i.
lovely cigarette
cradled in soft fingers,
inhaled by
smoky lips,
tempting me.

ii.
fingertips grazing
over velvet skin,
traveling with the grooves \
of my body,
electrocuting me.

iii.
darkness engulfs
heaving bodies. '
breath heavy,
hushed moans cut off
by hot kisses,
soothing me.

iv.
one last cigarette,
ending satisfaction.
crooked grins.
smoke swirling above,
embracing me.

i don't have a conspiracy theory... i just have an encyclopaedia of adverts... western intelligence is squandered on pub quizzes and trivia knowledge shows... spies are like magicians, although a spy's audience is a bunch of journalists high on tarantula venom, quote: (uh... what's going on?) take any stoner to speak that bracket.*

when my parents were eight, they were still
blossoming in a natural environment,
using the inherited tongue like a hammer:
here's the nail, here's a plank of wood,
now hammer that thought of yours in.
aged eight i was thrown into the deep end,
having to learn a new language, as somehow
unlearn my mother's tongue, i didn't budge,
i kept it scheming, rather than subconscious,
i didn't repress it... thrown into the deep end
i didn't become like most migrants
"assimilated", i.e. losing heritage... i kept it
(just in case)... now the chameleon of me
is about... suit & tie... then tracksuit bottoms...
no little russian kakashka (little ****)
would dare **** me, all the information i have
is useless... it's too personal...
i was supposed to be the rebound guy...
she sort of faked using anti-contraceptives...
i ended up a boomerang after seeing all
the possibilities of education...
that's the thing with the west and education,
it, just, doesn't, work... because all the menial
jobs have been exported, the west is sort
of puzzle-box tied in terms of hands able,
with hands actually disabled...
this excess outpouring of poetry is one sign,
the obvious one, excess poetry as deviation
from a chronology of illiteracy and books left
in the shadows and dust and crematoriums...
you tend to write poetry when you're either
illiterate or haven't read much that's on offer...
read the least number of books, then you get
to write poetry, simple as Victoria sponge or
bechamel sauce for a lasagne, motto being:
just keep stirring that flour into the frying butter,
just keep stirring, then slowly keep adding
onion bay leaf nutmeg infused milk slowly...
just keep on stirring...
western society likes bureaucracy, by way of
exporting the ideal that's democracy,
but it's so ******* n'ah! keep slang as an expression
of encrypted onomatopoeia, keep slang
as disguised nouns in onomatopoeias...
russians love poetry, hence they tend to send poets
into the gulag... in western society they
take poets to be raw meat and send a dozen flies in
to **** sperms into it, to clarify:
pornographic actors get paid, poets don't...
O masters of this glorious sphere, what will
this Eden Project prove? a third eye that's Voyeurism
en masse? when the blow-over fringe was running
for president i just said (no, no hindsight):
i wouldn't laugh... imagine a female pope!
women are not supposed to wear the Kippah...
western society in crisis; today i was watching the
film Cleopatra (1963) and there was so much dialogue!
take a movie from 2015 or 2016 and the dialogue
you get is: TNT BOOM BOOM BOOM!
CGI that's a fake of pixels being arable for the original
intention... the great decline... it only too one hit...
one ******* hit... and it ended up being a K.O.
you'd think they'd be able to take more... but Islam
became a Mike Tyson... *******... take one more hit!
what you're seeing now is what's called
the paradox of treating democracy as Utopia,
democracy isn't Utopia (Churchill said)...
but this is the unravelling, treat democracy as
the sole expression of utopia and then watch when
something alien hits it... one smack and you're out...
treating democracy as utopian politics is false,
too many self interests and too much bureaucracy;
or i can example my father for you...
two Lithuanian labourers employed by a company
****** up his drill... they weren't electrocuted
(the drill was wet), because if they were
the effect of electrocution would be like that of
an electron cloud the glue of keeping the proton
and neutron nucleus intact, the thing electrocuting
would be like a crocodile's jaw snap, you wouldn't
be able to let go... instead they became Lithuanian
vandals... smashed the thing... and what about
being self-employed and having his wages cut
once in a while? self-employment is the norm in western
societies... because the boss of BHS took a big fat
pay-cheque for a yacht with Kate Moss on it
while employee pensions went down the drain or
into Hawking's theory of black holes colliding...
zero hour contracts to match up the statistics...
western powers are mad to export their ideals...
i wouldn't trust them with a water-pistol,
and you know why? they'd just want an Iraqi to
wear Nike trainers and eat a Big Mac.

