From my rented attic with no earth
To call my own except the air-motes,
I malign the leaden perspective
Of identical gray brick houses,
Orange roof-tiles, orange chimney pots,
And see that first house, as if between
Mirrors, engendering a spectral
Corridor of inane replicas,
Flimsily peopled.
                  But landowners
Own thier cabbage roots, a space of stars,
Indigenous peace. Such substance makes
My eyeful of reflections a ghost's
Eyeful, which, envious,would define
Death as striking root on one land-tract;
Life, its own vaporous wayfarings.

my yellow eyes roll
as salt slides from the sides
of yours.
these sobs,
these sobs are familar
to me.
clearly etched into my memory.
it was the same with She,
that red-headed *******,
it was the same with Nature's Criminal,
and every pore of her persian skin.
my yellow eyes return,
and my stomach turns,
and my muscles tighten,
and my smile lightens,
and my burden builds,
all the while,
your limbs twitch,
your lips stitch,
and your eyes run scared.
all the while,
my cancerous tongue lay still.
as your accusations
ricochet and fall flimsily all
around me.
i sharpen my teeth on the notches
of your spine.
remind you,
you were once wholly mine.
silence the cries.
tell you everything is fine.
your blood begins to flow.
the worst of me you get to know.
i'm a monster.
i'm a ******.
i'm a plaster cast
of your prince charming.

let the yellow eyes roll.

The flimsily crafted walls, they're
Crumbling down,
All around me.
You thought it was real;
It was only a dream.
A bad, bad dream.

Or at least I wish it was.

A broken bicycle left without repair,
a lonely ghost weeping in despair.
This is me, and I am this.
And as long as I'm living,
I will never be kissed.

A fantasy,
pushed far into the corner,
for he is a newborn,
while I am a mourner.

But suddenly I'm in his glow;
his golden heart upon my skin.
Now it's harder than ever,
to try and let him in.

I like him,
that's barely a fact.
I am a daisy and
only bees shall I attract.

He likes me,
this is flimsily known,
but if he is a sun,
he melts my bones.

The world destroys the smallest beautiful thing
each puff of perfume
and spoken word of compliment
will fade alike in submission to the nature of air
which is harsh like a jar of knives
Every period of sanity in which the mind grows
like a flower out of a crack in the cement
is razed with prejudice and leaves only blood
every room whose windows are open
letting the curtains billow out into the middle
was once mud
will someday be
nothing but
rot
ruin
neglect
and mould
My eyes are tired
they feel like stone mountains whose crags nestle hearty windblown trees
(someday they will die)
and my feet are the calloused paws of an animal running from a predator
(someday he will die)
who is there when I wake in the morning
(someday the sun will die)
and spends the night-time catching up to me
(someday I will die)
I cannot bear the cycle of the seasons
I cannot bear to watch the world
destroy
every
tiny
lovely
thing
I cannot build
even a single card house
nor have even a moment’s respite
that I do not fail to appreciate properly
and I know what happens when sleep catches up to me
for even the bliss of unconsciousness becomes another wrecking ball
to yet another flimsily stacked architectural tragedy of responsibility
my arms and legs are not connected to my self like they should be
they are tethered by belts and strings that I must constantly keep taut
and should I lapse I’ll fall apart onto the floor
like a stack of dropped papers
like the mess that I am
Like some
wretched
flowing
puddle
of
goop

You cultivate my being in a meadow filled with worms
A fortress of affection
Flimsily dancing with a turbulence
And a haze of power
Sample of distress and dominance
Planting tubes of lies inside nostrils
Often rejected
Spewed truth
******* up by a few contractions
A provocation leading to derision
Kneading with hands of bricks
The extremities are erected in straight lines
The corners rotten angles
I am spinning around in a square of loneliness
The world is flourishing in a sense of prosperity
Preventing a state of realization
Plunging in the shadows of cactuses
They drank my blood and water I drank too
Inhaling peace surrendering
Plate of bitumen layers of silica
Heaviness forms clumps of crow eggs
On the tip of my eyelashes
In the hollows of my memory
I still follow the movement of your shoes
with a sight and clattering rhythm
Your tracks will not be lost
Or covered by a skin of dust
Leaving abandonment
Destruction
In the tranquility of putrefaction
Under one of your footprints
Where ants stand on crutches
And dirt-scraping sugar cubes
Cover all the rubble