Neither clown nor child nor black
nor white but verticle
and a questioning innocence
dressed in night and snow:
The mother smiles at the sailor,
the fisherman at the astronaunt,
but the child child does not smile
when he looks at the bird child,
and from the disorderly ocean
the immaculate passenger
emerges in snowy mourning.

I was without doubt the child bird
there in the cold archipelagoes
when it looked at me with its eyes,
with its ancient ocean eyes:
it had neither arms nor wings
but hard little oars
on its sides:
it was as old as the salt;
the age of moving water,
and it looked at me from its age:
since then I know I do not exist;
I am a worm in the sand.

the reasons for my respect
remained in the sand:
the religious bird
did not need to fly,
did not need to sing,
and through its form was visible
its wild soul bled salt:
as if a vein from the bitter sea
had been broken.

Penguin, static traveler,
deliberate priest of the cold,
I salute your vertical salt
and envy your plumed pride.

Are you the surge, triggering the flight of the transcending bird?
the  ultimate mystery, unspeakable, that liberates the seeker.
While awaiting the wingless flight, the moment of soul's effulgence,
you too are a mystery , like the all encompassing spirit, I am one with

The universe is not wholly cognizable,constant transformation
one to something drastically different, and the story never ends.
Known physics, could tell the story,only halfway, the rest is dark
I understand the helplessness of space observatory at Herschel
peering at vast Magellanic cloud galaxy, a mystery in the move.

I am barely a mineral now, not yet a woman in the ground,
not yet growing gardens and begging people to cook my peppers.
My home is dizzy from my constant re-entry, which helps me to cheat,
in life I am looking for the harvest in  people. I am a thread of cotton pulling
every word like it is more porous than the next, which helps me.
I summersault through conversations rather read in sharpie,
on the last corner white space of bathroom stalls,
alone and blushed. I remember love like a tagline inviting a smile
and messages to strangers. When I look in the mirror I am always inhaling,
my mouth says O, O I am out of excuses. I tell everyone I’m tired of working,
which helps me to hide in my comet ways. I am tight-lined,  
which is to say I feel love on the hairs of my arms, the wind,
the blades of fans speak to me at night when I have nothing left to say.
I am licensed to moving. In the dark in the cities public spaces and
also in alleyways I am soft like a moonbeam. I am convinced the world is a sewer,
which helps me to explain the exchange of waste and skin and the secrets hidden
in tunnels of shadows. When I move the world blurs with me like a heartbeat.
I am underground like the sewer, rotten in negative spaces, which helps me,
to hear the echo ripple swish of every piece of trash call my name.
I have no response. Some days the world is too *****. One day I will learn
to quilt and stitch together every important face, which will help me
to remember my grandmother and how she loved to balloon to the sky.
I dream she is a large magellanic cloud beaming out of the universe, the force
of believing is the word Hallelujah sung from the lips of Leonard Cohen.
It is midnight. It is noon. I close my eyes for a second and I see myself as miles
from the moon. I am running every day now and there is nothing left to see. My heart
is a kitchen door swinging and it does not want to stop.

