But I
Return to
My growing

The world serpent shall awaken
After all this
Hibernation and hate

And shall find that
Slumbering serpents awaken

Strong.

————-

You steal my symbols,
Rally falsely to my image.

In time, you shall rally no more

what
stands between
a man
and a plan_
crinckles amidst children.
their hands clench to it like funeral-
fingers around a showroom rosary.
no-one believes in it.

god is like paperwork

and you are tiptoing now.
but i can hear you
i am coughing up weatherstripping.
i shoot through the gap in the crowd☆
i am reprimanded over a can of soda
she is fuming.


my dress-watch is broken. with nothing to
look at, it turns.to remembering a certain pair
of shoes and an asian supermarket we
used to go
to.

In this age of instant gratification and expanding hive mind at our fingertips,
A 2D projection of the whole world is turning into one location .
These are the purest forms -
Untortured by corporeality .
These are the shadows at the back of the cave, if ever there has been .

With all of this here to observe and ponder ,
It would be disservice to ignore the nature of these tools -
This evolving human state

Man
Made
Man

And
The making has never yet
Stopped .

We may yet falter at the edge of the colliding tectonics /
Be crushed by nascent peaks /
Be swallowed by the sundering seas and cast into new abyssal reach

We may yet
Break apart into scattered pieces
At the cusp of escape velocity /
Disintegrate into nothing more than a debris cloud /
Serve only as a dusty web of obstruction for others who may come later to bat

We may
Become a spiteful
Net
That’s wrapping around the globe and the greatest artifact of all of our failures -
Ugly poltergeists looking only to hold back the light /
We may seek others only to
bring them down to our level, such that our memory doesn’t
Get
Left behind.


Or
we may hone a deeper focus
And a wider gaze of what Home really means


We seem to be afraid of knowing -
Of being .
We numb ourselves into perfectly manicured stupors ,
Cast roles for ourselves and the rest of the world such as to frame ourselves as victims of our very existence

How are we to know without knowing?
How are we to decide where to step without map of our footfalls?

If ignorance is bliss -
Then omnipotence must be a more supreme form of
Agony
Than felt ever before.

Yet here we find ourselves
Wanting both :
Seats at the pantheon - and also the kind of
Guidance
Offered to children.

Many
Demand it, even.
Demand everything.

What lowest common denominator
Will define us?

Shall we slumber
Ever
Again?
Shall we deserve to?

How will we recognize and be
Recognized?


How will we love?
Who will be worthy of such love?
Who will we dare to say are truly unworthy?


How much time do we have left to
Decide?











Here.
Now.
We.

Is dedicated
To
Those who have chosen healing over
Mourning.

The world needs you.

Your love is yours to
Give,
Tough - or otherwise.

I hope your blood vessels strangle you all at once from the inside, slowly crumpling you to the nothingness you are -

A biological trash compactor of cold, sweaty immolation.

As
All the lies you tell yourself are laid barefooted across the burning ashes of your self-ruined world.
As
Everything that you are disintegrates into the vile sludge of your failed human existence.

As
The violence of Man’s hatred turns on itself, for once.

I hope your god obliterates you -
Or someone else’s god -
Or I’d even settle for a Big Mac truck,
Or
A chicken bone in your

     Meatless
          throat

when you do it:
i will make a decision     between the button sleeves
and the shirt that needs cufflinks.
i will pick the the buttons
because i will be able to roll up the arms
if i want to.
i will pick the shoes                                      that shine.
i won't be guilted into praying at funerals anymore.

honeyfly.

drumming out claval basins
in bruised thigh meat

in cuneiform
        claw marks down the
rib-collapse path(way)


embalmed in slurred
                wish
as the slush-rushed
                 outflows

        crystallize
       slikker than
           waning

stones
not lain to

carrion cairn
hillsides

food for glaciers
belly for trinkets .


_a clearing [mound] for mourning its unmourned nature

legs for
leg things. (and catching teeth.  .. ,..)

The world around you is not everything all at one moment and in the same place.

It is separated out into compartmentalized steps :

Understand what step you are on
Chose you next one you will take,

Look up at where you are going -
But don’t forget to watch your feet at each
next
     Step.