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad

And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

Beware this trickster, out to bewitch
She crawls into your bed and it makes you itch
Dim-lit may be my lanterns
Imagination figments
Accompany, me in my sleep
Willing suspension of disbelief

I had it coming
My snow blankets are melting
Your garden's disappointing
As are you Sir Dementor
I see now you're grey and decayed
Not worth a single cent paid
Fungi verses my bouquet
In Some Unholy War

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

Well yes I know of the animal
In me a smothering towel
Bursting at the seam with fever
For an artist unobserved
A false representation
I guess a mirror reflection
Of funfair loving children

Now in my veins desire
Is spreading like wildfire
But we're dead in the water
All life left on shore
Warnings so deafening
Have broken all of our strings
Shelter from electrocuting
Of Some Unholy War

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

A. G. R

Words spinning around
I'm now in the labyrinth of my head

reminiscing my first kiss with whom I barely know
in her room half naked
She says nothing, but her thought are as if they're hand in hand to mine

electrocuting every fibre of my body
I feel hazy about the times I spent with her,
yet I vividly remember every words she had spoken

She now speaks bout a little river she used to go with her first love, but when will she tell me the words?

I see now, I see that her fire was put out

I don’t know if I want T in my veins,
can it break these ******* chains?
Will it make these bleeding scars heal?
Will it make me feel?

Feel okay, feel better,
feel like I swear I’m not under the
weather.
Feel like maybe this is the way I’m
meant to live.

But maybe this just isn’t for me.
Maybe this life is a bundle of lies,
a bundle of feelings on *******
and electrocuting itself
like a pile of live wires in the rain.

Maybe by following my heart,
I’m actually doing the wrong thing
but the wrong thing isn’t the wrong thing
like the right thing isn’t the right.

The right and wrong do not exist
and my therapist
is running out of ways to tell me that
it’s okay
that it’s okay to feel this way.

That it’s okay to inject a synthetic hormone
into my bloodstream,
my muscle mass,
to make my mental self image
match my outward projection of self.

And in a harmless act,
one of my best friends tells me:
you know, Dani it’s funny.
I wear push up bras,
and you wear
binders.

But at the end of the day,
this body is still my ******* cage.

TLDR

Posted up on a bar stool, I noticed the instant he walked in.
Blue eyes beckoning. I was listening. Hard.

Liquidly courageous, delightfully obscure and entertaining,
I bewitched him in conversation.
Filled his empty pint with my pitcher of Yuengling.
Stealing and donning his sweaty hat.
He had just finished art school.
I was studying journalism.

He kept finding reasons to touch me.
Blocking me from human traffic.
Keeping me close and safe physically.
At one point, some drunken, oblivious, d-bag tried to holler.
He moved between, cockblocking.
Unwavering in eye contact and speech with me.
I can’t remember what we talked about, only how it felt.

He got my number, and we stayed until the bar closed.
And as all the carbon contents poured into the back alley,
he grabbed my hand.
I remember the sweat and energy on his slender fingers.
He was pushing past palpable trepidation.
And in the midst of a hundred swarming,
he yanked my hand toward him and kissed me.
People started cheering.
It was perfect.

Except, I freaked.
Froze. Stopped breathing.
Pulled away as far as his hand would allow.
He reeled me back in for another try.
When I brushed his lips, the panic devoured.
So I pulled away harder, breaking free from his fingers.
Fleeing, scurrying through a sea of drunken bodies.
I shimmied like a silver lure dangling in his face.
Then shot him the-****-down. Twice.
Instinctively.

He never called me. But pocket-dialed me the next day.
Left an unintended voicemail. Heard him bemoaning, *I felt SO stupid…
Called him back a few minutes later. Didn’t leave a message.
I could have called again. I didn’t. Ever.

