There is change that is certain.
The earth slowly shifting,
The sky slowly shifting.
Seven billion universes
Rotating around each of us,
Each one of us an axis.
The recurring misalignment,
Collisions, and revisions of
Our orbiting bodies
Shape the illusion of stability
Hanging from our celestial ceiling.

I did not expect to come home
To an empty house,
My family's effects removed
Like the leftovers of an evicted tenant.
I am a stranger here,
In this room where I became a woman.
This room that exalted and imprisoned me
No longer offers solace.

Litter, that upon closer inspection
Reveals a mosaic of my childhood
Is spinning.
The pieces of my past
Are spinning
Out and away,
Gravitating towards a larger body.

The car I drove to a stranger's house
To get ****** instead of going
To dinner with my family
Now belongs to another.
The dresser that kept my underwear
In the top drawer
For twenty years
Discarded and lain in the gutter.
The walls which I painted
The most neon shade of green
In an act of adolescent rebellion
Are now covered over
In rental home white
To attract the widest audience
Of potential tenants.

The floor is slipping out from beneath me,
The ceiling lifting and floating away.
New additions to my orbital debris.

This place,
Disassembled.
Each part
Far more significant than the whole.
This house
Will never again be a home.
If I had stayed,
Would the gravity of my presence
Have been enough to keep it together?

Were any of these parts
Part of my universe in the first place?

disassembled                dry-milk filaments
        casket-torso;pallbearer-legs           buried
                      the lead                        
                                    ­   tombstone read: “for what it’s worth,
               well, It ain’t”
Get me out!on thenextflight       haven’t cut since cru-el April"
             her,my,this obsession with disaster           death by Mediocrity
      she tickles my deficiencies.i whisper.witness me Divine
                            Metastasizer
the police-scanner onna nozzle         so-so dance with the gentlemen;
        to the heart of                write a novel and **** yrself
...And so began the long con(sort-o-con       a schitzo origin story
                 two invert a paradigm)         ;dis assembled matter
told’em yu why worry?      -it ain’t like the films kid-
         we got Worlds to destroy via our Creation)
…move the mark, no           Who moves the soul of those machines?
        somebody [important] dead      inna car accident and
3 colors of genuwine           stratum of white jissom retchblossoms
Smelled like a bank&mug issa
       itch of **** platter-ed                  man who shoulda upped-in-smoke at 22.
                               lotus lips          chests of oceans
Wouldn’t mourn immortality yet;
          -Can wee stay here all/night?-         a platitude is a platitude is a platypus—             :POEM:UNDER:CON
                        in                     STRUCTION:       tuition is too high!
Death by mediocrity, i whisper         she licks a falsehood;
         stick it two me!           $2.37 and a pack of menthols
Stick it in me!         and twist      darling,When’s the last luna saddle
            you horsed           a bull fever-red let it fly—           disassembled constituents quiver                      grave sentiment o’er teacups of
          perishable insight                         ,dissolved dry-milk filaments
      if fear was
                the Sweat,on my back         mountains of meat o’er hills&
under choppy grecian sea          she undoes what she did
        *ties a ribbon to an elected carcass
Autopsy report:                            that junk was better in my head
         death by mediocrity   i whisper        it ain’t like the films kid,
               and it ain’t like the news said            she mechanical jaw
inspire technicalities            maintain the train rolling or you might
                see me on the outside; emerald oracle on a sideroad
selling oranges to                 the future       ain’t grease my w-h-e-e-l
        you—and; her she watches from out-of-frame
        falling, you, i she is falling in closed
system  restrain this membrane            give (me) a hand in burning
         up this joint         (we) kicked in the door to a peep show
picture death, no                  horror of inanimate ****** press’d up-against                   staint glass                the whole **** operation
a **** ruse           I’ve never been about            wake me up for
        disassembled                a Judgement Day               the next hunt the
interval be                       Please cut to the          C H A S E
                 between Want and Wanted                     the joy/cut-me in;   is a poem      to a cross-             like me,I think,therefore
                -eyed saint     my brain jargons,               but these words are deadbeat,papa where’s the cigarettes?     sure pal, Yr a leader!
                for a funeral procession         him,           androgynous boygirl
     tested the waters,drowned               disassembled for a fountain          
                 trade me that injustice for
or a Ouroburro           a Snake            a new dictionary (all in fine print)
     with the courtesy to eat itself whole;                        Cash in
while              you can. Get some sleep.

In a bedroom in small-town Pennsylvania,
you’ll find an unmade bed,
a pile of clothes on the floor—
clean but not folded,
open drawers and dusty shelves,
a desk in the corner of the room
with pictures laid across it.

When I caught my first fish at six.
I held it at arm’s length by the fishing line
to avoid the slimy scales,
a frown on my face from being forced
to sit silently in the cold.

When my family went to Marco Island,
my sister and I, sifting sand for the best seashells
in our matching swimsuits and hats.
Mom and dad’s fights forgotten in our fun.

High school graduation
posing with my best friend since first grade,
diplomas in one hand and an extra cap held between us
because not everyone survived all four years.

Move-in day at college,
sitting on my raised bed with a grey comforter
and two decorative pillows the color of cotton candy.
Sweat on my brow from southern humidity
and moving furniture without the help of a father.

The pictures are merely snapshots
that lack the full story.

How I learned what it meant for love to fall apart
when I was eight years old.
My sister warned me before it happened,
told me what a divorce was.
I mistook her for joking until they called us upstairs.
Dad cried when they told us, but mom held her tears
until the day he left. The sounds of her cries
escaping from behind a closed door.
“This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
But that’s exactly what it meant.

How I was taught by my father that love is conditional,
and I repeatedly needed to prove myself
through good grades and unquestioning obedience.
Forced to stay home to spend time with the family,
sitting wordlessly on the couch while he watched TV.
Made guilty for wanting to spend time with friends
because that somehow meant that I was a bad daughter.
It’s funny—I never asked myself if he was a good father.

If you look harder at the bedroom,
you’ll find journals filled with bitter words,
screws from disassembled pencil sharpeners, loose razors, and Aquaphor,
food wrappers stuffed in hidden places,
a closet brimming with junk and pairs of shoes,
evidence of a story untold. Until you.

