It's been almost 3 years since
you and I have gotten along.
3 years since our song changed,
since our dance shifted off beat.

at our feet, our children rest.
watching for our best, watching us.
we have been holding this together for us.
for them,
I tell them what a great dad you are.
how much you mean to them.
they know you will always come home.

and you have, and I am proud of you
and I know you feel I wish to see you fall,
the choices I had to make for my
own rise,
the woman you always wished I would be,
the one you were waiting to see,
the one you had to hurt to see,
the one that would chose love over sores,
that would heal her heart, again
pulling back on lessons of back then,
when pain was on my chest.
how did I find my best then,
what did I let out...?

you've said I do not understand,
you hint to I am missing your feelings,
that all the low energy has been given
out of defense, though there has been no attack.
you fight against my own path,
the river of me,
my currents are strong.
capable of breaking things down, quickly,
silently, starting in the heart.
I get in there and I break down the bonds,
the electrical signals get recharged,
tuned for new muscle memories.

I see that you're hurt,
that you felt the words you and I said
would keep us bounded,
I see, I hear how abandoned you feel
and that you think I should have
allowed things,
you just are missing my heart.
our deep parts have been drowned out,
filled with warm waters of change,
the stormy mouth, the dark core.
only warm spouts out,
the cracks healed, slowly rubbing down the edges.
the earth always gives to the waters roar.

you were my earth for so long,
and I loved how we molded each other,
you told me to find my self,
my love, I found this other version of me.
I found out, I do not have to accept this
frequency of love.
I just don't.
and now, after 3 years
I can't. I am no longer tuned to your song.
allow my heart to sound as it does.

I still hear your heart,
it beats in the chest of my child,
of my womb,
of the next image of me.
I watch you, I will love you
no thing will change this.

and we will continue to raise our children,
raise them up to be healthy and strong,
love them while they are home, and
maintain their foundation.

it's just been so long,
the conversations are done.
the separation of our physical bond is complete
and now we move on.

please, let's move on.
there's so much to discuss...

I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
            Indentions such as these never stay
            Yet eternally we press against the world

        Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
                    ~

           I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
      With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes

       Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
                And it ONLY screamed.
        
         ~

   I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny and Stephen King
      And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.

      Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.

i used to be
afraid of death
isn't that funny
because now
i like killing myself
i like the feeling of
being torn apart by
other people's opinions
i beg them to tell the truth
even when i know
it's not what i want to hear
tell me
tell me you liked my hair longer
before i cut it short
tell me
tell me i'm too skinny
that i should put on some weight
tell me
tell me you're shocked
tell me i should know these basic things
i want the truth
not a sugar coating
and i don't exactly want it to hurt
but i'm starting to think
it is better than nothing

The mushroom
The unfolding

instant of creation (fertilisation)
not an instant separate from breakfast
It all flows down & out, flowing

but that instant:
not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment
of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating
merging in cool slime splendour
a crushing of steel & glass & ice

(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)

far-out splendour

heat & fire are outwards signs of a
Small dry mating
~~~

event in a room
event in space
a circle
Magic rite
To call up the godhead
spirits, demons
The shaman calls:
“When radio dark night…”
We are eating each other.
~~~

The Voice of the Serpent
dry hiss of age & steam
& leaves of gold
old books in ruined
Temples
The pages break like ash

I will not disturb
I will not go

Come, he says softly

an old man appears &
moves in tired dance
amid the scattered dead
gently they stir
~~~

I received an Aztec wall
of vision
& dissolved my room in
sweet derision
Closed my eyes, prepared to go
A gentle wind inform’d me so
And bathed my skin in ether glow
~~~

Drugs are a bet w/ your mind
~~~

The cigarette burn’d
my fingertips
& dropp’d like a log
to the rug below
My eyes took a trip
to dig the chick
Crouch’d like a cat
at the next window
My ears assembled music
out of swarming streets
but my mind rebelled
at the idiot’s laughter
The rising frightful idiot laughter
Cheering an army of
vacuum cleaners
~~~

Mouth fills w/taste of copper.
Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters.
Gyro on a string, a table.
A coin spins. The faces.

There is an audience to our drama.
Magic shade mask.
Like the hero of a dream, he works for us,
in our behalf.

How close is this to a final cut?

I fall. Sweet blackness.
Strange world that waits & watches.
Ancient dread of non-existence.

If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive. I’m dying.
~~~

1st wild thrush of fear

-A phone rings
There is a knock on the door.
It’s time to go.
No.