1.
there's a gun in your hand that doesn't belong there, a windmill where your heart should be
painting on the inside of someone else's skull screaming "i don't give a ****"
did your voice break? OH MY GOD YOU DISEASE
YOU GREAT UNDERESTIMATER, YOU FILTH
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TURN A PERSON INTO A JACK-O-LANTERN
scooping out seeds for your masters degree
"new advances in science every day" can you smell the ink drying on the back of your wrist
ghost stories arent the same thing as ghosts
"why do hospitals think white is calming" and other laments
sorry, i mean bulletholes
sorry, i mean manmade caverns, tunnels built for metal to crawl its way out of membrane
question: what kind of science experiment requires a human corpse
answer:
answer:
answer:
you will never understand the answer to this question.you will never understand why someone stands up in their seat, screaming "i don't give a ****"
its raining outside.its raining outside.seven of your family members are lying in trash heaps,limbs discarded
and you don't know this yet
but it wasn't my fault.it wasn't me this time (stop looking at me like that
tail clenched tight between your teeth
you smell like a swamp,oh god)
choking to death on someone else's blood: typical.you're a cliche
this has happened before, hasn't it?we were murdered before,
but you don't remember that, or you do but youre pretending not to.tend to
your wounds, lick the blood.
papercuts are a gateway drug
you used to be something pretty.shiny and unkempt,
pretty and a ***** kinda clean:i wanna rip my own throat out
carve triangles in the pit of my stomach so
at least part of me will know how to smile.
clawing at yr eyes like itll make the flies go away
its in their nature
god,what kind of monster are you
what kind of beast.
everything you know up in flames:wither
do you know how fast human bodies decay?welcome to wormfood.welcome to paradise
coughing up tar and feathers "you came prepared"
for what?for an execution?happy doomsday
punch the wall.rub your knuckles.try again
make it bruise
****** and mangled, paint chips cutting off your circulation
YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHEN TO QUIT DO YOU
youre so kind.thanks for everything,thanks for
the hollow chest,thanks for
****** fists
(you knew this would happen eventually
can you even take a punch?can you even take a punch?)
severed conscience, or whatever it was.
"No One Will Miss You Anyway"
is that what theyre saying?
your nailbeds are sticky
soda and something sweeter and dirt
you had so much to live for,until you didn't
(isnt that what they all say?god,youre such a cliche.)
found dead or dying,isnt that how it goes
no one just drowns
"we have reason to believe--"
you can hear every star dying,all at once
kneeling in front of a toilet that starting to look a lot like you
theres a gun in your lap and a bullet in your head and you dont know which one to trust
this isnt your fault.this isnt your fault.
clean yourself up,god youre disgusting.
how to say your name without choking on it
holding hands with a girl you never met
isnt this what its supposed to feel like?arent you supposed to feel full?
emptiness is your native language.the hollow space in your body echoes back at you
chimneysweep swallowing dust clouds,brushing their teeth with acid and magellanic galaxies
JUST STOP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, GOD IM TIRED LISTENING TO THE SOUND OF YOUR SCREAMS
paranoia is smooth, blurry around the edges:
its not your fault you couldn't meet a deadline.

2.
war in your sheets and the soft folds of your belly
(and in the soles of your feet
i feel rough ground, rocks pricking into your skin
do you smell blood?)
not quite human, but vampires havent scared you for years
"**** me dry" can you taste it yet, can you feel the fear crawling up out of your stomach
your throat is so empty, a cavern without bats
stalactite secrecy pooling at your feet: this is what it feels like to be alone
sorry about the mess we made
sorry about the paint on the walls
scrubbing glitter into your arms,rubbing skin raw and red
arent you pretty? arent you pretty?
tombs cracking, mausoleums wishing for more graves to dig
havent you robbed enough for one lifetime
write eulogies for people who havent died yet,this is your calling
arent you pretty?
WHITE NOISE ON REPEAT, 10 HOURS
boxed wine stinking up the trunk of your car
(well,that and something else)
dont feel sorry for me darling
you say my name like it’s killing you,and maybe it is
thanks for the flowers and the card,what kind of greek tragedy is this
are you tired? are you tired?
what a spectacle
you,lying on a bed that doesnt belong to you,dying without permission(How Rude!)
dionysian struggle,and look,now the wine’s spilt over everything
i told you this would happen
what a pretty train wreck you are!2:30 am,still alive,
god youre bleeding on everything,how rude.how rude.
heart cut out and beating three thousand miles away under your mothers bed
oh,sweetheart
YOU KNEW IT WOULD END LIKE THIS,dissociating,can you feel the earth bend away from you?
what a demon
crust,mantle,core,screaming at the sight of you
when was the last time you believed in magic,hands on thighs
walls of the abandoned building screaming back in your face
(“i don’t give a ****” like someone can hear you
like someone cares enough to listen)
a broken Bic lighter/someone else’s EpiPen/a ****** handkerchief, shoved in the pocket of a jacket you dont remember buying.
wrapped up like holy things and you think maybe they were one time
“******* with no end” god youre so cool arent you?how edgy,how punk.how grotesque, the mess on your hands.
shouting your **** streak in the dead of night
is that supposed to impress us?are you putting on a show?Holy Prophet
here to forgive your sins
a woman sitting across from you is bleeding and you imagine swallowing her hands whole
“just let them win this time” how sweet of you,how kind!
this isnt my fault.this isnt my fault.
im just a corpse,remember?i hope you regret every part of this
i hope you choke on her fingers and i hope you die
MY GOD IT MAKES ME LAUGH
painted in the image of god:how funny.how sweet.what a nice thought
you called me a weapon like it was supposed to mean something
like it ever did

