never am i a pessimist
but you could never be
quite as dear and lovely
as you are to me,
and have been for each year
i have dreamed in wake of you,
without certain conviction or
form, for i never saw or knew.

Desnos and i have dreamed,
and spoiled you.

the laddering of my ribs creak
like water-stained cherrywood stairs;
tread lightly, lest you
stir the dust and the ghosts
that dwell underfoot,
‘neath the cracked floorboards
of my skin.

i have but a simple request:
               rid yourself of your lungs
               and fill up the empty spaces
               with used coffee filters,
               crinkled wrapping paper, and
               forlorn hope. do
cast aside
               the shroud of indecision?, for
               that winding sheet will only
               hold you down between
               your shoulderblades, like
               framed butterflies pinned on paper
               with needles of stone and salt.

stay with me tonight.
we will be taxidermy birds
on marionette strings
with crumbled concrete
between our talons,
the afterimages
of neon diner signs
stamped into our inner eyelids
oscillating, phantasmic.

we'll sing elegies in spring
rock sugar on our tongues—
               there are staves of music
               written in the lining of your mouth
               and in the webbing of your hands
––as Sappho might say:
girls, sweetvoiced.

oh! but to think
that the starfire in your eyes
could be extinguished
by the tears you shed;
i’ll return my heart to the constellations
for you

A sunburst flash
Chopped up ******* down
with blistered reluctant pull
and the choke of dry dusty pills
A floodgate rush
Terror campaigns
Denial rampant
Plagues...
...on all houses involved.

Triangle is a straight line
Wielded together over
The phantasmic ecstasy of
Illusions
The dusk comes
While dawn is still
Snoring
But, we never hear
The incoming calls of
Dangers lurking ahead
Well, do we ever care?

we walk on a bended path
Our roads are cracked and
Shaped with sledgehammer
We made 180• with curves
Time is never ours
Well, do we ever care?
at dusk, the sun leaves
pomades on our faces
Yet, we sleep unwashed
Hoping for the dew of a
New dawn to cleanse us

We own the key to great
Ancient path to tropical diadems
But, we are stuck in this
Triangular path of our
Creation
We are clouded with illusions
We choose our beliefs
We always do
Yet, we never choose
To break the loop

Triangle is
a three -sided straight line
We love 180
so, we are afraid of breaking
Out of this triangular loop
For the fear of losing our 180•
Maybe one day
Someday
When the dawn awakes
Forcing the understanding
of the golden principle of
Relativism
We may break the loop
And walk 180 down into
The Labyrinth that awaits us.

"We are captives
of our own identity,
leaving in the prison
of our own creation."

Your touch,
Phantasmic,
Rests fleetingly on my skin.

You were like all good things...
Gone too soon.

me.gs

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm ⚠
___________________
­
In memory of
him?
her?

I do not know.

___________________
­In the hushed moments
before sleep,
you summon the
loveliest memories of him--
memories now
resigned to heartache and destitution,
to some far off, phantasmic realm
(wherever that may be);

you come to school ill
one winter's morning,
flesh cadaverous,
pale cheeks embellished
by bloodshot eyes
wreathed in dark circles.

He rests his hand atop
your forehead affectionately,
his eyes shaded with concern
as he comes to the realization that
"You're burning up."

(But, eventually, his affections
begin to ebb away,
and with them, so does your fire--
the stuff of magic);

Mouth frothing with rage,
you haul off and
punch the living ****
out of a bathroom stall.
This escapade of fury
leaves your left hand
inflamed
bruised
splintered.

When you tell him
what you've done,
he meets you outside
of the girl's washroom
and takes your hand in his,
runs his fingers over the
inflammation
bruises
splinters
softly and asks you,
"Does it hurt?"

(These days, it hurts everywhere--
and all for him, darling);

He pulls you--
fretful and teary-eyed--
to his chest,
his palm cradling
the back of your neck.