In the farthest reaches of known space, a single starship lay juxtaposed against the stars. The ship was named Destiny. The cold metallic shell hummed with energy as it sat motionless. There were large chunks of wreckage and shrapnel surrounding the Destiny, the last bits of oxygen burning away.
The Destiny was a silver and blue X-Class, a state-of-the-art high speed ship, currently the fastest in the Nine Galaxies. It's pilot was a female Extro-sapien named Jade. Her species was descendant from ****-sapiens, a long forgotten species from the Third galaxy. Extro-sapiens were humanoid, though taller than their descendants. They prided themselves on their indestructible immune system and immunity to all known poisons.That, coupled with the fact that their skin was strong enough to repel most blades with ease, made them extremely hard to ****. Extro-sapiens were nimble hunters, naturally armed with razor sharp fangs and claws. Jade was a bounty hunter, taking contracts to hunt down criminals or to escort VIPs in hostile areas for generous sums of currency. Her target's ship now lay in ruins, it's now-dead pilot floating in the void of space.
Jade walked from the cargo bay of her ship to the cockpit, stripping away her suit and clothes, tossing them in their respective rooms before sitting at her throne, not a stitch of clothing to be seen. It was relieving to be free once more.
She glanced over the various screens before her, some with pictures of her target either on a wanted poster or in the sealed container aboard her ship. She swiped the images to her left, compiling them into a message for her client before sending them. Almost immediately there was a soft chime as her client started a video uplink. Jade quickly grabbed the large headset from the floor and placed it over her pointed ears. She swiped her finger over the right earpiece and it clicked to life.
Jade growled and crossed a hand over her chest just before the screen shifted. An image of her client appeared before her, a reptilian humamoid adorned with gold rings on his short horns. Jade heard him hiss in surprise.
"Bounty hunter, if I had known you'd be so stunning, I'd have met you in person."
Jade's dual vocal cords echoed faintly in the cockpit. The sound of two angelic voices rolled off her forked tongue. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Besides, a night with me would cost you a fortune."
The man laughed, "Worth it, in my opinion."
Jade growled, "You have your proof of death, Silva, I expect you've wired the credits to my account?"
"Of course, of course! Though I could add a little extra if you simply move your hand."
Jade narrowed her eyes. "A show like that would cost you at least a million. Because I'm worth it."
She heard him chuckle, "Indeed you are." There was a pause and then he smiled, "Feel free to move your hand now."
Jade flashed her fangs, "Of course, you don't mind if I check first, right?"
Silva shrugged and Jade used her free hand to pull up her bank account. Sure enough, her initial payment had been received, along with the extra. She grinned and lifted her hand away from her chest. "Feast your eyes, perv."
She grinned as the reptilian choked. "Now that is worth a million!" He grinned from horn to horn, "I'll let you know when the next contract opens."
Jade returned her hand to her chest and growled, "This stays between us. Remember, I know where you live."
Silva's expression didn't change but she could tell that he flinched. "Of course. Until next time, gorgeous."
The video screen faded away and Jade quickly began to transfer her payment to other accounts. She sighed and turned to her right, seeing a map of the nearby systems. She spotted a contract pinned on a planet a few hundred lightyears away, and she gawked at the price tag.
"Ten billion units?" She whispered, "I could retire early with a payday like that."
She furiously began to type in calculators and coordinates. Her computer's voice echoed I'm the cockpit, "ERROR, PLEASE RECALCULATE TRAGECTORY."
Jade bared her teeth in anger as the holographic screen projected a diagnostic of her ship. One single line of text blinked slowly, enveloping her attention.
"FUEL LEVEL LOW, MAXIMUM SAFE TRAVEL: 40 LIGHTYEARS."
She swore under her breath, growling deep in her throat. She adjusted the microphone on her headset and cleared her throat. Her dual vocal cords echoed faintly in the cockpit. "Destiny, lock in coordinates to the nearest space station. Lock down cargo and prepare to engage hyperdrive."
The hologram buzzed to life as the various systems reacted to the sound of her voice. As Jade waited she shut her eyes, gently running her fingers over her bare chest. Jade's was proud of her body, hating to cover such beauty with clothes. Her arms, legs, and back were covered in ornate tribal tattoos. Jade had spent three continuous days enduring the hand poked tattoo, and she felt very proud in displaying the art whenever she could. She let her hands wander about her curves for a moment before stopping. Jade blinked a few times and shook her head. The bells at he tips of her long silver braids jingled. Jade whispered to herself, "There's time for that during lightspeed." Since she worked alone, she took every opportunity she could to relieve her tensions, as it allowed her to focus on her work without distraction. Companionship meant liability in her line of work.
She waited patiently for the computer, leaning back in her fur lined throne. Once all systems had finished their tasks, a soft voice echoed, "Hyperdrive on standby."
Jade took a soft breath. "Engage."
The starship lurched forward, the engines roaring ferociously behind her for a moment before the sound dampening system kicked in. She heard a familiar beeping and glanced up at the hologram, seeing the countdown from ten seconds. She felt the comforting shiver of excitement she always felt before launch, smiling softly to herself.
She braced herself in the chair and said, "Open view port, engage shield."
The large metal screen in front of her pulled away, revealing the grand masses of stars and planets before her. Jade took a deep breath and counted down, "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
The ship screamed forward, and the starlight formed a beautiful tunnel around the Destiny as it traveled through hyperspace. Jade slumped back into her chair and closed her eyes. "Destiny, Disengage interior gravity field."
Jade felt herself lifting off of her chair, becoming weightless. Her braids jingled softly as they spread around her like a lionfish.
Jade pulled off her headset, letting it float in front of her as she stretched, running her hands along her body again and she shivered again. She twisted in midair, turning to the sealed door behind her. She touched the panel next to the door, feeling the familiar cold screen. The door opened and Jade floated into the corridor. She turned left towards her quarters and entered through another door. The walls were decorated with digital posters of various terrains she had visited during her travels. She drifted toward her bed, covered with a fur blanket and pillow. Jade wandered to the storage locker next to the bed, opening it delicately. Inside were a few personal mementos and data logs, and a small decorative box on the top shelf. She shivered as she thought about its contents. "Later. I think I need to sleep for now." She gripped the stability handle above her bed and lay down on the warm gel bed, covering herself with the fur. Jade breathed a sigh of relief as she relaxed, closing her eyes. It was at that moment that she felt how tired she really was, her muscles ached and groaned as she pressed a button on the side of the bed, changing the density of the gel to allow her to sink. The warm gel creeped over her legs and belly, then her chest and shoulders.
Jade groaned as the gel encapsulated her, covering every possible inch of her. Her mind wandered as her hand hovered over the other controls. "Massage or no?"
She bit her lip and pressed the button once, feeling the gel start to pulsate around her body.
Jade shivered and said to no one, "Who needs a man when you have tech like this?"
She spent the next few hours in the massage bed, finding her way into the decorative box partway through. Once Jade had thoroughly massaged her desires away, she climbed out of the gel, thankful for the weightlessness. She was no longer confident in the use of her legs. She pressed the first button twice and the gel began its cleaning process.
Jade retrieved her toys and placed them back in the box, pressing a button similar to the one on the bed, closing it and placing it back into the storage locker to clean.
Jade stretched again, invigorated. She floated back to the cockpit, checking the projected time of arrival. "Ten more hours. Plenty of time to get my gear ready."
Jade floated back into the corridor, this time twisting to the right towards her workbenches. The room was dark, save for a few blue work lights. As Jade hovered in the doorway, the overhead lights snapped on, casting a soft white glow around the room. She floated towards the first bench, where her gun hovered in a stasis field. It was almost four feet long, with three rotating barrels. Most bounty hunters favored energy weapons and plasma rifles, but not Jade. She preferred metal bullets that could shred flesh and punch through doors with ease. Her weapons would not fail her in case of electro-magnetic pulses either.
Jade floated to the next table, where her boots and mask hovered in another stasis field. Her boots were strong, heat and frost proof, and had a strong magnetic field to allow her to walk in zero gravity or even upside down. She had recently installed a pair of thrusters to them, which would allow her to fly for a short period of time, enough to get her out of harm's way or to a better vantage point.
Jade's mask was armor plated, angled to deflect any incoming rounds with ease. Two tubes connected the mask to an air reservoir that sat at the base of Jade's neck, underneath her braids. The eyepieces doubled as eye protection and target analysis. One of the lenses was cracked beyond repair and Jade swore. She hovered over the table and delicately disassembled the mask, letting the broken lens float freely away while she installed its replacement. She reassembled the mask and slid it onto her face. There was nothing at first, then the internal computers activated and she saw clearly through the mask. She glanced over the diagnostic data and nodded once she was satisfied. She took off the mask and set it back in its stasis field.
She turned to the final bench. Where her bodysuit lay in a crumpled heap of woven uranium and steel fiber. The bodysuit fit her like a second skin, adhering to every curve she possessed. The uranium fibers acted as an energy source, powering all of her necessities. The black suit shimmered as she touched it, reacting to her skin, begging to be worn. She smiled softly and patted the heavy fabric. "Soon, darling."
Jade glided to the door, leaving her gear behind as she returned to her living quarters. She hovered in front of the full length mirror, looking over her body. She smirked and purred, "Gorgeous as always."
Jade went to the storage locker and retrieved a large metal crate from the base. She took it to the mirror and opened the crate, revealing thirty blue feathers, each roughly a foot long. She had collected one for each of her braids, and she began to tightly weave the feathers into the tips of the braids. In the middle of each of her braids was a strong electro-magnetic core that, once activated, spread her braids like a lionfish. They would act as a distraction, allowing her the element of surprise. The magnetic field they created also acted as a strong shield.
Once the last feather had been woven into her hair, she then wrapped each braid in strips of the same uranium-steel fibers as her suit.
As the last of the fibers had been tucked into place, Jade grinned. The powerful fibers would amplify the effects of the electro-magnetic cores. Jade smiled at their resemblance to whips. She wanted to test them, see if they would crack like an actual whip.
Jade returned to her workshop, donning the bodysuit and her control gloves. She floated into the main corridor, which was wide enough that she wouldnt hit the walls once her braids were fully extended.
She took a deep breath and touched the her thumb and forefinger together twice, activating the electro-magnetic cores.
The sound was deafening, forcing Jade to scream involuntarily and clutch her ears in pain. She was shaking, her vision blurring. Her ears were ringing as she was finally able to hear again.
Jade reached up and felt her fully extended braids, marveling at their rigidity.
Once her hearing had completely recovered, she tapped her fingers together, deactivating the cores. Her braids floated limply in the air and Jade curiously went to the cockpit, sitting in her throne.
"Destiny, analyze decibel range of sound from main corridor."
After a moment, the ship's voice echoed, "Decibel range of one hundred ninety."
Jade shuddered, she was surprised she hadn't been deafened by the sound. She shook her head softly and looked at the projected time of arrival. "Seven hours."
She yawned, "Time to sleep then. Destiny, wake me up thirty minutes before we reach the station."
"Affirmative."
Jade lifted herself over the chair and ventured into her room. The gel bed had finished cleansing and she pushed herself onto it, feeling the familiar warmth. She focused on slowing her breathing and she closed her eyes, passing quickly into deep sleep.

