Fever tickles your forebrain
Bad thoughts dribble down your nose
Like syrup off my fingertips
Coughing up cheaply made lies
And selling them for the price
Only minimum wage parasites can ****
The propaganda of self pity
Fogging up your vision
Like car windows stained with
Frustrated ******* (or *******)
Sliding straight down your legs
Where your tongue is heavy
Too depressed to form a sentence
Yet thirsty enough to swallow
Thirteen million restless presents
Scrambling around
Clawing their way up the back
Of your throat
Where the sun sets pink
between your teeth

i remember someone on this site a long time ago.
they would write unrelenting epic poems that
always made my fingertips tingle in that way
they do when you're surprised art made you
feel something again, you know?

i arrive back here tonight because i've been
doing a whole lotta feeling and far too little art
and i've stopped letting it surprise me.

i keep oversharing when people ask, "how are you?"

i keep wondering who i'm supposed to be at this point on this long path of becoming. i don't know, i've never liked the phrasing but it resounds so cleverly from forebrain to nervous system it's uncanny and unavoidable and ineffable. who am i am i am i am i am i ...

i want to make a map,
a cartography of memory,
charting the granite and
soil, marrow and moss,
river foam, abusers,
flower gardens, wild blackberries --
the purple dabbed away from those
soft parts that blackberries might stain

to wash deep berry blood off
in the public pool bathroom
where she first made you a novelty

to scrape darker
from under his fingernails
with bark from the tree she
made you hide behind

the same park you grew up in

a spot you always caught the sunset
a spot he caught you and the sun seemed always then to set

still haven't gone back

it's time to make a map

Paraphrasing:

Oxygen feedback don’t
provoke me;
I relieve
all the need
plasticized lips to a
nail gun at
your forebrain
steal yourself a jacket;
don’t **** around
my home
when the freeze
follows every
sinkhole step
your fat toes

fall away

Let me de-muck
that nonsense:

Met a gal,
I did
name was Hannah,
spat mucosal ****
between my duck feet
And my tasseled spine
H   e av  e  d, hu rrr led at
T   he s i   g  ht o     f
M  y   s ki n

But I cracked and ground
my molars and I
gobbled that aching
dejection & snickering
and commanded she

****!

vanish
so it was

OK

for **** near three seconds
three
two
one

till she re-arrived
and rebuked a gull’s shade
for looking too much like
me and I
loved
her

now and
again and
three second
place trophies ago
she brushed me first

with that formidable
brilliance
a third of what
that beauty,

****!

that body
was gifted with
poison
that leeched
through palms
to my nerves

them bones

and out again

I do not know whose eyes perceive
my finite movement toward light.

Each letting go, a small cry,
each forward move my life's
migratory assurance of what
none of us can ever know.

The genetic certainty of cells
propels the forebrain
with its stumbling feet,
while a heartache of hope
wins each moment even
as it is lost to the next.

And we must accept
the impermanent flow
that is like air, necessary
and sacred; tears are not
the only salt of sorrow.

I scratch and scrape
And pull words together
To make a state-
No, there has to be a better…

Breathing in
And beginning again
From the start
To create “good” art.

But subjectivity!
Who determines the value?
Of my feverous venue
Aka attempt at creativity.

Maybe I could write of
Unrequited love,
Morals or Serendipity.
But today they don’t inspire me.

So instead…
I’ll sketch a portrait
Of thoughts in my head
Of what comes from my forebrain.

My understanding is three chapters behind in my hind brain, and three chapters ahead in my forebrain.
So much for linear thinking.

Father,
As The conclusions of illusions scurry thu my mind,
All the misconception of oppression I leave behind.
The pulsating, throbbing strains viciously attacks my brain, 
Ugh Migraine.
I fall to my knees,
begging Yah, "Please,
heal me of this chest pain."
Let my cries and prayers be not in vain.
Father I need you to be like my Novocaine
and numb the pain,
help me maintain,
Father Be my Mid and Forebrain before I go insane!
Now I'm not one to sit here and ramble on.
Father I've tried reading the gospel according to John,
But the that passion, fire and desire that I once had is gone.
I miss that Spiritual atmospheric phenomenon.
It helped me to hold on and keep on keeping on.
Despite how many times I fall
Or when I get angry because I feel like you didn't answer my call
Here you are Loving me With my Imperfections, flaws and all.
Yes I have been beaten and battered and even my hopes and dreams have been shattered.
But that's the beautiful thing when it comes to the heart of matter.
From that staggered disaster
you gathered pieces of laughter splattered in a pattern
and created a masterpiece of a platter!
I'm trying to get an Understanding of why you love me the way you do.
All the persecutions, hardships, and suffering I experience in my life times two.
Even the times when I had thought about giving up and was lost without a clue.
You said, "Not so my child, For have not given up on you!
Remember I myself experienced those very same things you went thru.
My Word says, I will never leave you nor forsake you no matter what you do."
That's when the decision
hit me like a crash collision,
like a precisian
with exceptional Vision.
No longer will I be paralyzed
Or wallow in my fleshly demise.
But Yet will I get up and rise,
keep my focus on the prize
And walk in the counsel of the Wise.
After much concentration and heavy meditation,
Father our conversation led to Consolation.
I know I can no longer wait.
My flesh must I Eliminate.
My mental and Spiritual state I Shall evaluate and Rehabilitate.
Father for all you do, I value it much and appreciate,
Especially loving me at my worst state.

“Embrace and Release”

In the quiet of night, I pondered—
the art of severing ties, like pruning a tree.
The weakest links, once tightly bound,
now set free, like a maiden’s unclasped bra.

2024 dawns, a canvas for transformation.
Covid’s grip loosens, and clarity emerges.
Meltdowns yield to focus, tears to savings.
My *** life, like New York’s winter, chills.

Raw verses spill forth, unfiltered and true.
Yet my smile softens toward strangers,
and I find myself liking humanity anew.
Trust remains distant, a horizon to reach.

Biblical tales echo vulnerability—
the weaker devoured by the strong.
Have I surrendered my worth for fleeting moments?
No tears stain my words; they remain silent.

As I gaze upward, pondering thoughts,
my brain’s triad—forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—
collaborates, yet sometimes drifts apart.
Do I know myself anymore? Today, I listen.

Goodbye, old lover; hello, new friends.
Life’s tides carry me forward,
and I embrace the journey, raw and unafraid.
May vulnerability be my strength, not my undoing.