For a moment
you forget about
the cuts on your thighs;
the blood seeping
from your nylons;
the sorrow gnawing
at your bones.
For a moment,
you can't help but wonder
if this boy
is to be your
Gideon--
your Holy Grail.

(And, to think,
one abrupt gesticulation
of his wrist
and your neck snaps--
and you're a goner).

I sat this evening
there beneath the swallowing trees
adjacent to the immortal stumps.
I sat
and thought.
Nothing new. Don't die.
Relax. Persevere *******!

And I happened to believe myself.
"He's wise sometimes," I said.
The passers passed me by,
averting their curious little beady eyes,
purposefully blindsiding the phantasmic figure
curled up pensively. They rush by.
I eat the dusking sky
and the squirrels and placid spiders
night down within the knowing trees.

Peaceingly, the twilight dawns anew.
Unsteady, I stride toward clumping moths with
wishful confidence. Meaning only words,
the gentle enfolding blacks behind
and the lighted moths bat my lashes
as I reach incandescent optimism.
"Well, we'll see," says he.

i danced with your heart in my hands last night
the pulse of beating blood in our veins
drowning out the distance between our bodies
and i loved you in the stillness
in the shift from song to next song
in shift from love to lust to love again
my teeth glinting against the harsh sparks
we've turned up our bassline and
i doubt i will ever be satisfied like this again
your eyes became twin suns against me
burning me alive in the heat, mingled
mangled inhibitions lying with our clothes
and ferocity lies in wait behind your smiles
wolflike and hungry for the bisous, & more
that only we can bring to life in the darkness
between the slick of my thighs, phantasmic
in the starry stealing of moments under canopies
of wavelike sound; and nothing else mattered
but that your heart kept beating in tune
& my feet kept pounding the fear down into dust.

dancing to the phantasmic rhythm
yearning for it to come - to drown me out
out of this world with every single beat
for as scarlet tears fade and scars remain

where do we go?
perhaps, to a happily never after.

All the things that I've never had
Are all of the things that have had at me
My wishes of the things I love
Become phantasmic memory
As this new feeling burns inside
Close akin to travesty
My mind returns to seize the day
When heaven came to bury me
I watch tomorrow's yesterday
Slipping slyly through the glass
Contaminating leagues of failures
Bringing such new pain to pass
And each new day now slips away
Becoming weeks and months and years
And storms begin to brew and rage
Behind this veil of bitter tears
There I find myself outside
Peering into my dark mind
Wasted days now tapestries
Binding, dragging me behind
I realize this fiendish hourglass
Has become my true existence
Happiness slips into sorrow
Finds not one grain of resistance
How is it I've come to be
The epitome of wasted days
Buried beneath happiness
Reigning in this clouded haze
If I could only flip the glass
And watch my sorrows drain away
Becoming joy instead of pain
Creating brighter yesterdays
Maybe storms would cease to rage
And time would cease to have its way
And I could rise from my demise
Instead of just slipping away

End scene on the Neogene

Where life-distort systems sustain
The epidemic apathy  
The superficial philistine
Degeneration entertain
Apocalypse obscenity
When everything's a ******* screen
Explicit content can't disclaim
The creds will roll mentality
Director's cutting guillotine
Makes severed heads and zombie brains
Of our inane humanity
One more cliche inaction scene

Exit stage fright for Pleistocene

Where anti-social norms have changed
The prof pic of society
To this no-filtered drama queen
Waging a twitter war complain
On photobombing refugee
Hashtag #unfriendthistrendregime
Unfollow Insta-claims to fame
Of Snap-storied conformity
Emoticon artists convene
To sell their Tinder-kindled pain
For likes and robot empathy
Dead to the world as they live stream

Brief Intermission Holocene

Where modern man is just a game
Of media monopoly
Rich Uncle's *** of Disney schemes
Pinochhio's nose, knows no shame
When Apple's poison byte comes free
With Mickey Mouse ABC themes
No Goofy Fox News hound can tame
The Lion King Plutocracy  
As talk show ghosts in the machine
Project deceptive astral plains
Phantasmic family tv
What's real is once upon a dream