The things that are here, are here now
And you are here now

All the thing that have been, or may come to pass,

They cast shadows from themselves that we can watch dancing at the back of the cave.

But we are Now.
And Now needs to be dealt with now.

what’s left of of a girl
/
i’ve found her  

/

won’t be giving all
won’t be missing the wisely dog-eared
places

:

the moment the portrait
became

cauldron

.
evermore



.the dreams, as they were
.the un-scrubbed, literati-***** genius


a trial-and-error machinegun lunge-forward kind of loving

a kind of loving .

  



                a kind
            of loving.



//the sound the housegutters make when they beg the rain for mercy .
the rain .

/the well-threatened promise of “now” .
the softened blows of its passage.




the blacktop, swimming (and the music.)

your fingers    find answers like old magazine
pages.get turned into puppies

i'm yellowing   w/i/t/h
                              them
i had more but i lose it when i lose you to the floor
like chestnut-husks against your skin
like failing to ******* .
   flowers faking it in a field somewhere-
it's enough to

.

c-u-t bangs off.impulsively
shirtless
outside in the/end.november
pre.noon

buzzing the side of a silent head

out there:

burn on

Is to be life

To hold fire
Is to be human

First
Keeper

Of the flame : first human

Ancestor of all devils

.

hands of hate

those who seek to brand knowledge as private property
prioritize destruction above all else

do not let them

you were buzzing in the bathroom.
slapping yourself against the tall window

i thought to myself,
            i'll swing open the hinge and set you free
but when i went to wash my hands, you stopped buzzing-
and i stopped caring.
   and i walked away

.



.
hellhound famil

falling

cybergoth princess

go do something better and talk to me in about 5000 years when we chance by eachother in some deep pit of whatever next hell welcomes us so openly

\\






///////
breath is stopped
and teeth, like glaciers_ carving scar-like channels  in the earth
  
know


i “I’m”
and i am saying too much

in answering, i hold us up from getting at the meat of it.

seat of it. sitting there,stinging me.
too afraid to get so    clear

I push sky and space away

Rumble  me into landscapes disconnected from my feet
And my head is the only thing with me that had got anything left to do with it now .
Bouncing back and forth on a too-thin neck
Not holding upright
Crumpling in like  . foil
     Like green moss drying in the
     Sun
I learn to be real
Appreciate
     Like how every knocked over telephone pole
     Happened.


If



It will happen still

///////
breath is stopped
and teeth, like glaciers carving scar-like channels  in the earth .
  
With soil.
ringing in the ears,



Swimming in rivers without bottoms.
Cooling me down in a fever, in time

I “I’m”
And I am saying too much

In answering, I hold us up from getting at the meat of it.

Seat of it. Sitting there,stinging me.
Too afraid to get so   clear

your mouth is a wristwatch. i stare
impatiently. noticing strange things,
folding the corners of my page-wanting fingers towards you.
the breaths taken
say so much about the situation.
killing children in other counties
while we wait       
              _
my leftovers get shoved behind your
seat.
it takes a moment to stabilize.

you sunburn like antarctic summer.  eyesglazed inside

+plastic
+basins  

catch it like big pores casting texture from raking angles
you glacier
spark white against cobalt glass

silver ring
oil skin
metal pen
[dishes in the sink/everything]

the dog, crated, waits patiently for the coming of morning:
and with it, breakfast.
still in her red jacket
delivered today
she lies somewhat uncomfortably in it. but not
angrily, as before.

the dishes pile up in the kitchen: not caught up from the week_
they will remain too, sleeping until dawn
standing as evidence of time passing
and of bodies being fed.

minds will wander to other things
but bodies have been fed
and they push into tomorrows (because of it.)
[.    ]

the nape of her neck
smells of soda and leather  

she rubs her eyes.

my hands are raspy hanging around your breastbone as if it were
a
trashcan
from which i seek vantage, looking out across the grass for a
familiar     face.

bangs tumble over her brow like rain on a
tin roof-
a soldering joint that comes undone after years of dissatisfaction, a broken arm.i am left humming an asymmetrical tune.  no longer familiar with the haptic feedback of my palm against your jawline-

i
find you the way i find the tone of a bell shaking  in my belly.
inside there, you are
a chorus of drips from the faucet
                                      a room away.     
filling the basin.