In her dream, Jade stood on a slightly raised metal platform in the middle of a desert. The platform was massive, with sand covering the edges. Jade looked around, seeing nothing around her. She looked up into the sky and saw a single massive sun orbited by twelve planets and a ring of stars. Jade looked around her again and saw a massive wall of water closing in on her from all sides. She shut her eyes tight as she heard the water rushing around her.
Jade felt herself being carried away by the current. When she opened her eyes, she was back in her bed.
Jade blinked and sat up, unsure of herself.
She thought she could still hear the water rushing past her ears.
Jade shook her head and the bells brought her back to her senses. She could hear Destiny's alarm ringing within the bed and she pushed the third button, silencing the alarm. "Destiny, restore gravity.
Jade felt heavy for a moment, then the gravity stabilized and she rolled her shoulders. The countdown was now at thirty minutes.
Jade retrieved the headset from the floor and slid them over her ears. The screen in front of her had brought up a diagnostic of the space station. A light flashed on the instrument panel and Jade pushed it gingerly. An alien voice came over her headset, "X-Class starship, please respond."
Jade positioned the microphone in front of her mouth, "This is X-Class, go ahead."
There was a pause, then, "This is the Space Station Ender, please state your business and expected stay."
Jade hesitated, then said calmly, "Refuel and resupply. Expected stay no longer than forty-eight hours."
A minute passed, then another. Finally a response came, "X-Class you are cleared to engage docking procedures upon arrival."
Jade smirked, "Affirmative. ETA twenty-five minutes."
There was an audible click as the call ended. Jade sighed and pondered the contents of her cargo hold. She stood and turned to the back of her ship, going to the very end of the corridor to a locked panel.
Jade typed in an eight digit combination and the door swiftly slid open. The walls were lined with large storage compartments, though Jade wasn't worried about those. She counted her paces and stopped four paces from the door and she sidestepped right twice, touching her gloved fingers to the floor. The sound of gears and hydraulic pistons echoed throughout the room as a six foot by ten foot container lifted from the floor. Jade ran her fingers along the side of the container, opening the multitude of doors. As each door swung open, stacks of weapons and explosive devices became visible. This was the cargo that her target had been carrying. Since it no longer had an owner, it was worth a lot of money. Jade couldn't resist the possible fortune, bu

I forgot to water you
lied and betrayed you
you shriveled,
shrunk
and wrinkled

Yet you were
the most beautiful flower
who ever crossed my eyes

and your death
left me disassembled

Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests

There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.

all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.

Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.

Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...

Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain

And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.

And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart

Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.

We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.

On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.