Final act Anthropocene

Where we're all dropping acid rain
In puff-puff gas complacent-sea
Raising the level of morphine
Numbing denial river veins
To drown the truth in ecstasy
From alcoholic gasoline
That's sold dirt cheap like frack *******
By FDA approved decree
So patch it up with nicotine
And then OD on pure disdain
For sober, bleak reality
An age of addicts on drug screens

Let curtains fall to wipe us clean

Changing sliced frames-phantasmic shapes
until all out of focus
No where is home
if we don't even know where we stand
Sliding a long treachery faster than
light intoxication and
slinking across the thin black line
Entire live spans and plans changed in the space
between a breath and a lie
Thresh hold reached intense beating
from forgotten spoil change
You do know that if you let me take the wheel
I'll drive us both crazy?
Brace yourself for jump
it will only work if we fall together
Counting down five-four-three-to-nothingness
End of line end of line end of time
Stop waiting stop planning stop delaying
The future never comes so
can we start again?
Delete
delete
repeat

Past week, on the night of Tiw
an uneasy candle-flame wavered
censored by hushed air kisses
casting doubt upon an ode;
scribing the blessed years of youth.

This pine scented disturbance
no doubt - an Autumnal message;
that rear weathered doors
failed in the tempered change
curiously bidding, further venture.

Patio' marbles were shrouded
creeping with expired foliage
leaves tainted old hickory
near devoid of all famed ochre,
merciless to breaths of the fall.

That sombre mulched pattering
was alike wistful wondering;
of delicate and shadowy footfalls
from condemned, exiled seraphs
strung by moonlight rays.

The flavescent master glistened,
whilst duelling a clouded force;
enclosing in vaporous march
smearing pebble trailings,
the skirmish roused nostalgia.

For eerie quivers - of familiarity
wrought from the despondency,
as if epitaphed notions of old
were recited by alto whistling,
each note rekindling a memoriam.

An exhale of soulful proportions
sent adrift an essence;
a smouldering encirclement
of exhumed - solemnly recalls
taken from seasonal chapters of yore.

Those hearted ashes of distant times
cavorted - as sterling embers
with a phantasmic replica
of an adoration long gone,
duetting on pockets of melancholy.

Then beauty settled into a sepulchre,
caressed by grieving wreath petals
saddened by silken veil,
awaiting the fateful - dust and sand;
the remnants of embodied divination.

Revived dolor swelled from within
tiding from old, emotive cicatrices
buried deep and then deeper
until from this panoramic taunt
does this churned anguish vein.

A corrosive, timely hiss from Carpo
brushed the illusions past
as once - to a maidens' mortality;
a premature cremation of dreams
lingering the bitterness of decay.

As the pining sky orb retreated
so too - this observer with mourn
stuttering farewells to the nameless
then returned to the forgiving study
to immerse again - in better times.

eeerie lake in the grave yard
where sad  girl finds sanctuary home to her among the deceased cold comfort in the  dark cemetery

play melancholy songs on guitar
to hard  bones deep underground
unimportant the dead are quiet
phantasmic beings dance all around

the lake swirls beneath skull moon
crows flew hungrily in onyx skies
corpses became very fond of her watched darkness grow in her eyes

often  tried to leave the safety there
night after night tune after tune
sad girl would come back
until lifeless bones were exhumed