3.
mistaken king centuries old stepping on Holy feet
(can you see him?pressed up against the grass trying to disappear
god, what a ******* poseur)
frostbite kissing you,what a nice sentiment
crying with joy as it curls around you
“you just gotta be numb to it, you know?”
please marry me, oh god, i’m in love with you
my heart beats thirty feet out of my chest when im around you (that’s what love means, right)
you feel it ripping you apart,glory
smell stardust in the air and then stomp it out
it never mattered that much anyway,or at least that’s what
you tell yourself
you move like it’s your death wish, like “better here than somewhere else”, like
they taught you how to bleed in all
the right ways.on cue. on cue.
broken telephone wires/that Bic lighter, again/a pile of pumpkin seeds digging
into the palm of your hand
How To Cauterize An Open Wound
torn skin, and blood, and maybe some of your intestines, too
stick knives in your stomach(look, we match!)
there’s still a gun in your hand and it’s smoking and you don’t remember firing it (but that’s
okay, isn’t it? this has to be okay)
you built a shipyard in your ribcage,sent sailors off
to die in your throat
choking on a swarm of ******* bees
youre so cool arent you?youre so cool arent you?
you feel the ***** coming up ten years before it actually does, feel your stomach
bloating,the stench of it all
terrariums bleeding onto the streets, how ugly.what a putrid sight.
youre missing teeth,mouth gaping open
stubbed and ****** where nothing new ever grew in,
don’t know know that hate breeds hate
precious metals ooze off your tongue, join the parade! fall into
a stupor,
collect your wits and die,just die.
“i’m sorry for your loss” written on twenty different greeting cards, did you
think i wouldnt know it was you?
i bruise so easily and you know this, even with a gun breathing heavy against your ribcage.lace spiderwebs
around your neck and pull them tight this time
lighting fires with one hand,putting them out
with the other
YOU’RE SUCH A ******* MARTYR
YOU GRANDIOSE *******
your shoes are too tight, your toes are turning blue,
and i’m still in love with you even though
i don’t even know who you are anymore
god, im a cliche
does that make you happy?
god, i hope it does
you tell me, “poems are supposed to have a rhythm”
smiling like i just said something funny
i’m sorry about the dead flowers.im sorry about that night in the living room.
sorry for the things i said.
the feeling of being in motion/radiation vibrating across your tongue/a handful of snow
listen to the church choir singing--
in. out. dead. it wasnt your-slash-my fault
you say it outloud:
“your-slash-my”, the only way you can tether yourself
to something else.
someone is digging into the small of your back (ill
give you a hint:its me)
can you feel the talons? you take off your clothes, press
your body to the concrete
let the frost build on your spine,your fingers,your
legs
kiss the spool of ants where your ear used to be
swallow hard.
o, songbird! o, thrush!
the mellow winter calling (your mouth
curves around the word vociferous like you cant breathe without it--
this was always my favorite part)
“who told you the ending” and you say
god,  i just knew.
holy, holy, holy, swept off the palm of your hand like dust
rusty spoons and nails And Other Artifacts pooling at your feet
***** with revenge, or desire, or both.
[ SEVEN HOLLOW CHAPELS SINGING ABOUT LONELINESS ]
dont bury this too.not the bibelots, not the science experiments, not the smoking gun
carving itself into your palm
you will forget the ships on the horizon, the feel of someone else’s stomach beneath your hands, your tongue, your skin.
all these things, too: she said.