I thought about him every day for months,
inspiring one of my better poems of that era:
A Roller Coaster Ride Ending in Derailment.
Years later, I friended him on MySpace, sent a generic message.
He didn’t recognize me. And I never said anything.
Like a ******* coward.

How is it possible to excitedly charge in a cardinal direction,
only to smack abruptly into:
I-gotta-get-the-****-outta-here-NOWWWW?!

I’ve had a little time, say 14 years,
to reflect on what made me me run,
and I think it was this:
as soon as he was facing me,
with unadulterated adoration,
all I could feel was terrified and ugly.
It was so good. Far too good for me.

I was afraid. Afraid he would eventually see.
That I was hideous. He wouldn’t want the real me.
I didn’t think I could live up to the look in his eyes.
When he saw I was only a spunky, confident model on the cover,
and an insecure shitshow amidst contents inside, he would leave.
A fragile little girl so afraid she is unlovable, unworthy, ugly.
When he saw how uncomfortable I could be in my own skin,
he would let go.
I didn’t like me, so why the **** should he?
I ran from connection that night, after tilling it for hours.
Hauling *** with windows down,
I slammed the brakes and careened. End scene.
He reeked of bliss and impending heartbreak.
So I abandoned him before he could leave.

I’m frightened of anyone who truly stirs me.
It makes me feel big, scary feelings. They straitjacket hug me.
Skewing all my outward signals. I come off standoffish.
Pushing away the very thing I want and need.
I’m not good at expressing intense feelings in real time.
Except in ink. And bed.

I get locked up inside. Feels like I’m gonna die.
A fight-or-flight ignition by erroneous head triggers.
I project my unlovable feelings onto others,
in the face of blatant evidence to the contrary.

I’ve done LTRs, just not with the required equipment.
I know the gears are sabotaged out the gate,
but I go for it anyway. It’s safe (or so it seems). And empty.
I crave intimacy, but I’m terrified of showing up entirely.
In front of someone with eyes that can see.
I quickly sense who is capable of meeting me,
and thoroughly **** it up for myself,
by not feeling free. Not authentic. Not open. Hiding.
Editing. Hot fish, cold fish. Rotating masks. Blockades. Running.
Constantly scanning the environment for signs of rejection,
that I’m not enough, indeed. To validate my own self-worthlessness.
I wanna be right.
I’ve only done long terms where I can remain alone, bored and/or dead.
No real intimacy. No full disclosure. No BAMF duo status.
No seeing to the back of each other’s skulls.
No blasting through the cosmos.

I freeze and evade in the face of what I crave.
Shunning delicious plates I’ve just ordered and ravenously drooled over.
I have more examples, but this is the most concise and blatant...

Except, this one time:

I told my gut to shut the **** up,
while I cosigned utter inner *******.
Denied the eyes of my own soul,
as it floated into my periphery.
It took all of my focus just to breathe.

He didn’t turn around,
just looked over his shoulder.
At me. Up, then down.
And drifted away.
Electrocuting my cosmic antennae.
Leaving me reeling. Still tingling.

I almost called your name,
but doubt surrounded fear mountain.
Plus, I thought I was jus straight trippin, err, trollin.
Going crazy. Weaving my own alteration atop reality.
Pretty pro @ that yuh know...

We push and pull and run and chase,
because it feels safer pursuing what’s out of reach.
Until it turns around.
Or looks over its shoulder...

With eyes that can see.

I walk along the tight rope in shame.
Whispering to myself "hold your **** together''
Halfway through, almost reaching the end, the pain surges, electrocuting through my whole body, static.
I fall
Not knowing how I'm going to land.
She jumps out from inside of me as I hit the sandy ground.
Head jolts, slow motion review.
Hurting, the pain I deserve, for knowing, knowing too much. the power consumes.
It rushes like a harsh wind, like a storm that cannot be unveiled.
Yielding inside of me, she bursts, and explodes like a thunder exhibition.
Laying next to me, only I can see her.
Her dark eyes staring into mine, I try to look past the horror.
"Don't leave me" a careless whisper.
She vanishes into thin air, I lose myself in despair.
I stare up at the high ceiling, waiting for the other ones to give me life and healing.
One unleashes, but one of fury and anger, Sukubus, the fighter.
She gets up in an aggressive explosive motion and attacks everyone around her viciously.
Here I am again, switching.
Switching, needing those people inside of me to keep me alive.
Like a spirit, without them I am dead.
Creation of the mind fighting against reality trying to show, but hiding in promiscuity.
I'm a good liar, choosing to be honest.
The will I have has weakened to the inner pits of my core, and without these personas, I am nothing but a rotting corpse.
So, I ask for those around me to stop judging me please.
I am only trying, trying for so long, that doing has me acting out too **** impulsively.
Forgive me, I was born to sin, but to love so passionately, a loyal mind of pure integrity.
I wish not to be so alone in melancholy, but defeated, so I stand alone, trying to survive the unknown.
I open my eyes, looking around me, seeing everyone dead, blood scattered and bodies twisted.
I get up, and start again, unleashing another personality.

