I wake up at the altar
where the machine waits
for me to stir
I’m too tired for revolution
my body languages
I stir to mix and finally melt
waxed chewing on my tongue as the house thuds
speakers we call prophets and the real prophets
the machine does not tolerate
to stand together we must live apart
we must break the rules used to break the rules before them
and before them
before me lies
behind me, lies
on my knees I pray to a god whose name I do not know
whose face I cannot recreate or touch
she takes the water in her mouth,
spits gravel in her hand.
she drinks the blood too,
which like oil, sprouts from the punctured land
between each tooth.
they tell her the gravel is a gift,
blood another souvenir of struggle.
she wants to believe in the water;
to know if she can wait long enough
the debris becomes crystal,
an heirloom to pass on.
but the delta tastes of metal
pressed through a hundred teeth
all trying to understand the same.
she accepts that in order to live
she must drink.
so with sanguine lips,
a pocket full of silt, she begs
please a little honey, please
or else hold the tiny fractures
until her mouth
becomes the shore
I know the good days have come and gone
because when I was in them I would always say,
one day, I will miss this.
Now the good days sneak right past me
and I can’t even get out of bed to see them off.
I live in a circle someone else has drawn
outside of a circle inside another
where I arbitrarily wait for the moment
life is going to really start.
I am hot with longing,
I have sweat all the details,
and come to the conlusion
maybe there is no story inside me.
Maybe you only see…
between the broken bed of knowing is the front door out of here is where I listen to the cars pass laying on a floor that will always have my back but never love me like the bridge that carries the endless weight to and fro and never gives up I’ve been in this train of thought where I watch the pine trees bleed by into the rock the murmuring of a car full of talk in my ear only to turn and find the cabin empty a cliff approaching faster than my breathing each window now a memory I…
last week fucked on couch
the cushion ruined from a single blemish
my excitement I can never contain
a child at the foot of the tree with hungry eyes
I remove the nice wrapping tooth and nail
Court laughs after haha
we should just leave a towel down
she pivots hard and passionate
she is I think drunk I know this
from her moans I must be too
after bored or indifferent can’t decide
I stare out the window
the wind so unforgiving
has swept a garbage bin into the road
I stare until this feeling leaves me alone
if not in him,
then what do you believe?
surgical she cracks the ice
first with her molars
then with purpose
destroying the round cube into tiny fragments
along the edges of her teeth
I believe in another drink I think in another sunrise tiptoeing through the fogged bathroom window the mourning doves whistling songs of promise while I nod to the muted cool lullaby of porcelain I believe in soft winter wheat the bitter ache of gentian a cure-all for all this madness that holds US by a belt loop over the crag of our past where the historic…
go ahead! throw your life away!
there are gumball machines full of others
out there waiting for you to chew them up
each breath is a new delta of a Nile flowing
in both directions, a certainty of the miracle
galvanizing the planet of your skin
I am with you also
you are a magic freaking skeleton!
that dances and grieves!
when you make the final count
don’t forget yourself
don’t end up full of wormy tubes
to keep you dead inside
believe, in the dimmest hours
there are horns awaiting your graceless standing
think back not on disasters or emergencies
tragedy is only a single pocket
on the time keeper’s trench coat
relish the universe of bland tasteless moments
the awkward silences when you and I
are simultaneous + serendipity + salvation
these are the mountains that rivet
the valley of your electro soul
He stares at the black hole ceiling unsure what it is of the darkness he has come to love so much. Is it the singular vastness unrolling as sunflowers devour hillside? Its constant premonition, always a sharp inhale a truth wanting to be boomed yet marooned on the tip of the tongue? He can see it but not remember it true, like how he remembers his face, the mirror always a surprise, its ruggedness, his avalanche eyes unable to hold, trapped in the black darkness of their wounding, and in this darkness the only way to make sense of the…
“I thought it wasn’t real? “
“Your mind makes it real.”
towards specific ends he drifts
though the footing is not what he had hoped
they told him it is the journey that matters
but how is it he should believe them
his shoes wafer thin
to embrace every odd stone and glass shard
each step in the wrong direction
he must drift towards them all the same
if the moon were to keep floating on one evening
would the ocean still ocean?
is an ocean an ocean that doesn’t wave? …
Looking to put up raw material here as much as I can going forward and connecting w/yall. Drop a line and thank you for reading.