I’m still choking on my own blood.

As it slowly fills my lungs.

I am drowning inside myself

The blood is mine; 
the air is gone,

Now so am I.


After death, there’s nothing more than that same familiar empty space 

waiting for your thoughts to refill it

Infinite & Eternal 
in every direction;
both up and down and beyond before.

encircled by the horizon.



This emptiness where your awareness doesn’t so much ‘go’ 
as recollect that it’s always been here.

look through this persisting dream! 

there is no afterlife because nothing, 

not even memory, is really destroyed.


just transformed 
into particles

into wavicles 

into higher frequencies,

your mind no longer fathoms,
so you leave 
your mind behind.



crystal

liquid,

gas,

plasma

your awareness is the fifth state of matter.

ruling planets cut thru

the screen of midday's midnight--

juggernauts with blowing foghorns.

super-schizoid percolations of color...

the earth herself posing as a spinning

sitter, whose turns are fed to the

paralytic lucidities of turns that will be.

yet there's no turning to be had, when she

hatches.

the screen suddenly seals--midnight's

midday...& thru the screen's holes

serpentine wavicles enter the potentia

of billions of breathers.

light rinses her hair on a taxidermic
dove, sat like wooden wavicles on a
shadow planet.
persued by a scented black candle that
smells of unfillable holes.
as a woman prospects a circumference,
tells herself she came for the music--
not the food.
an angel born of mistaken identity,
walks through the blueprint of a garden--
& is told: 'you didn't touch a thing.'
as with the involution of ears, spirals
whistle like rope thru snake skin.
an evil repellent of sorts, or a courtesy
to superstition.