I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Ojalá mi cara fuese atardecer de cien días
y se perdiese como música en la marea.
Ojalá mis notas fuesen fuego
que corriese raudo por tus venas.
Ojalá se perfumasen en el aire
y  diesen sentido al amanecer del alba.
Ojalá fluyesen como el agua
suavemente rizando la rojez del cielo.
Ojalá fuesen contundentes como la roca
y cayesen a plomo junto a mi corazón muerto.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Siempre cambiante, nunca la misma
subebajando en el horizonte.
Tierna y vibrante, siempre difusa
alzándose hacia el cielo con alas desplegadas.
Dulce y salada, externa e interna,
por ósmosis entrando por cada poro.
Pesada y rígida, sólida y pura
cercenando la realidad con su ser preciso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
siendo lo que no es,
no siendo lo que es.
En cada instante de su espacio manifestándose
en cada punto de su tiempo existiendo.
Única e indivisible, aunque difícilmente alcanzable.
Verdadera mentira que perdura tras los siglos.
Satírica cual elefante boca arriba
dando a luz a lo que siempre ha sido nuestro.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Saliendo hacia la luz verdadera
y tornando hacia la oscuridad traicionera.
Volando hacia arriba y en picado,
oteándose a si misma , eterna y cierta.
Creando un nuevo mundo igual a este,
igual de distinto que este a si mismo.
Imitando la certeza de lo incierto.
Pretendiendo con falsedades llegar al verso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y fuese objeto de su ser
y fuese sujeto de su haber
y se realizase siempre que le dieses tiempo
y se realizase siempre en lo que siempre fue
y avanzase inmóvil hacia la verdad
y esperase impasible a la mentira.
Ojalá de cada error saliese un mérito,
una esperanza, una virtud siempre precisa.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
tornando el arte arcana en ente nuevo,
aunque sea falso.
En estúpidas epifanías tornando el acto
cual poeta escribiendo estos versos.
Ojalá repetir versos pasados en lenguas nuevas
y llamarse artista.
Mero comentarista y observador
de lo que precedió en tiempo y espacio.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
existiendo con sólo pensarlo
negando el pensamiento mismo,
lógica implacable mintiendo mi rostro,
contradicciones inapelables mintiendo mi ser.
Con precisión matemática ser mentira,
con la etereidad del arte ser verdad.
Ojalá como estafador maestro ante tu mirar
se hiciese música que disfrutar.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz,.
Ojalá mi cara no fuese jazz.
Ojalá no tener cara, ni nada.
Ojalá el solo pensarlo me dejase ciega,
sorda para la música de mi rostro.
Ojalá pasar por debajo de una escalera tirada
para no recibir buena suerte.
Ojalá austera o inexistente,
cual dios mirando tu filosofía vana.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y unificase tantas corrientes
como puede abarcar con sus brazos.
Ojalá pudiese tornar cierta la realidad
por el mero hecho de pensarla, pero no puedo,
pero mi rostro se muestra impasible
ante desdicha tal y sigue avanzando;
regla dorada entre uñas de marfil,
largos palillos para comer la realidad desvirtuada.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y revolucionase el mundo con su pensar
y desmontase heregías como ciertas.
Ojalá años más tarde siguiese su lucha
contra el infiel divino hasta su muerte,
y como la de un mono con barba
se tornase contra el padre de la ciencia moderna,
y le enseñase a pensar en sueños,
a soñar en vida, a soñar en muerte.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y se repitiese eternamente para mi suerte,
nunca cambiando, siempre presente.
Ojalá asesinase al padre de todo
y se adueñase de su lugar.
Ojalá existir antes de ser.
Ojalá rodar por la vida sin mirar a los lados,
destruyendo lo que tantas veces nos ha aplastado
y creando la belleza del arte, que es eterna.

//

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my night were sunset of one hundred days
and it lost itself like music in the tides.
I wish my notes were fire
which ran swift in your veins.
I wish they would perfume itself in the air
and gave meaning to the morning's sunrise.
I wish they flowed like water
softly curling the sky's redness.
I wish they were sturdy like rock
and they plummeted next to my dead heart.

I wish my face were jazz.
Always changing, never the same.
updowning in the horizon.
Tender and vibrating, always diffuse
rising towards the sky with open wings.
Sweet and salty, extern and intern,
by osmosis entering through each pore.
Heavy and rigid, solid and pure
cutting through reality with its precise being.

I wish my face were jazz
being what it is not,
not being what it is.
In every instant of its space manifesting itself
in every point of its time existing.
One and indivisible, although hardly reachable.
True lie which endures beyond centuries.
Satiric like elefant on its head
giving birth to what always has been ours.

I wish my face were jazz.
Going out to the true light
and turning to the treacherous darkness.
Flying upwards and in a dive,
scanning itself, eternal and true.
Creating a new world equal to this,
equally as distinct as this to itself.
Imitating the certainty of the uncertain.
Trying with falseness to reach the verse.

I wish my face were jazz.
and it were object of its being
and it were subject of its having
and it came true always you gave it time
and it came true always in what it always was
and it moved fordward unmoving towards the truth
and it waited impasible the lie.
I wish of every error a merit would come out,
a hope, a virtue ever precise.

I wish my face were jazz
turning arcane art into a new being,
even if false.
Into stupid epiphanies turning the act
as a poet writing this verses.
I wish to repit old verses in new tongues
and to call myself an artist.
Mere commentator and observer
of what preceded it in time and space.

I wish my face were jazz.
Existing with only thinking of it,
negating thought itself,
implacable logic lying my visage,
unnappealable contradictions lying my being.
With mathematical precision being a lie,
with the ethereality of art being the truth.
I wish that like master con artist before your looking
it turned itself into music to enjoy.

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my face weren't jazz.
I wish I didn't have a face, nor anything.
I wish only thinking of it made me blind,
deaf to the music of my visage.
I wish passing under a fallen ladder
to not receive good luck.
I wish austere or non-existant,
like god looking at your vane philosophy.

I wish my face were jazz,
and it unified so many streams
like it can embrace with its arms.
I wish I could turn reality true
with the mere act of thinking it, but I can't,
but my visage shows itself impassible
before such misfortune and continues onwards;
golden rule among ivory nails,
long chopsticks to eat the desvirtuated reality.

I wish my face were jazz
and it revolucionised the world with its thinking
and it disassembled heressies as true.
I wish years later its fight would continue
against the divine infidel until his death,
and like a bearded monkey's
it would turn itself against the father of modern science,
and it taught him to think in dreams,
to dream in life, to dream in death.

I wish my face were jazz
and it repited itself enternally to my fortune,
never changing, always present.
I wish it assassinated the father of everything
and took its place.
I wish existing before being.
I wish rolling through life without looking sideways,
destroying that which always has crushed us
and creating the beauty of art, which is timeless.

She was walking towards the river with her feet bare and her white silk disassembled; they said she was a loathed cathedral of despair as a ruined, beloved garden,  she is all that is left.

“Will you hold my hands  or leave me?
Should I wait until we're together?”

she sang her lullaby as she let her body float.  while she holds her sweet eulogies, it’s all what she has, gazing upon the sky, giving in at the temptation.

“please don’t make me wait forever”

the words linger in the water as her breath goes into oblivion.

All-new
****** lands
(except for the natives)
dying to be properly deflowered and nailed and ******* and erroded
to make way for gun forts and gold mines
(they can be built!)
they're called Zale's and they love money
funny, not to all but to enough
call them crazy call them savage
but maybe they just love their homes
and don't own the kinds of weapons that make the loudest noise
but that **** the slowest and with least dignity.
Color-me a Cosmo girl
fit to be cover material, just look at my hair
look at Pocahontas, you know she was bald?
Hideous, un-English in every way
probably because she wasn't
but gotta give credite where credit is rejected, overdrawn
maybe never even earned just splurged and secreted
but wanna hear a secret?
The land belongs to nobody
not a soul not a body not a mind
they knew this but knew others were destroying it
that's why they were mad,
not because they were children who had their toys stolen
but because a living lifeless matter was being assaulted
catapulted into the future of steam engines and fried chicken
feathers blowing in the winds of convertables
they took scalps to maybe open the minds to the error of ways
not that one's head should be disassembled
but one can't seem so oblivious or wide eyed when shown the  facts
of obvious emotional response
but we are young
dinosaurs were old and we have time to forget.