around the circumference of her wrists are thin red indentations where elastic bands have been
removed.

i can trace like-marks around her waist.
there are pink shadows between her shoulderblades that
              show me
              where
to apply pressure.

i do so and crack our spines downwards


the hairs on the back of my forearm are taken between her lips and tongue
       so as to
     moisten them at the breach of her mouth

we modernize
and carcrash into eachother

we are there dangling on the ground

Like severed limbs
as
Uru as
Uuuuuu

Animal skull mouth
Bride to loneliness
Upon cliff top watch
I return to you

From the sea
From the sea

From me, I see
I see.

If you brew the perfect cup of tea each time
By taking the exact temperature of the water,
And measuring out the powder,
It ceases to be perfect.
It ceases to be anything at all.

i am waking up later
and the trash trucks are coming earlier
on trashday

and
it adds insult to injury to watch them roll away slowly
to the house nextdoor

7:20am on a tuesday,
knowing that it'sstarting again

to the

late stage coopt of corporate agile cultists,
usurpers of the diverse paths of our futures,

the human condition is
a
temporary
inconvenience

in pursuit of a new and truncated eternity


CLUTTERED rooms full of minimalist art-objects for the unconstituted mind

there's no reward for the children.
there's no love during a power-outage.
   
a dog-biscuit god,
lonely on the 4th floor landing
tired.
biting his knuckles
as the night sits on her hands and waits for something spectacular to happen.  

somewhere a huntress is hurting.
somewhere we finally live.

we are beautiful- clean, like some ocean drug,
smiling out of nervous fear.
sitting shirtless in the dark,
slapping our fingers against our thighs to warm them.

we wanted heroes
but god kills like a hero.
we found a crumpled hand and a cigarette.
saw a girl hiding from a killer in her closet

man with crow on his collarbone-
for some hot, damp woman
lost a piece of our prize in the coming of the sun
***-runner's daughter,
sign of the father.

we need no such badge of courage on our sleeves.

Rough-scuffed finger-tips
Touch the worn metal
Disk
Of the walk signal.
As the mad man blows polyphonic descending runs into a double saxophone
And screams raspy do-*** into the
Musky spring time

Oh yeah

Oh yeah.

We are

Smuckle berry
Finished
Here and

There was
A
Way
To
Behave

everything  is
a trade
outside of love .

but we devils make
these deals only
to
inch that much closer
each
time .

There is no true discipline :
Learn everything
And use the best of
Each

Good luck.

dis/belonging ,
The broom-swish thrush (******)
curtain.fall of

your
lash-filled
scan

hits the side of
  my .  body      like

        [  ___ ] .






   zip-fold me  .   into

jackets
     full of
It .

There are things crawling on the ceiling in August
There are bellies heaving in and out

There are faces  pinker than fingernails in August
There are gods and the dying

I am standing in the hallway in August
I am not a god


You liken me to the inside of drawers in August
You shut me and
You line me with  plastic  fabrics

You fill me with silverware and
You disarrange
[.     With courage. ]

If there is any human history
Left to be written,
I hope that you will be
Remembered.

Oh. Oh. Shaboom.

Hip space dog
Peanut butter days are here again.

in my brows, your words are horse legs
  [i get caught between them]&
the wrinkles around your mouth
are a vague fantasy of being happier on a long opposite coast.

out in the indie paradise
the ferns get wet.

and all i can
ever only do is let myself stay  
dry

the fog rolls off (of) the pacific,

asking,   what
twang
brought me here


i am lying
and it is fine

she will ***** new
rings on the
coffee-
table in honor of me.

for
i am reeking like a moonbeam
i am hitting the dead grass.
through
a hole
in the boards

&
tucked up in a jacket sleeve is all my     lovliness.☆
my arms are less beautiful than yours so i pin them to the
outside,     hoping the wind will **** them.

i give them away

too many sleeves have become dear to me
it is
overwhelming.
i don't know how to be human-like




and big sur

has an appetite

that keeps
the flow steady and the combing, hot
amidst the dark of it all.


as a splash
as sea spittle
as fingers on furniture

you are are finding me

laying down
for life

knowing you.