The sky faded from cyan to ash and we had to go before it turned purple.
“It’s dangerous!” – the park managers started yelling.
I mean, it was. We surely could have gotten struck by lightning and died fried and burnt like a chicken in oil.  It was not our day tho: not to die at least.
If I died in any other way, it was when we sat under the ceiling by the green benches and watched the rain pour. Just that. It would rain harder and harder and my head on my friend’s shoulder would get heavier and heavier. I think we spent around 15 minutes like that: quiet, in our bubble. Then I started crying. I don’t know who poured heavier and who looked the bluest, the sky or me. Completely embarrassed, my brown eyes turning into puddles avoided the eyes of my company, but it was almost impossible. She turned my head around with one hand on both of my cheeks and looked at me. We spent a good 5 minutes just staring at each other, and my tears would not stop flowing. The rain wasn’t stopping. The cold was rising.

I didn’t know what to do. Her eyes were so green and so dull yet so hypnotizing. Everything about them made me wonder when I would get to know her as much as I wanted to. Did I want to know her? Just a friend electrocuting me with the touch of her hands. She was not doing anything, I wanted everything. Just like that I wrapped my arms around her neck and kissed her left cheek. Once. I kissed her forehead. Twice. I kissed her right cheek. Once. I kissed the tip of her nose. Once, then twice; I just looked at her afterwards, feeling her gaze intensify along with the rain, the cold crawling into my bones and bringing back the physical pain of a twisted ankle and wrist. I let go. My eyes turned into mud but not for too long. She pulled me closer by my burgundy sweater and got closer to my face slowly: too slow. I was too impatient, but I let her take her time. I met her lips for the first time and they were as warm as the cigarettes she smokes before class and as sweet as her strawberry lip balm. I don’t know for how long we stayed like that, but it was just like time had stopped for us, like the rain maintained its intensity, like thunders hit the same place twice, like the sky lit up lilac at the same tempo. It was too cold.

she jostles under the vine serpents,
knees scraping trees,
green light bending onto her skin.
she’s a dirt daughter
shoeless, careless
the breeze reinvents her smile.

she arrives

her toes press hard against the sidewalk,
and she takes a clinical step forward
her pale moon face
begged by the wilderness to return.

on the other side of the street he bursts from
the subway, his feet neatly clicking up
the stairs.

his briefcase swings
tightly on his hand
his dazed green eyes scurry across
tuesday’s bachelorettes
and they fall in love at least a dozen times.

he arrives

when they stumble into the same civilization
their eyes collide.

they could be blinded.
or they could catch it.
it would run under their skin
like voiceless hummingbirds
awakening their architecture
and electrocuting their blood.

yet love doesn’t just happen to
to the yin and the yang,
or the bird and the bee.

people aren’t perfect puzzle pieces.


love happens best to the disbelievers,
to the fighters, and the skeptics.
it happens to those who know that in order
to make a spark,
you need some friction.

it’s a howl of wind:
constant and spontaneous.
it can vanish and evolve:
always new.

it can braid lives together
like a man with green eyes
and a woman with a pale moon face.

maybe its all been done before.
but there’s something about the way
he juggles a sentence on his lips
and how her face rearranges into a smile
that seems new.

the story doesn’t always sound like this
but humans are like destinations
intersected and scattered
life comes and goes
and sometimes

Love arrives.