And maybe we are all a little broken but that's okay because I know some people throw out their old broken things but others notice that they are broken and love them even more because they see the imperfections as beautiful. And there are others who look down at tiny little shattered pieces and get the glue and magnifying glass and get a table out they haven't seen in years and put all the pieces on it. And they sit down for hours and days putting it back together knowing that it will never be what everyone else sees as perfect again but it will be together and damaged but it will be loved. Because the first time it was created it was instantly whole and someone else thought it was good enough. But a lot of things are just good enough. Every single Hershey's kiss looks the same except for the ones labeled as mistakes. Those are less likely to occur. But if they turned out this way normally than we would consider our current norm abnormal. So then the normal would be abnormal and the abnormal would be normal. It's all perspective. So the guy who spent all that time fixing you thinks you're absurdly and absolutely perfect. Because he saw the broken bits that were your original as even better than the whole you started as. Some people just get a few cracks in shipping and some people want the discounted price. But you gotta find the ones who see scars as beauty marks. That's what it's all about. Perspective. We are like this because we aren't like everybody else. We have the abnormal make. We are the 3 am word fighters and the night riders. We are all the bad and the good and we speak in bittersweet tongues. Nobody can fix us because we aren't broken. We are disassembled and can build ourselves. We don't need anyone else's tool chest because we have one right below our rib cage. Our lungs are practically indestructible because they know just how sacred air can be. We are the strong because we've cried ourselves to sleep and thought that was normal. We are the ones who were told they were doing it wrong the first time they cut but were strong enough to realize that they were wrong and there is no right way to destroy yourself. We are the future. We are the pain. We are the daydreamers who know how brilliant the sky looks at 4:27 am east coast time in Atlanta. And just because we've thrown up in too many bathrooms and told too many family members we ate before we got there, that sure as hell doesn't mean we aren't craving life and have had too many heartaches for breakfast. We are the ones who rolled over in bed and realized that the boy was gone and that we would have to hug ourselves. My shoulders are strong from carrying the weight of the world. Our eyes think that floods are normal because that's all they have seen. I have lived my life walking along the train tracks trying to find a way to get home. All I have gotten is calluses on my feet and strangers dreams in my heart. We keep them there. We carry the letters of the broken hearted and deliver them to the lost. As we saved others we lost ourselves. And then we look up and see the stars and realize that there's this whole galaxy that we are. We are everyone's broken promises and expired wishes. We carry the spirits of the deceased and the never born. We hold on to the spirits of the people who changed. I've cried myself to sleep too many **** nights for one person so I know I am the embodied spirit of everyone who's never had a voice and everyone who has needed one. We are the ones who were pushed against a wall and didn't say no because we thought that was the only love we may ever get and didn't realize just how twisted it was to trust a boy who treated you like trash and to think his kisses were your anti depressants when they were your poison.  But then we wake up and push him off and say, "Boy, I don't need you. You were nothing but heartache and pain. You see these scars? Don't tell me to stop until you are there to take away the ******* blade. Do not tell me suicide is a joke because every single part of me has thought it was a blessing at one time or another. Do not ever touch me until the day you will not be repulsed by the blood or *****. Do not tell me you are not in to scars because that is all you have left on both my body and my heart."And we are the sad nights where the boy you just fell in love with leaves on a plane to go home to California. We are the tropical islands where we met the loves of our lives. I am the tears I shed on the balcony in the Bahamas the night I got so scared I may never see you again. I am the song I sang out to the tropical storm winds that night where I repeated, "love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." I am the same girl who pushed the tears off her cheeks after letting their significance sink in and put on her makeup to go out and fake a few smiles. We are the ones who take care of the drunk girl we just met even though the boy we love just left. We are the ones who love our fathers even though they’ve broken more than a few bones in their lifetime. We are the ones who have treasure chest souls where children hide their keepsakes so that in twenty five years they can tell the story of their discovery to a 6 year old little girl with huge green eyes. We are the freckles on the lonely girls shoulder that made a beautiful boy fall in love with her; yet she wishes she could erase them. And we are the long distance phone calls between broken lovers that last 1 hour and 6 minutes and deliver lost hopes and shattered promises. We are the weddings that unite two people who thought about stepping in front of buses just 8 years before. We are the ones who cried on bathroom floors thinking it was our fault but stopped when we thought someone would hear. We are those who never want to be seen as weak because we don't want anyone to figure out that we can't always hold it all together. We are the ones who are bones and flesh and have died because their souls and bodies were robbed of nutrients. We are the ones who bled out on the carpet and weren't found for days. We are the student deaths that never made the announcement and never got a commemorative tree. There is nothing beautiful about sadness. But there is something beautiful about watching destruction save itself. There's something beautiful about terrible moments that turn gorgeous. We are the thorns that were trimmed back too soon because no one ever realized we were a rose. And we were never broken. We just needed to be too many heroes at once. So sometimes we get stretched too thin because our souls are too wide. Because there are a lot of broken promises and heart breaks and love affairs and sad minds and beautiful days and long nights that we must embody. We are the ones who would never change being all those things because we like having an ever changing soul. We are the ones who must fight to live even though we have patchwork hearts and memories that are in love with romanticizing the past. We must fight because when we die, others die with us. All the things we have carried and delivered turn to ash and lay beside us in a velvet and oak box for the rest of eternity on the day we are lowered in to the ground. But in reality we know that things will get better because the grandmothers dreams of an education located in our left knee cap on the right hand side tell us to never give up. So that's what we do. We listen to the demons in our souls and the angels that also pay rent. But we carry all our memories even when they jab us in the ribs and make us believe that we will never breathe again. But we are breathing. We are living and the daughter we are yet to have needs us to tell her about the world. Because I pray she has a soul like mine so that I may show her that the world is both bitter and sweet but that every single thing looks better after thinking you'd seen the most beautiful thing in the world. So we keep these bodies and live our lives so that we may realize that there are many more parts of us that magnifying glasses don't show and pounds can't measure.  And we hold on for everyone but must learn to hold the firmest grip for ourselves. Because I will always love that boy who left the island with the crystal clear water and I will never forget the girl who told me I didn't destroy myself in the right way. And I am okay with that. I am okay with carrying these things. I am used to the weight of noth the beautiful and the terrible. And although it makes me feel empty at times, I realize that it is only because my ever hungry soul is still craving even more life.

oh but my face is recognisable,
it's recognisable because
without adventure,
without adventure entrapped
in plato's cavern depth
of thought and shadow,
and upon no promise of release,
kept chained, with no chance
to look sidewise and write,
but look backtracking the first trek
and make a fulfilling life doubly worth
a book's worth of shiva destroying
vishnu's english middle class homes...
no adventure, only skull heads as heady tombs,
no adventures upon our way
into the cold, less ore upon a bench
than bicep keen on the paddle
if lessening be keen to think,
where the adventure? where?!
what, you mean juggling tomato, potato, tomato
between english and american accents?
that the couch, that the potato?!
you farting out the canned applause too?
i bet you are... and they will say...
it's norway... it's norway!
but they vetoed european membership
because half the voters were post colonials...
vegan hindus voted no... pakis voted no...
minority rabbits in general voted no...
to be honest i'm with them,
if john paul ii was black smoke i'd applaud,
if the iron curtain never disassembled i'd be home,
i wouldn't have to listen to western democratic
brown-nosing affairs...i'd be home, and happily to
be there... rather than in the glorified west of
fake saints trying to introduce dialectics
from a standpoint of youth, given old age
didn't bother, so eager for the eager ******
mid-life in crisis of a family to be never had.
i'd stay, yes, i'd stay behind the iron, curtain,
i'd rather stay there than be all "liberal,"
peddling on a bicycle pamphlets of the solidarity movement,
they said solidarity, they said hawaii awaits
and mass emigration,
then asking capitalism to regroup and sell atheism,
of late,
to group atheists, to collectivise,
like the grouping economy of insects
of exclusion - termite mounds and spider webs -
which would be communism -
but then the predatory lions and tigers
bundled up for dodo fates:
while we conceived a complete fake ***
nationalism of being forged by the now sepia
of history long gone: we learned being
english due to irish racism;
something to do with ***** count
and pints of Guinness: a ja to wiem:
bo anglik zbyt wielki... to na polaka!
patrz gdzie ten królik pędzi bracie,
bo wraz z czymś innym co widisz cie zabierze
w pogrzebanie ćmy z cieniem.

