Your eyes, their photo booth blinks,
are filed PDF's behind my prefrontal cortex.
Parachuting to the moon,
where the gravity god is mortal,
my stimuli float in a sensory deprivation tank.

I practice wearing my isolation blindfold,
allowing all other senses to eat its portion,
SO in time IT fades.

I close my trained eyes
in the warm water and Epsom salts,
my desolate tank of solitude,
And we are holding hands naked,
floating in your Dead Sea.

I Accept The Call

Collect call from Salt Lake County jail
If you accept,
Press 7.
Seven is a lucky number.
Not feeling lucky today
He is in jail again
For violation
Of Mental Health Court.
I accept the call.

Jail for mothers of sons
In jail, I imagine being like
Steel wombs, without the mother.

There are no pillows
No pleasant toiletries
No longer do I worry about
How long the refrigerator door
Has been open while he looks for
"Something to eat" in his bag of commissary.

There is no mama's kitchen.
No sofa to pine on.
Your laments only echoing
off cement.
What is your excuse this time
For violating the rules
At your new mothers home
You must know by now
There are no soft goodnight words
Just the stained metal
Slamming closed

May you keep your sanity
While doing your time
And remember the words
Radical acceptance
Practice balancing your
Emotional, rational
and wise mind
Maintain focus and resolve
To never, never, never give up.
I'll take that call now
I accept.

my life was craving
desperate attention
smoke signals in the sky
Mmm Hmmm

when she found my
heart's ascension
she dropped a ****** surprise

       from a crashing wave
       escaped a mourning dove
       i was starving and was saved
      for two years by force-fed love

my life was aching
shall I be released
you could see it in my eyes
Mmm Hmmm

but i succumbed like when  
a dog with disease
goes under the porch to die

      from a new born son
      my heart rose above
      i'll never turn and run
      thankful for force-fed love

my emotions
current like oceans
raised feet drift towards sunrise
Mmm Hmm

with all devotion
my new love potion
no more makeup disguise

     unchained cannon ball
     sunk my force-fed love
     to surface from this fall
     all i needed was a forceful shove

is a thought i had the other day
thinking, as one does, back
to when life was
just a little more junked-up.
as easy as it may seem, i was
a little bit more verbose those days,
foul-mouthing my way through my problems
and strangely,
call me a printer's press because
the grease kept coming and the pages kept coming
(and i was one squeaky wheel, you know)
and it seems to me a tad lopsided
how junked-up living overflows
into creative spaces, and
while picking through the flotsam and jetsam of
your overhyped depression and paranoia,
lightning strikes from a fed-up God,
tired of your long-winded prayers,
sizzle the brain's juices
and out comes a fresh verse to lay down
into another page of those worn out notebooks
so why does a person seem prolific
when they've just got a lot of problems?

Special is special when you realize that you have a second dream about your crush that you never got to actually crush like a tin can of love floating out of a different realm and comes from a different
Background in my mind where I find you
And your short skirts, the feelings they exert from my brain and it **** hurts
like a cactus,
Your smile spins on the axis just right,
I'm probably not your type in real life,
But in reality there ain't really types but
humans in real-life,
I wanna show you that and i know you
Don't like the lame boys,
No concerns for *** toys,
You want you a real man to be his
Little pride and joy,
The feelings I made for you is something
I can't avoid,
Wish we could get lost carry all of this

Without void.

something can hit you
upset your life
destroy you daily routine
make you aware
of the fragility of life

and of the statistically proven fact
     rarely ackkowledged
that bad things may also happen to you
not only to others

Anti venom pinch,
naloxone's kiss,
now standard like first aid kits,
breathless blue,
second shift's rescue crew,
those blind shadows sent Hell away.

Awoken to,
interviews,
strapped down to a siren's bed,
they asked my name,
and I just said,
will I see my son again.

      How do you explain,
      awakening,
      to a memory never known.
      How do you explain,
      awakening, awakening.

Called my mom,
and my wife,
send the lawyer to my bedside,
I'll explain,
in room thirteen,
must be a reason I'm alive.

Second chance,
that song, its dance,
rest in bliss,
my fellow friends,
addiction sees your mind to bend,
turns truths into myths.

      How do you explain,
      awakening,
      to a memory never known.
      How do you explain,
      awakening, awakening.

Ketamine dreams,
induced narcoleptic nightmares,
poles of northern impulses,
and southern stupors.

My equator's equilibrium,
and my catatonic control,
each one in the same,
yet far from reach.

A squeeze of a lime,
its fresh sour scent,
atop three fingers of gin,
match the burn of my cuts,
and i feel once again.

Cocktail straws set aside,
stirring fingers dull discomfort after a lick,
"three more limes please, barkeep",
it's now triple the pain i seek,
tolerance & your fickle itch.