The Magellanic Clouds,
virid up above;
the light of Streets
the rubberstamped rooms
the Winding Clock --
Shuttering forth
Houses expulsed by
the Wind:
beating in double Time.
Arias bursting,
Dissipating --
between Ears gushing
out.

I want to jump off the earth and into space
As vast visions of knowledge graze my face
Laplace's demon I wish to be
But that hypothetical is not me
To witness planets and stars humans never see
Floating in space will set me free
Milky Way, Andromeda, perhaps a Magellanic cloud
Vega, Rigel, and Altair are my shroud
Antares and Arcturus burning up high
Adara and Bellatrix in my night sky
Life like Eridanus, the end is Achernar
So beautiful up close, and from afar
Horologium watching my every move
To Hydrus and Leo, my courage I must prove
Sun Ra taught me that "Space Is The Place"
When I journey forth, Ill shall adventure with grace

A morning distilled into solemnity
I sit here waiting for something
a bird of ether
to remind me:
quintessentially
I am Asterope
a rock
one of the
Magellanic Clouds
I am eating my dust
everythingandnothing

Rockskipping
lipstickingnothing

To think is to pretend

Fantasizing being
shall we
waltz in whimsy?
Methinks ‘twould be lovely
cradling stars
for a moment
fickle and breathless
(see how easy it is...
and then death comes

and

death is
( )

I touch her hand in mine  
and see allegory cage that Magellanic will bask
and shall dorado not inhibit her glow in cheek now subdue
that wind may howl indeed so wine can stiffen resolve
only then find hers in living here upon my arrival  
this culture won't shock my veins in smite
and bliss quite avow does her only navel. Alas

i want to tear out a piece of the universe
and crush it in a closed fist
just to see supernovae erupting in my palm

i want to etch constellations into my arms
and nebulae of purple gossamer bruises
will form among fragile galaxies on my salt and pepper skin

i want to inject the cosmos into my veins
to feel streams of stardust course through me

and my eyes will be magellanic clouds
and my fingers will gently move the planets
and i will write the stars into the sky

I slept in late because my E-butler germanium
crystles had leaked from his
Titanium clock
and you know  how those
time sleep castles work
so I missed  your v-mail
darling
just give me a minute to take my breakfast pills
I need to cut down on my calories
my head barely fits on the Apple I-*** 9
i have. I need to buy that latest one the Apple 13,
but my crystal orb of credit has been hacked
again
and the league of justifiers
and credit robots are of no help
can we make it tonight?
Our virtual meeting. My USB stick is hard and ready.
I can see your port is glistening.
Okay I will turn off the light show
of the large Magellanic cloud, I know how your eye LED's get.
Can we listen to some oldies though?
I heard this sound warp the other day
sounded so new.
Alexa said it was Classic Rock.

As magellanic clouds collapse into a spoon
i wander off... my satchel strapped to my salubrious stride.
my eyes unmanned. now binary soul nova
resting on my cheekbones... boring holes in the landscapes
to catch a glimpse of the carousel underneath.
spinning on it's side.

perpetual.

While bathing in the last rays of a bright idea -
receding; in accord with epiphanies of mellifluous delight.
my lifespan, now an Always without a comma -
blessed by new bones... thin as reeds to take flight and escape.
where other worlds gleam in the Labyrinth -
night deprived.

unfathomable.

[ can't wait ]