Crazy stupid things
Nothing but too sweet, too cheesy,
Cherry on top of a typical romance story,
Some things which are worth gagging at,
But being in such a close proximity to you
I guess, I predict, warm stars would burst within me
Shivering my soul from head to the tip of my toes,
An earthing shock electrocuting me,
I would forget I used to be sane
And dance, floating above the ground in our own bubbled space
I would do all the crazy stupid things with you.

there was nothing more she liked
than the sting of peppermint tea
electrocuting her mouth.
it was the most unpleasant,
yet the sensation it gave her
was most magnifying.
nothing like earl grey
or jasmine
or a normal one with honey.
it’s what he liked most about her —
that when the taste of peppermint
entered his mouth,
he could feel her tongue against his.

Piercing eyes, fierce body,
Brain such so naughty.
Feeling that too much heat,
Still makes me fall to my feet.

Those ****** stares, careless and reckless attitude,
Strangely brightens up my mood.
All these things just left my brain so confused,
Yet these just made me so amused.

In those eyes,
I just saw that confidence rise.
Those joyous and contagious laughs,
Was making my romantic excitement blast.

Mouthwatering smell, soft and electrocuting touches,
Every time makes me feel so luscious.
Even though others say that you’re distracting,
You’re still eye-ttractive.

Oh yes im so concerned about what poison this cigarette will bring me when just two hours ago I dropped my speakers into the water
in hopes of electrocuting myself

but instead I just drowned 200 dollars
I always try to break as many rules as possible while driving
because I have this fantasy about a cop ******* me

or maybe just because I like the idea of getting away with things
I'm not nearly as complicated as you'd like me to be

and I'm sitting in 14 inches of ****** water from my slit wrists
so ask me why I'm laughing about this
like I'm finding the shine of the razor funny

I don’t ******* owe you anything

and I haven’t eaten in two days
I wonder how long ill keep this up this time
last time I nearly died

so ask me why that was the happiest time of my life
when I fainted daily and lost 40 pounds in 3 months

Don’t tell me its impossible or that I look healthy
because I make you have slit wrists as well

I have 4 butterfly knives and im okay with using them
just ask all the things ive buried in the woods behind my house
just ask me how I feel after kissing these poison frogs

and life is no longer a ******* simile

I haven’t left the house in a week
and I take three baths a day to keep me from feeling *****

so please tell me what that says about me

and you thought being a starving artist sounded romantic

The rain pattering upon the window panes would drown out the screaming.
The nightmares that you put into my brain, gave my life meaning.
I could see through eyes that weren't mine,
into lives that were far from sublime.

Their tears were like a treat, a bitter chocolate that made my heart flutter...
Because what you shared with me, was a feeling unlike any other.
Their remarkable sadness, I felt as my own.
Had I not felt what you'd forced me to feel, there is no way I would've ever known.

Sensors that are there for me, are but vacant to the large majority.
What they cannot see and will not see,
combined by what I cannot see and will not see,
It drowns me.

My words rise like bubbles to the surface of this ocean.
If I press that sole piano key, the sound reverberates for an eternity.
And yet, it ceases to wade up above the surface.
I'm but a coelacanth, and my swimming is clumsy.

Not even the sound of that lovely train tune billowing throughout the wintry air...
Not even the audible tone of your crisp voice, nor your hissing within my ear,
Could make me wish to live. Yes, I know, life is unfair.
But it's so much easier for you to say that while you're up there.

The painter who paints with only a black and white canvas,
will have an easier time meshing hues, as opposed to the one who must encompass,
the broad colors of others. Their pigments, their variations,
with some paints dry and cracked, and others melting into congolomerations

Ah, yes. How much easier it is for you to say that from up there.

The lies resound the loudest, because the blatant call for help ceased to be loud enough.
Tell me, God, why wasn't my call loud enough?
In life, I have learned, yes it is not fair.
So I must take what I want. I cannot just sit and stare.

The strong prevail over the weak, or so, that is what you have lovingly taught me.
The man and the nightmare, splaying my insides out upon the pavement
electrocuting my body until not a single grief was left to be.
That pain drained away thanks to you, leaving not sadness... But resentment.

That I am this lone coelacanth, whose colors and intonations
touch but the surface of her own ocean, with but one measley formation.