So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.

the wood floor a sea
of contradictions
wake there with a disassembled
sense of last night
the fragments of a womans kiss
lay there pink lipstick clinging to its vestiges
shards of a rain swept street
and the quiet of a november thunderstorm
pools of darkness uninterrupted by the wind
pieces of a man laughing without humor
this wood floor holds the key
but to discover truth in the
littered expanse of bottles
benith the layers of dust lain down
by the years
the wood floor becomes a trap
a puzzle prison
the mind grapples with

Every other guy before you,
somewhere between midnight conversations, interrupted by coffee stains and the dreams that woke me up to talk to them, I fell in love.  One listened to history podcasts to fall asleep. One made me skip class so he could drive me two hours out of town and show me the home he grew up in. Another, used to draw my hands on pamphlets hidden under the pews at the back of the church. And each of these things is the seed, sun, and soil for my affection which maybe you understand, because someone does something you respect, admire, and want and all of a sudden, bam, they're so much more than they were before. And with every single person, I realized. I realized I was in love with the presence of their words and the feel of their existence.
But I did not love them.
I met you, and you wrote love stories on my flesh with your finger tips, and I saw your eyes groan with exhaustion in the morning, and you taught me how to be a bigger, better, stronger person. Every day with you feels like a Sunday morning with crisp bedsheets and lazy smiles, and you took me until my life wasn't mine anymore. You took me as a hostage, you got inside my head, piece by piece you disassembled my suit of armor and showed me how to love a person, rawly and deeply and I could never be the same after that. I loved who you are. The way your hands held my hipbones and your lips stole the end of my sentences, when we would drive home from the beach in your car the sunset would be blossoming with love. I don't know what to tell you, other than a giraffes heart ways 22 pounds, and when flies fall in love their entire brain is rewired to only knowing loving each other, and when one dies their memory goes blank. And my loving you was never about what I could get out of it, or what you could make me, but how full I could make you. And if I can't love you as a lover, I will love you as a friend, or however the song goes. But I know what I need in this world, and it's hidden behind your knees and in your hair and sometimes sits between your shoulder blades. And I know sometimes you can't decide if you want to *******, break down and cry, or eat a whole pizza but the entire spectrum of who you are reflects all the pages I could fill with the reasons why you are a spectacular person, Adrian, and you are the one, sealed with a kiss, you are my sun and stars, my stormy night, and you are stained onto my skin like the scar on my knee.

And with my ****** and romantic "experience," that you think I have more of, I promise you no one could fill the space you left. And even though what I gave you and how I loved you might not be what you want, I can also promise you no one will feel like that about you ever again. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, you decide. And even if I don't have you, I will have every single memory. I will have the drive-in, I will have the row, I will have lying in the grass outside my house, holding you. And I will never forget what you made me.

isn't it funny how we can now
identify rivers from the air

i see colored squares of grass
living beneath this metal machine
a vantage point that
humans sought from birds

we were always searching for flight formulas
or aiming slingshots toward the stars
maybe writing songs for the gods

sweet melodic pleas
so we could levitate-
separate
into angel dust

precipitation-
sweaty droplets of liquefied soul
drowning the mississippi
in pulls of poison
from my past lives' organs

the very air
that dares to guard the rain
contains all of the oxygen
those bodies had
smoked to stay awake

I wake up in the morning and think, how rude of me to wake up without warning. Because I'm a grenade. Just look at all of the promises I've made, that I know I can't keep. I try my best to go back to sleep; but I can't.
       So I dress myself in yellow caution tape, close the drapes, turn out the light and tell myself no one will find me here but I know they might.
       I hang a stop sign on the outside of the door and lock it, put the key in my otherwise empty pocket and scream, "This is a danger zone, don't come near. there is only hazardous waste in here!"

             I didn't know you were fearless.
Or that you could break down a door.
Never  thought you'd caress me, pick me up off the floor
and say "But, you used to be so full of life."
Those words cut through me like a knife because I remember when butterflies still lived in my stomach and fireflies lived in my eyes.
they're dead now. I'm not surprised.
But, could you maybe bring them back to life?
They haven't taken flight since we slept in the meadow that night.
When I realized, after all those hours laying in a field of flowers,
That I am the flower you disassemble Petal by Petal.
as you chant "she loves me, she loves me not."  about some other girl. And I try not to rant, because we've never fought. But I don't want to listen to you tell me how her hair glistens in the sun, or how she bites her lip when you call her Hon. I don't want to hear it. I don't want you to give my biggest fear a name or face I could recognize. I'm just hoping you scrutinized me petal by petal as you disassembled my petals with another ******* your mind. and that's why you're back now. That you don't know how, but your thoughts trailed or that other girl failed you. And while you were moping you thought of me broken, scattered Petal by Petal. And your heart shattered at the thought so you bought a one way ticket and broke down my door. Because you realized while you were moping that you love me and you were stupid before. maybe i'm wrong and you shouldn't have to settle.

I'm just hoping,  you'll put me together again Petal by Petal
© copyrighted *Nicole Ann Osborn

you,
you are poison ivy.
growing in my heart, sprouting first as a little bud at the base and then wrapping your tendrils and vines around tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe.

you are poison ivy
itching at the disassembled strands of my affections and i want to tear my chest open, pluck off the petals of my heart, hands coated in pollen and
tell you
there are no more petals
left to give.

you are poison ivy
you still spread your arms around me, reaching for more that i can give, lathering my pollen into every crevice of your poison skin.

you are a silver bulb and I am the moth that attaches to it, shadowing your every move,
the way your fork always grazes your plate before
you
set it down.
The way you run your fingers over the delicate arch of your ear or how you draw the sides of your books close together when you read,
as if trying to pull the
literature close to your body, letting it seep into your naked eyelids.

I wish i was that literature.

There was a whole new garden of emotions, of loss and sorrow sprouting delicately at my fingertips and
you
were not aware and
now all i want is to uproot my garden and start again.

you are poison ivy

and i can't stand you, that itching that feels like screaming and ripping and scarring

You were an itch that i scratched over and over until i bled

and once the bleeding had stopped and the cuts had scabbed over
I itched it again

and

again

and

again.

Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.

Disintegrate the temples
Men wrought of continental stone
Mountain disassembled
And raised here
To form
Buildings
Razed here
By the alchemy
Of green plants
And the elements
Of dark twisting lines
In my imaginings:
Even now
The dust begins to pile upon the ground
And the golden city fades
Beneath the growing green image.

Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.