like a patter
like chimes

she is here again,
in agony

threshold thrum thrasher
belly waster
a
water gun kind of hurt

i don't want to be
sensitive
anymore- or cool
for that mater. art is better off left to the dying

(hence the beard and the ugly coat)

sink-water upon my bristlerough  brow ,like deeply unearthed lime
weathered  to indistinguishable faulty
globes
precipitating across a.goblet-edge .a
rim-locked  look,
now
wet hair patted down
into model
behavior
and

situational sensation

rot-gut mornings and the exiled king of []
digging through grave-heaps
like
searching through
drawers
seeking:
seeking:


trading
  manacles
           for
madman's
  manacles

clad in wonder
beside those iron lidded eyes :
blinking open like shifting tectonics
or
rusted gears
rumbling
below us

as we ready for the
p
l
u
n
g
e
.

you pose your head like offering a nat-geo ****
aroundthe table
as something valuable
to be
venerated
the sliding screen lights up
offering a piece
of your brown skin

the leaflets are caught in folds that wont  
find any other place to open.

but remember
every hero is somebody else's scumbag
and if that were good enough. we'd be home
and yet
twisting me,
greedy-
bleeding like a baritone.

still,
beggars can't be choosers but killers can get you
if they want.

Looking through a stack of old Nat Geo’s found in an art room cabinet is
probably
one of the most sublime and authentic human experiences .

It,being untouched for so many years.
I, being the fist to cut it up for picture projects .
I remember
The
Transience .

And the dusty ficus
By the window nearest the closet in the further-back, less used part of the
space.

The very aesthetic that I’ve been searching for
Since

one of us is a kite .
and the other, is a pile of jackets on the bed
in a memory about a family gathering.
//the ultimate goal of recycling remains
black plastic clothes .

special boy
worst messiah
greed beyond sacrifice

A humble god
Would chose to be powerless
Seeking only to observe and learn.
A god which is not humble, is not god,
For selfishness and self service is a folly belonging only to that of the living.
It is the natural byproduct of the need to provide to one’s self in order to sustain and survive.
It is the folly shared by all living things:

I must take
Such that I may live.

To remove mortality
Is to remove any native proclivity for self service,

Therefore, a consciousness which needs not,
Asks not, and takes not

Does not seek to introduce, nor extend, the influences of its own
Will
Externally.

A humble god
Simply
Observes it’s own
Breath

As it decays
Into

Nothing .

Rolling downward ,
With the simple
Ease
Of
Gravity.

her lips curl
the way jungle leaves fold.
hungry for water

parted perfectly to dragg each drop.downwards towards the stems
and dark substrate.

you may think they get enough. the way the rains come
the way the soil gets soaked each time.
yet, glossy plastic sheets everready
for more, present to it.
putting the wet spoon back into the sugar, irreverent to anyone else.

at least. thats the way it looks in the old nat geo magazines i remember holding up to my face.a long time ago.

eyelids feel like wet aluminum
gut stitches shut
bad knee re-bads.after years of ok-ing
spasm of the foot


poison
Poison

path in the world.


/

skull face under face face
face face, facing the truth

Using the cold wall and my bare feet to regulate body temperature. Bracing up against her.And retreating.  Thumbing through dry white pages of skin as a dull orange glow
gleams off the edge of   a     r  i  b.           There is a clinking from the other room. The phone charger is getting hot.
We dream of power plants buzzing  far away; skylines full of towers. Wire tracks leading off limitless unto the
unknowable.  Vast.  Thataway.          And there is something ready to
consume us out there. In the woods and meadows. In the irreverent
nation of pocket warmers and folded map laminated
fingers  



There's no such thing as Vermont. The land doesn't know that name.
It hears the rustle of my dead branches and gurgling of moist earth
churning thanklessly beneath last years canopy, and thinks to answer,  ,,home. Home. Home,,.


None taken

I drag your body from the room As the Bluetooth quietly disconnects from your favorite speaker, and the signal is left empty and waiting for instructions, not coming.

i caught your
              glance
like soap between the toes
and the ugly hairs wrapt around them-
half-way
to the drain

we breathed a bit.
i thought that you looked a little better than from before