I’m sick of writing aureate poetry about the sinewy tendons of your hands, the way your eyelashes used to tickle my cheeks. I don’t want my words to blossom for you any longer, but grant me one last creation in your name.
******* for being so infinitely lovely, your face reads like a greek tragedy that I never want to stop translating. The spark in your eyes set me aflame when I thought there was nothing left inside of me but ashes.
You sacrificed your body to shield me from myself when you were still a phantasmic unknown, and I’ll never stop apologizing for it.
I’m sorry for falling through the cracks before we figured out I wasn’t what you wanted.
I’m sorry for always asking, begging you to tell me what was wrong.
But when you’re reminded of all the things you force out of your head, your sparks grow dim. And I know you never want to talk about it, but you’ll have to eventually when you burn that last cigarette.
I’m sorry for not knowing how to tell you how badly I wanted this;
The words fall apart letter by letter as they tumble carelessly from my tongue whenever I try to get them out.
I’m sorry for not being the right person because I know you need that right now, I hope when you find that person, they feel like champagne and warm grass.
I’ll try to help you stand back up when you fall, until then we’ll be all ****** shins and bruised hearts, but I want to be there. I don’t know if your soul has its own gravitational pull or if I’m just a simple *******, but I’ve never once wanted to leave your side.
So yell at me when you’re drunk to let the chaos out, your voice still sounds like a lullaby and I’ll bite my lip until you can breathe again.
I want it all, the elegance, the anxiety, the absolute sorrow of a man.
You’re like the ruins of rome and a natural disaster blurred together into one human form: terrifying, awe-inspiring, and so, so beautiful.
Every inch of you is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever touched, and when I close my eyes at night, I dream I never stopped.
I don’t think I fully know what love is, but I’ve never felt addicted to anything until I met you.

I teach them of the muses
And I rhyme them as I chooses
This is how I vindicate my sorrows
With etchings of trees sculpted into the sands
With mountains of elegant peace
Cascading from a boundless ocean
Of prosperity
Phantasmic *******
You know where I be
I bend steel to my will
With a stroke of the sword
I spit ancient tongues
I'm the architect the visionary
Building purpose
Defining meaning
Divining life itself you feel me
I could watch these people exist forever
I'm exotic hypnotics
Invading your mind
Yo soy el tempesto
I walk hand in hand with humanity
Just a Dionysian kid

When I threw out my hand,
And everyone else pulled theirs,
You stayed open
And grabbed onto mine.
Through dawn and dusk,
Through wind and time,
You held on,
Without question,
Without a faltering will.

Through the glacial mountains
And the phantasmic ravines,
Your hand gave mine warmth,
And I held on,
No longer wanting to let go.

For those who held on
Even when I screamed
To let go,
I thank you for your hands
And giving me a reason
To hold my life close.

Placed on pristine pedestal.
Its posture proud,
Its presence phantasmic.
Its position?

Precarious.

As I look beyond the ocean,
The horizon’s phantasmic light
Reflects a midnight’s oasis
Of never ending stars;
A planetary pastel painting
This distantly endless expanse,
Bringing color to my eyes,
And life to the world.

It’s this lightly salted bliss
Which I’ll come to miss.
No matter how much I move forward,
I’ll wish “once more” to see this.

It comes to me this season  
An urge to blow the bloom  
into
This day
And watch it float on the wind  
  
In this light  
It would be  
An awesome spectacle  
Like an apparition  
Of phantasmic spiral  
Twirling into its seek  
The darkness a great ride for it  
And platform to coast it's colors  
  
Though they fade  
They would surely fade  
And be nothing  
  
I had felt this  
And done it  
And would not do it again  
  
I cannot blow along  
Familiar winds  
  
But new currents have come along  
And hooked the corners of my smile  
urging itself  
To spread wide against the O  
And my uncalm  
Inhaled  
At odds with with the corners of  
What I am  
Used to  
  
I breathe through it  
And the lovely  
Ease and it's scent exists easier  
Inside me  
Daily  
  
When pigments of new petals  
Turn blue  
I dip and streak it  
Into indigo slant  
across page  
Delivering my self free of the shade  
But not the rise of it  
To the sun  
  
not the totalling of it to my whole  
And it would be if ...  
  
But I don't  
I am much too eager  
To let it lie and rest a little  
To meet myself I've cast into  
the role played convincingly  
  
My own shadow  
And see her grow out of it