I am a broken toilet
Spouting crazy ideas in the basement of some brutalist mansion
My thoughts gone lurid, growing on the whitewashed cement into flowery moulds.
I am a scarlet stain on the ceiling and I am loud and furious and I reek of guilt and decay.
editting editting editting becoming becoming becoming
I am an alpha particle.
Writing writing writing down everything.
I am a ray of light.
I cannot tell if I am real so I feel my face.
I am superfluous, overdone, like a Christmas sweater, Rococo, overtilled to the point of erosion.
I am last night's espresso into this morning.
I am twenty strange projects
and I scrap them as if they were funhouse mirrors.
I am shaking like a leaf.
I am manic and I am happening all at once and I can't ******* stop.

I'll lie with these rhythmic flourescents hanging
pushing light on whitewashed walls poorly painted
And dully sunned palms outstretched and drooping
And steven spielberg sinks charcoal tainted
I watch everything from the 17th floor
The sky a lackluster pupil of a mare
The magenta air is a chest just before
taking a breath and the city is just a breath taken
And the world slowly just...happens
Like bees building structures for their children a wonderful catastrophe
Like a roll of film falling off a cliff and unwinding itself
Or rather dividing and dividing
Winding itself into new terrifying and **** beautiful things
And making and becoming

When it rains cold I let the rain in as a guest to the wood shop and let it in as if it were I was a ship underwater, breathing, soaking it in. I let the freezing air circulate around my body. I turn off the lights. I open all the windows wide. Turn off the fans. Listen to the cars swipe by like matchsticks. Like daydreams. I am a lucid daydream. Japanese joiners used to wet the joints before placing them together, so that they would dry and become inseperable. But when it rains houses don't fall apart. They settle.

runny summer ooze
unlock the watermelon
and night hits neatly.

I am one hundred thousand water droplets
Leaning fast on the oxygen like daylight over the cemetery.
I am that very light that forms parallelograms
In the sun dial of your bare white room in the rail town.
I am the child that falls and does not break anything;
I am the child that falls and gets hit by the train in Barcelona.
I was never yours.
I am your reflection in the back of a fish refracted beneath your lance
Ready to dart away. I am in the air of the prison vents
And in the vents of the court room just before that
And I precipitate within the dew on the monuments years later.
I am the parallelogram of light that falls
On the empty side of your bed after the war.
The same that forms infinite trapezoids of myself as the days wear on
And draws all over your walls in the evening and morning light,
The same that encapsulates the motes of dust that are not mine but yours.
Unfortunately you will have to understand that I am no more
And strangely so, I never was.

I'm alone and my eyes are on fire from the brightness of two on a sunday
I wonder what I look like, unshowered, abused by the wind that strangely doesn't affect the tree branches but sweeps up the tiny Chinese lady on Myrtle.
Presidential?
There were no mirrors for a while
People sat shiva until they figured out how to bathe and polish metal
Before the Greeks or Romans
I didn't look in the mirror this morning
But it's more than that
How often do I really smile?
You see, this is why I can't stand
hearing my recorded voice
Let alone see myself in a video
I'd never be able to do that
Without feeling equally ashamed and dissociated
But half of me eggs it on
The mordbidly curious half that likes seeing gory horror films
Come on, I want the cold hard facts.
I want to know the icy truth
Just like the Sunday afternoon wind.

We come out of the movie
Just the two of us
I don't love you
The sun is setting
But hasn't set
Trucks lean as they turn the corner
We are quiet
There's a park wrapped in shadow
"Let's swing"
You make me swing
I swing
how come you arent scared
I don't feel scared
I am scared