A Writing Process in Delirium
In case they come looking, I will pretend I don't see glitter
in the sky, because I do,
a crossed eyed believer
screams for you. "I want to go home now"
twenty-four years grieving
the past
present future, I still don't know
who I'm missing
I've gone psychotic once again-- don't dare
turn round, they're coming for you
with rot blood
and a poor children's army
so I was told
Lucy is full of magic,
under the
insane asylum,
in all delirium
she left her body within a hollow
willow tree
to become a dream walker
pacing deadfall manor, yet,
someday
you will understand
why we cannot build ivory towers
to heaven
someday you will understand
why the deciding fates
left emerald tablets for
daria's eyes, why they burn-- I don't know
I cannot make a move
without DMT and a heartbreak--
the critical axis
of creatures
connected to contrasted scenes
here I was told to burn the money,
"birth stars, instead"
but if you catch the ash...
Hell is a poet. roll it. smoke it.
look at all the glitter in the sky?
each moment is a myth
handed to people who
can no longer remember where they came from
I have too many, they pile up
like tangled chrysanthemums
beating out each others
beauty in the pursuit of the virgins sun-- Edger Keela
Edger Keela said
moments matter-- in fact, 15 minutes from now
I will look up and mourn
another lost
trip
trip
trip trip
knowing that the only time I cry
is when clarity and alchemy forget one another,
true love
is a twisting light, I bow my head
when I speak, I lay down
and write with my tongue, my lips
but willow
can't sleep why can't willow sleep?
on white sheets
of unwritten life lines
I've come to understand
nothing but secrete doors, as if
reality was hidden behind them;
words of pitch black can be found, here
the house is on fire...
we set ourselves on fire on fire on fire,we write.
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The Life and Times of Johnny Behave
This is because you wanted
to be a human God
of bodies. of degradation,
a violent flower
and witness to
humanity dying
on the hard chest
of a dirt ground
to be a God, give up your ways
and dare to tell me of love,
sacrifice compassion
anymore than a
whisper,
a vicious
pain that brings
with it inhuman screams, sounds
so guttural
the onlookers
will cover
their ears
in an attempt
to lessen
the horror
of their own fright,
until a jaw is broken and incapable of audible speech patterns,
leaving the only language left to be made
a gurgling unknown
tinged with a coper wetness,
listen,
it tells a story of escapism from the lost crisscrossed
paths of unmapped crossroads, veins of *******--
and who should judge the wise blood for wanting to flee from a broken home?
to find air that can no longer
survive a hostile environment;
the people will not.
the discolored flesh will not
because flesh alone
opened its own doors when
the beatings
bashed
so loud that
it became impossible
to ignore the violence
of hate
ringing in the half
blackness
half opened eyes, a
slow motion blur
that only leaves
faces
abnormally
abstracted,
haunted
when vision
turns unkind
and shows
small strokes of clarity into
the deep
hollows that are never fulfilled
by watchers in the distance,
watchers in the distance
loyal to silence,
and when
omnipresent silence
cannot
stomach imagery
created by hungry fear
they will become
loyal to slammed doors, thumps
behind walls
or volume buttons
on remote controls, high music
the mamas
and the papas - -
but
never the one
left to wonder why
some people are the victims,
and others keep smiling.
though,
there was a wildfire
somewhere
in a killers heart
that is
when the distance
of light ignited--
a matchbook,
history had called them stars, though
they are too
hypnotic. deviant
in their ways, broken
diamond eyes
tasked to
observe
the observer;
I think, what ******
eavesdroppers,
do not speak to me
of them,
they are just like us
and I cannot condone immortality
after death, with the lights off?
the birth of them
are foolish--
but really, you should
stand your ground
this is a threat,
threats threaded together
because I cannot surely say
anything of my shame? in a day,
in a human?
what saturated rays
should make me recoil
I can see
whine tinted
blinded angels
like it was a
Sunday sweet liquid filling,
of innocence pouring sins
and
Hina, Hina, Hina
exploding
grand
****** golden suns, I
had seen the future time
we would reminisce of existence,
reminisce of existence
like an echo of harpy lungs
buried yet still contracting beneath
small childhood streets
that remind me
I am more alive
than when Daisy
and God
broke my own rib
on the bottom
of a concrete
hilltop
and made a wish, a dream
out of it
leaving me the lesser kind,
how does it feel to be the lesser?
this isn't a question,
you already know
I know
I know
I know
I am like a man
cataract to the greatness
that succumbs surrender,
the anti- truth
the Johnny behave
the strength
that cannot save us,
muscle and tissue
yes
yes
you should
stand your ground,
the fall is coming
and has something
to **** for.