Weave vine tendrils
Into the fabric
Of the stone,
Clamber over solemn tombs
What one life raised
Another will surpass,
Must first embrace its artifacts
And then exceed
And render into dust
The particles
Turn roundward.

Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.
Reintegrate the dust
To continental stone
In dark mantle
Mountain reassembled
And raised here
By alchemy
Of the earth
Turning in another million years
Beneath new life
Raised here.

Dark emerald
Twisting lines of my imaginings
Creep upward
O'er the cold hard walls.

In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday
Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns
And stuffing them miserly in my jowls
The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul

As age condemns my faculties
I pull, from my once copious jowl
A jewel of sorts
A garnet set in fool’s gold

My memory is manufactured
Assembled and disassembled
No longer what was or is or will be
But was and is and never has been

I confine my thoughts to winter
Where barren fields and sterile trees
Offer less to recollect
And empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences

I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.

First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.

Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.

Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.

Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.

Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again

P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.

It’s cold in here.
Cold in her fingers
In her toes
In her nose
In her chest.
Cold icy fingers
Crawling up her throat
Ball into fists there
But they don’t melt.
Burning icy hot there,
Freezing all the words there
Adding Help and other desperate sobs
To the lump there.

You see,
She’s had this blanket,
This beautiful blanket she’s had since birth,
And it was tightly woven,
Stitched with love,
And so so warm.
And it’s always been there,
When the coldness crept in,
And she’d close her eyes
And reach for her blanket.

Even when the blanket started unraveling,
Started sporting holes
Leaving uncovered toes,
She didn’t mind
Because she was mostly warm anyway.
And even when the blanket took on
The smell of ethanol
Blindly she’d reach for it,
And Blindly she’d tuck it away,
Because it still made her feel warm enough anyway.

Well, she used the blanket
Until there it lay in tatters
Unrecognizable to her fingertips in the dark.
So, she opened her eyes.
The blanket wasn’t even a blanket anymore.

Hadn’t this been the way it began though?
She saw the disassembled ball of yarn
That was her blanket
Even before her blanket became a blanket
So in a way,
This blanket was really only
Fancifully packaged yarn
And that was all anybody could expect it to be.
And yarn on it’s own
Doesn’t do a great job
At keeping little girls warm.

She tried hard not to be disappointed,
But she was.

So as the ice crept up her calves,
Into her tummy,
And again up her throat,
She closed her eyes and held herself.
She’d let her yarn be just yarn,
And wiped her own tears away.

mechanical wonders are they!
the greatness of ever-changing plains
withered weathering willows which wallow in the wake of winds,
shriveling, sniffling, cynical twins.

solaris, the fantastical bringer of light!
oh how we lift our faces in your fruit-bearing gaze.
our thanks for extinguishing the inky blight, you have given us sight.
we miserable, entangled creatures in locks and chains,
at the mercy of the return of your fiery blaze.
we rely on Pandora’s final curiosity
and during times of ultimate crisis, we wish for you
and pray for catharsis.

but your sister…

luna, you wretched being, wrecker of sanity!
oh how you unravel the psyche, fibrous ends,
intertwining tapestries meticulously woven yet disassembled so quickly.
we are aghast at the horrors with which you plague us.
each stare through the mirror, reversed pools of vanity
freckles of light fall from their places
on weary onlookers’ shadowy faces
as they melt in the hysterics of your obscure domain.

finally a farewell, an intonation of speech:
“good-bye.”
discombobulated words, addressed to each;
for one sister revitalizes that which the other hath slain.

Yale’s friday “spring fling” was a soggy success - both as a concert and super spreader event. My groove-spirit was dampened by weather and a final I had the next morning.

I pose here tonight, in the chill residential courtyard, on my green sport-brella beach chair, like Canova’s Pauline Borghese, relaxed, canned *****-martini in hand, still untouched by the covid menace - as if I’d taken sagacious care in avoiding it.

The waxing crescent moon is strutting its familiar runway, like a vague, ambient night-light, but what should we expect for free? Maybe it’s saving itself for warm, clear summer skies.

I can relax tonight and binge on the moon because the school year is over (for me).

I’d been in a coffee-fueled study-trench for over a week, finishing my last assignment paper with my last gasp of academic energy. It illustrated what could be crafted in a vacuum void of originality. I filled it with ideas, gathered like runoff-water, from deeper sources and tailored the paragraphs with care, weaving by sleight, the 3D illusions of depth, breadth and substance. It was very well received. taking a bow

I love the feeling of being done with finals but still living on campus. It’s casual, adult and relaxed - close to life as I dreamed it as a kid.

My room is disassembled and I’m living out of my suitcase. Movers will come and cart off our stuff Monday. Leong and I will head south - like wrong way birds. I hate goodbyes but knowing these are temporary helps. Most of my summer will be like one continuous sleepover.

Happy Mother's Day!

When he runs his hands together
It sounds like sandpaper
Waiting to shape raw wood
They're rough because life isn't always easy
But hard work makes it worth it

Because cost and value don't measure success
If he had nothing to own, he wouldn't be worth any less

On Saturdays, we watched the History Channel and ate donuts with forks
Sometimes my grandfather would tell me his tales

I learned about cooking
Always season it well and prepare a bit more
Because there's no telling who'll show up at your door

I learned about fire
Like life, it's relentless, but you always fight back

I learned about chivalry
It may be asleep, but it'll never die
Because opening doors, compliments, and hand-written notes can keep love alive

And I owe me to him
I am a man because he led my way
He brought me out of darkness
Without ever knowing he was the light

We built model airplanes from Balsa wood
And classic cars from plastic;
Our dreams are simply disassembled pieces
There's no rules or instruction
We can build whatever we want

when for what
have you
stare
in
to
eyes
that are
what for when
ewe took my hand along yore swollen perambulations into nights devoid of air
ewe have never swallowed a trace of light that ewe cannot reflect upon as dust
entombed in heavens disassembled from unleavened brethren
there was always
a core to yore
whimsical strut
as if an avenue
could hold yore
internals eternal
those mettling metals we unleash upon with our ****** toes
galavanting
pearls asunder thunder’s weeping reigns of unsubstantiated all

never there was
a timid breath
ewe did not urn
as if spells of broken gesticulations could volley
a scant clue of what it was to become nothing
that type that trite time follows as we sear
magic into our concrete organs
as if all concrete weren’t asphalt awaiting coal
i succumbed upon your neck
and caught sinewy glimpses of your entanglements as if driven into shock
ewe never stopped smiling
and
in
me
ewe
never
will

Chronology Dynamo(Cogwheel Goddess)

Excogitation; twiddling my thumbs…

My eyes are glued to the soil beneath me; I shall sink into the mud.

The winds embrace my untimely surge of vain equations.

My metacarpals have contorted; supplication exhausts my soul.

“You my Goddess, who I look to for Time, yes Time and solace“.

“Thou shall not reveal to me vicissitudes of vernal decay”

“When shall the Great Harvest arrive?”

“I ask myself this oh Mother of Divine Infinity; Scythe of Era in the hands of thou.”

-When-

-When shall my flowering forth arrive from aegis wings?-

I sweat; I bleed; I murmur; I fade; I glow; “now what am I?”

Translucent in skin; hollow to the core; dying to warp through dimensions; lithe like a sylph.