And yet you swim with me, even if this swimming is clumsy.
As the lone, sea serpent... Whose scales glitter so vibrantly.
Dull to so many others, whom couldn't see your shine.
But I could with these eyes that you so humbly gave to me,
and even if I do not wish to live this life you gave me all the time,

you are but a buried treasure I call mine.

I came home
from a concert
with my ears ringing
my mother said it was hearing damage
which i can believe
i could feel the beat in my chest
drumming against my rib cage
electrocuting my veins
it made me realize
if you're going to live
truly live
it's better to wear out your senses
hear words sung
guitar riffs that shake your eardrums
make you feel alive
seeing sights
a baby being born
your first funeral
things may burn your eyes
or open them
see the world
even the dustiest most harmful corners
feel
feel every emotion
even if it hurts
claws your inside and makes you feel dead
because there are the wonderful emotions left
inside of you
laughing until you feel like you've ran a marathon
the feeling of your first love
being in a city
or sleeping in on a rainy morning
hearing
seeing
feeling
*wear them out

The first time he touched your fingertips, you felt electricity shoot through your veins and you wrote it off as static
But now, with him between your lips, staring up into his eyes which are staring down at your body, you realize that he is your electricity
With every ****** he surges you
With every command you feel your mind break
The first time you landed on your knees before him, you gazed dazily as your whole empire collapsed
Now the same fingertips that shocked yours slip inside of you, electrocuting you awake
He ***** as if he is a straight descendent from Zeuss sent to Earth to give you a taste of thunder
His lightning makes you tremble and you can't imagine what your body felt like before he made you scream
You live for his hands grazing over your hot skin as you squirm for his touch
His electrifying touch that makes you call for the gods
Even though you know that the only entity you could ever bow down to is the one who arches your back with every movement
You call to your God, he comes to you with every inch of his being
You feel him deep inside of you, breaking you free from your inhibitions
He holds you down by your throat as your body succumbs to him
His body engulfs yours
You burst from the deepest crevice of your soul
And as you lie there, weak
Feeling the after shocks of the best electroshock therapy of your life
Reminiscing on his fingertips
You realize the piece of you that was missing
Is whispering storms between your thighs as he shocks your heart to life

**** me sideways
my face is melting off
I've tried nine ways to hell and back
to make it stop make it stop please but
this force is electrocuting me
crackling inside of my veins
melting capillaries

sound the bell
tick tack toe
gotcha

underlying intentions bubble up from under the surface of my skin as the roaring inferno engulfs my body

I am surrounded by a fiery tornado of unforgiven sins

this demon's embrace is a warm one

take me back
to the days of wander
never dull with woe
eyes bright with wonder

dancing with butterflies on
sunny days with warm breezes
twirling around in the pouring rain
dripping molten caramel onto the
fluffy snow in the backyard

the scent of the honeysuckle

Merlot lips, promises sugary sweet
My candy girl invites with a treat
Her skin a study in creamy perfection
With her cherry lollipop, she gives direction

A music conductor with her baton
Directing my tongue hither and yon
Her natural flavors mingled with cherry
Saccharine sweet she is confectionery

Sticky and sweet loving complete
Into the shower to make us all neat
Washing and rubbing start a fire
Electrocuting each other, sparks from a wire

It is amazing what a Lollipop can do
Sweet little treat for me and for you
How many licks does it take to be gone
As many as possible just follow along.

tiredness yearning

circling running

coming

to. hounding happiness cutting.

finding you is being a smoking gun.

it’s

smiling stopping beginning

the show. cancel clear. all of it.

oh your hand in mine.

oh removing it.

vanishing. walking away.

heavy hand, a slight of mine.

and look, i am walking out. and look,

you are just beautiful like this.

look, when i saw you there.

look!

i am going into my magic trick now

see how i am

hanging electrocuting executing it

perfect. yeah, it was good that time.

yeah, how are you feeling tonight?

you’re laughing and it’s all in your body.

your ******* and you’re all in his body.

i have a book of named things.

tell what is your favorite of mine.

i absolutely love this business of

feeling doing being alive

performing joking around

jerking driving crashing my cars.

it is causing me. i yank it out.

it is affecting me. i soak my skin in the red tub.

