the most perfect people invited me in their oddities
to their cozy crib for a night of civil anomalies.
they moved like dancers who dabbled in alchemy
and already i've created such a powerful fantasy

that i want to cancel all my summer plans
to touch their brilliance
and draw their soft hands
hoping they don't have terribly high demands
from other mollusks with failed projects
and weak attention spans

the tides within me rise,
higher than love,
roll with unfathomable speed,
crash so forcefully that i
then rise again.
i think i want them both
to love me like an oath.
i think it takes a lot of art
to grip a heart
so stretched apart.

i was introduced to these artistic geniuses
while i climbed the trees that jesus said
are made for monkeys: that's you and me
i've got it on letterhead. i have his blessing.
how slowly did you consider your discipline?
are you sure there's nothing you did not intend?
trust yourself to step aside and to pitch in.
this love is like clutching and grasping at nothing,
weeping and killing to reject my smallness.
my mark on his ***, my words in her ear.
i think i need more stamps to send ahead my gear.

fierce, powerful love erupts
on my left and right
their sudden smiles
baking me like a pastry.
lava leaks from my scalp,
thawing out my frozen eyes.
she laughs when i look at her.
she says i look just like him.
and we all gaze at each other,
knowing different things.
i feel singular
peace in my privacy

when suddenly i realize
i'm climbing an un-manageable height
on a ladder of flies
and a dozen sticks of dynamite.
there's too much to behold
among these clouds
even if they are, at first, cold
treetops cast in pale shrouds
and wet with slippery dew.
they call me to you.

holding lightning and hydration
it tears my name into pieces
and hands back all my devastation.
i could not share myself
even in our circle of small fires
i'm too huge and too small to decide
between any of my desires
i will thank them for calling me there
where it's okay to be a liar.

and if she could just tell me now
what it is her lungs ache for, and how, then
i could decide whether or not to disengage
with practicality.
i could decide whether to save or surrender
my time and energy.

i'm sectioned in itemized pieces, i'm the imperfect circle
with a small vacuum near my middle.
i'm the triangle transforming a line into a sphere
and finally finding my shape somewhere in here.

earth.
i'm the boundary outside the thermosphere,
look at us. just marvel with us.
earth.
i relinquish every ruling in my self-preserving fear
of the godly green guts.
earth.
what if i'm making it darker down here?
my teeth could break the crust.

i feel promiscuous
even when i am fully clothed
when I hear, "did you miss us?"
i feel my heart swell,
feel it split and explode
from a most painful knowledge,
what this foolish heart loves
that is; their marriage.
it is one friendship
i'd be disgusted to see die
it is one wholesome, lively thing
regressing my ineptitudes without reply.

my specialty is a destructive blast
that only hurts for a day
but for you both, i could not.
i'll just let this incense rot.
so grant me time and access
to the parts of your mattress
that you both find time to share
give yourselves a bed-rest
and I'll leave two pairs
of my flowery underwear.

A simple stroke stemming from a heart-planted seed
Ice white and sky blue freezing every generated thought to one with its chills
Intertwining shades of brown fuchsia splattered to a black space - manifesting into dreams
Blue, yellow, and purple churning with hydrochloric acid forming butterflies
Pulse shooting through into the darkened mesosphere darkening fuchsia's mark
Darkened fuchsia turned deep red lustful passion
An unfathomable crescendo beading sweat with final strikes
Reaching the thermosphere - revealing an exclusive sight of our aurora
It hangs in the gallery "Of Our True Selves"
The finish product is almost disappointing

+ crowned saint
*circa 2015

why hadn't i thought of this before?
why are children hidden in the floor?
why is our mother missing and
why is carbon four hundred parts per

human? historical doubts, unusual droughts, i thought
i'd never say it but **** canada. **** budweiser, ****
saint valentine and his pagan oppression, bless my blood
for being dark. there is consciousness in the pores of corals,
a strong mind in the **** at the polar regions of this table.

i am not an arctic hare, i am not a vector
for your raging codependence, four meters
into the thermosphere i am not vulnerable to
methane, early snowmelt, or severe wildfires

but you are.

Drifting through the thermosphere
Enraptured by twisted melody
Escape into aurora's glow
Willful nonexistence, sublimated entity

Do you change shape to
Slipping through these days
Liquid dreamer
Faulty against lines in the sand
You have eight faces on a round head
Only irony would permit
Octagon facets of your expression
To reflect one another
If the earth could talk
Oh the stories she would spew
Perhaps she is the only true triumphant
Yet we press against her
Resisting the way she would show us
All the love she has given
Yet, race to the moon
Love to the blue stars in the black skies
Will we tarnish them too
When we reach where their light touches
Paying no respects, giving no courtesy
To light beyond our own
We are never satisfied, never happy
With where we are
We hate the journey, fear the end
Desire to burn so bright
Pushing the super in supernova past our thermosphere
When no one in this solar system cares
And as if any creature, animal, or vegetable
In the next solar system can see your flares
When nothing matters
What do you do
How will you burn
When the exosphere will one day pull to earth
Every atom we are composed of splits
Phosphate and nitrogen sin against each other
As if it was their first day in the garden
Knowing, time is our only true forbidden fruit

The cold, dead girl prefers the huts lonesome, especially the haunted  huts
She detests  pin drop silence
So for her, the sorrowful wind moans
lugubriously through the oaks and pines
The candlestick looks scary


Suppose you're  a spirit medium
Call her quietly
She will respond and pass through  the troposphere,  the stratosphere,  the mesosphere and the thermosphere
She is a good ghost
She resides in Sirius
The dead sinners  stay  in the inner  core


Life and Death are inextricable
The unending afterlife ...
Time knows how to fly
A gleam  of hope knows  how to try
Rain knows how to cry
A novella  knows how to lie
A desert  knows  how to remain  dry
The Mimosa  pudica  knows  how to be shy
A poetic mind knows how to be a clear  sky
and everyone was born to die
everyone is  born to die
everyone will be born to die.