Her diadem is one of metallic gears and bejeweled bolts; a Manufactured Diety of the Glorious Space and Time.

Her blade of mascara beautifies those who gaze upon her luminous needle lashes;

Her apparel that of disassembled clocks.

The sand of the hourglass composes her tears and blood; she bleeds out every second of wasted chronology.

Her corona is iridescent and she is one with The Universe.

“Ye shall not waste Time, yes, Time, for it is the essence to all things that are and all things that are not!”

She speaks to me as the nebulae around her glimmer, adorned with supernovae creating a phantasmagorical and celestial overload.

My eyes are clocked with sensory overload; so many colors and luminous neon lights.

“Before the collapse of Mother Earth; the Liminal Sphere, you must feed the Galaxies with the brilliance of your heart.”

-When the rivers of time run dry-

-Act-

-Do Not Wait…-
  
*By Sanders M. Foulke III

~


Layers upon layers,
flaking residue...
scraping at the inner walls of my heart,
priming the ruins of my disassembled dreams while
masking off all hope of bleeding out or bleeding on

“Dare I bleed in the color of missing you?”

Scratches filled in with crayon,
vacant hues...
only on or outside of the lines of love
Woeful stick figures dancing to a lonely song,
played by the empty roller lashed to my hand

“Would you dare touch my handprints....smear them?”

Minutes take hours to pass, but who cares,
Que Sera Sera...
the old Zenith finds Doris Day happy,
nice someone can be
stirring a smile within a gallon of semi-(g)loss

“Why is the sale brand in barren tones?”

I cringe at the thought of another moment in this position,
base boards...
bent over and touching up,
flat lining without an edge,
waiting for your touch, your tinted smile...waiting your approval

*“Like watching paint dry...”

The bourne conspiracy isn’t held in shades of reflected gray, but the raging current of rosewater.

Soldiers of fortune draped in dandelions uprooted from Napoleon’s farm.

Bronte’s web grows thick inhaling inherent rice.

Nonsense picked up in jabberwocky from a novelized wookiee.

IQ bound success clubs playing the most dangerous game, hunting Will.

Ents chopped and sold over borders, bought back sixfold as disassembled chairs.

Hard hitting lines of north Dallas long past the forty, placating the rules for larger shares.

Everything's out now
In the air, in the open
On the table
Spilling over the sides
More to come
Still, I'm just not sure this was the right way to go about it

I want to take some back
Though it felt so cathartic to unload
The empty space vacated
Is hungry for the secrets I've given away
The fresh void
Craves the pampered memories
The lost recollections that once glowed with shame
I miss the skeletons I've evicted from my soul closet
Recklessly disassembled
Tossed out with no rhyme or reason
Onto this pyre
Too late to turn back now, I've already lit the fire
I could reach in, perhaps
Sacrifice fingers or hands to retrieve precious few
But which ones?
Would they be enough to fill the churning stomach?
Would I grow to resent them for the ones that weren't chosen?
No...best to let them all burn with limbs and digits intact

The excavation process seemed so simple at the time
Heavy weights lifted from my shoulders
The promise of a bright and shining future
Unburdened by revelation I thought I could offer
So sure it would change lives, not the least of which
My own
How naïve to believe
It was worth anything in the first place
It belonged with the dancing skeletons
In the hole with the transparent ghosts of guilt
Evil twin, doppelganger of gravity
To pull me down into sinful reality

I loved them all

I still do
Though I'm quite sure I've murdered them
They will never die
My salvation comes only in the knowledge
That they belong to the past,
Unable to survive outside of the paradigm in which they are imprisoned,
And that it is my very nature
As a human being
To live in the present moment
In which they have no power

Lately, I've been disassembled,
Rest assured... in shambles.
And my minds been sliding
About the tasteless hardwood floors,
Collecting delicacies unknown to sadnesses.
It's been a while since I've tried to drown,
But I think on the corner of the kitchen
And lounge-room floors,
My mind found something
Worth living for...
How ever subconscious it may remain.

What do you do when your
faith has been shattered?
When the very words that you have been dreading to hear have finally
been spoken?

What do you do when the
answers to your
questions
leave you more broken
and disassembled
than ever before?

I don't know...
and I cannot fight these tears
in my eyes any longer.

I am Heavy-lidded tonight,
Heavy-lidded
and inscrutable in my childhood.

My childhood that was spent hysterical in airing cupboards,
Where I wept unashamedly to the fixed God
And the stained glass, rose-hewn Angels of churches
That reeked of oak and holy water.
Where I sat in the trees, high on life and vanila-blue ice cream
And with knees skinned by the ****** pathways of woods
Or the safe gravels of playgrounds.

Where sunbursted mangoes dripped with musky-sanded chlorine
And the sun-hot metal gates clanged shut in the holiday winds.
Where rocks were thrown by fated children
And paper-cheap candy wrappers filled up plastic trash cans.
Where strange, money-minded housewives gaggled and giggled
With their ******-white teeth
And reflected my mother' s bipolar poverty
In the lenses of their plastic sunglasses.
Where my self-hemmed summer dresses were stained
With green and brown and red finger paint
As the days outside grew warmer
And the inside self grew older,
Colder.

Where I was punished for expression of the self
And confined to the sanatorium
Or the offices of Moloch's servants
On a sun-stippled day in May
Where my scrap-bruised hands
Were bandaged by the words of the Real World
And threatenings of expulsion.
Where I hid behind felted display boards
On a landing somewhere near Neverland,
And lay and listened to the friend-fuelled ramblings of lost boys
Who sat and smoked in dormitories
And hallucinated Peter Pan.
Where I wrote self-indulgent fuckery in toilets
And drew crude artistries on mirrors with lipstick
And contemplated
Amo
Amas
Amat
As I sat and stared at my own disassociated hands.

Where paper aeroplanes flew and were thrown
By hungover kids in threadbare jumpers
With chewed cuffs and prefect badges,
Where holy Evian was poured over my head
After a long last day under a white marquee,
Where I disassembled pencil sharpeners with iron-smelling razor blades
and violated erasers at an exam hall desk in a stormy June.

Where I contemplated death;
Sang hymns in the darkness of my bedroom,
Took a blade to my flesh
Like the soulless piece of meat
That I believed myself to be.
Where I fell in love;
Hurt myself
More than anyone else ever did.
Where I read,
Where I wrote tear stained elegies
To my idols under the earth
And prayed that I
Would last
Just one more day.

Should I define the explanation
I love a good cross examination
You interject so crudly I have to question
The reasoning for this strange expedition
a useless attempt on your part my dear
Maybe you’ll trip over the truth this year
A fruitless Journey, Mr District Attorney
A disarrayed and unbelievable story  
You weave a dark and deceitful tale
conceited hard headed unfortunate male
Misdirectting the jury cheap distraction
waiving a wand for a nice reaction
It will not change or alter the facts
The truth always finds its way back
Cleverly worded and with particular jabs
Aimed to destroy any chance you had
skillfully and with style and wit
Disassembled every lie you tried to get away with
determined and with direct intent
Eviscerated and attacked your defense
Easily directed and earned the  jurors trust
With the ease of a professional psychiatrist
But all of this is not in vain
A lesson here has been learned and gained