staying. waiting it out.

leech the poem

leech lover, leech sister, leech the color,

leech the razor, the less fortunate,

i leech the sight of

you, you, you and the place we are in. please, i’m begging, please-

absolve the praying and praying and eating and breaking and smiling, thinking. tapping the windowpane for dust but it’s the view

that i’ve been wanting and i found it and

i am leaving for it and i am a running wound or joke and i am

blotting the bed with bleeding and i am

sewing myself in place.

i have tried to walk and i am afraid, still,

i might become an unclothing of a human animal amassing

body to be shot at.

i look and i am prey.

i look and it’s



you again. bed head.

love

risen like a tree, armed to the teeth.

your smile,

in my presence one more time

is a wholly new and wondrous

thing.

if i was no mute thing beside you, it would not go unsaid that

these are the losses i can abide by. that for your happiness, beloved,

my friend,

i would huddle all my wounds

into a constellation

and darken the leaves to show you.

Self destruction
The two words struck through me like overwhelming bursts of electricity
Electrocuting every atom of my being until all I saw was you
You didn’t think about me that night
You didn’t think about how your actions would affect me
You did, however, think about yourself
You thought about yourself when you drank until you couldn’t stand
You thought about yourself when you took the pills on your countertop
You thought about yourself when you forced me to drink more than I wanted
You thought about yourself when you took advantage of my weakness
You thought about yourself when you took advantage of me
You didn’t think about me
You didn’t think about me at all that night
You didn’t think about me when you scarred every piece of my soul
You didn’t think about me as my tears stained your sheets
You didn’t think about me that morning when I looked at you
I looked at you, but you didn’t see me
Did you ever see me
Because all I see now is you
Taking advantage of me

You walk past me
Catching my eye with your ice blue discs
Time at your control and you stop it
You look me in the eye and
You see right through me
Electrocuting my heart
Burning through me like a lightning bolt
All with a single
Blue-eyed glance.

Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
I stop to tie my shoe, and hear a man with a gray sweatshirt, hood up, yell like the traffic and the city lights are gonna drown him out.
“You got change?” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“You got change, sweetheart?” He asks me for coins, crumbs from the table of dollar bills. I reach for my wallet and hand him a green single. He looks at it like I rained cash on the desert.
Yeah, I got change. I got it electrocuting out of my fingertips. I got it locked up in my mind with all the would-have-been’s beckoning to be set free.
I got change under my bed with the shoes I put on in the morning, shoes I tie even on days I feel like numbing everything with sleep.
I got change in every stutter, every repetition of my too-quiet voice,
These veins are swollen with change. These brains are wishing for us to stop acting like everybody on the sidewalk with nowhere to be is just part of the concrete.
“Have a good day,” says the man, already turning away. He doesn’t say you’re welcome, but I know I am. I’m a part of these streets, no questions in city or from the ***** trucks, no comments from the puddle flooded subway stairs.
“Have a good day,” he said, but it’s night, and I find myself waiting for the train during the grace period between the 5:35 and the 6:02.
Change is in the people-watching, the night owls, the ones working long days to feed families, the ones waking long nights to feed their psyches.
Yeah, I got change, it’s right in front of me.
A kid in a black sweatshirt, hood up, kicks a penny around the train platform, a sliver of dollars that aren’t worth anything until you need them to be.
I wonder if time is his greatest asset. I think it’s resilience that brings him home.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
Two trains line the platform, one inbound, one outbound, a screeching symphony of commuter rail and commuter. They won’t cross again tomorrow. I hop on the jam packed purple line and wonder what we could do if more people knew they got change.
Change is in the sky. It’s gonna rain coins into all our pockets and I’ll be catching droplets.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
This place is rundown and the train’s packed tight
But we all got change and we’re gonna be alright.

Am I a painter?
-No.
Am I a sculptor?
-Yes, but not primarly.
        A writer?
-Whether I want it or not - yes. But words are only a tool.
I think of myself as an electrician. Some mad scientist electrocuting others, experimenting, playing with reactions, creating or recreating. You can call me a time travelling machine guy too, these roles are connected though. A sower, yes.
I'm a vomiter as well; a cold sweating frog.
An anchor throwing man.