created sight?

The sky was irrevocably something, and I have grayed before, and beyond it. What is the separation of reality / contradiction; all the self is imprecise, and maybe every brain is this same confliction.

My vertex meets the arbitrary crest of a larger place. I say that I don’t have a body, but I have a voice. At some indefinable distance in time, I am responded with another copse of sines.

daughter
daughter
daughter
daughter

My sun is gone too. All your waves are projections of anguish. I am not sure if I know you. All I am is that I hear you. Every peak is meeting troughs of yours that recompile mine. In this way we can create and uncreate love.

Although… it did not take the end of our kind to be capable of change. For we were, and are still, composed of our sun. In voidspace the makeup of emotion is clearer. Lo, all the stages are in their own way a deception betrayed by their need for expression. Look around and you can see each atom is composing a partner in this reflexive pattern. Recursive, and always following each other.

I know this does not account for your mind. You experience her in a macroscopic sense. I believe I can define your negative space. We can stretch the additive wave throughout time.

Until we are whole.

The sky was my own. This strange cosmic warmth stretched forever and I… spoke. Softly nodding. I say that I don’t have a body, but we are a voice.