feed the hungry to each other
small groups will conspire
give them knives and fires
sharpen bones which they acquire
strip the shelter from the land
theyre stacking bodies higher

watch them wage their war

peel the skin off of their fruits
and cook the meal required
for food is strength
and strength will win
and winners are admired
tell your clan youll split the reap
dont tell them youre a liar
of their bones: an abattoir
you sleep in when youre tired
sleep with one eye open
and watch them wage their war

the devil lives between us
but we marry.
& the devil lives inside of us
so we make wars with swords
to open our bodies
to let out the devil
to **** what keeps us
from loving each other.

i am a ***** styrofoam food container blowing down the street.

this place is a colony of sorts.
but we've abandoned ourselves
and abandoned eachother
and our mission is unclear.
soon we will abandon ship
and swim into an ocean of sorts.
a bespeckled sea of fear and love
and loneliness.
our journey is a hub of discovery.
a place where we must settle.
the gravity of being pulls us close.
and when we touch we will become.

i want everyone to be the medium.
everyone: the peace-bringer.
beings of light, its all the same light.
beings of love.
caught in a steady stream.
no one leads the way.
every living creature
is the prime example
of the perfect specimen.
to graze the edge of
beings of love
leaves lines etched
long and low
into the soul.
and the soul is
all we've ever had
and all that we have left.
speak and listen through the distance
to close in on learnings of love.
we may never be nearer to perfect
as we are when we are near.

abandon all hope please.

all movements in art are
only an agreement that
all parties involved
are inspired
to stop thinking.

very often
im under the impression
that life is boring,
but then
i am reminded
of my obsession
with evil.
it takes me alive
and skins my heart.
it cries a bath
for me
to drown in,
laughing.
it is fascinating
and inescapable
and possessing
and voodoo
and inherently human
and pure.

all of the extra words are lies.
emotions are simple and true.
poetry is only free.
it is a glimpse
of the heart
to the heart.

i hope my life slips by unnoticed.
if it tries to break my heart it wont.
it will be perfect and forgotten.
and i wont be there to die.

the last gift i recieved was a vacuum
two christmas' ago.
and i got that person nothing.
if i ever own a home
it will be clean
but it will be empty.
and i will be dead on christmas.

everything good funnels down
into the jowls of a frothing,
ill-natured beast.

the sun rose
of beautiful wet berries
thousands of screaming people
sneak into our dream
of nothing but love
will rise the sun again.

ill feel like a small town
when im ready for it.

when the top dog prevails
on a small enough island
the food source depleats
and the species will die.

in my body is a ****.
on that **** is a tumor.
the **** is my heart.
the tumor is me.

wearing the skin of the bear
who made you his meal
with the heart of a horse
and the eyes of an eel.
its not our bodies
which make us real

i act as a regular person would.
doing useless things
portraying a useless person.

and i do my best
to seem content
in my role.

thats the joke,

but no one
in the audience
gets it.

but they still clap
when the clap sign lights up
and they seem to enjoy
the sound of the laugh track.

a chariot made from
the bones of the horse
who pulls it.

tomorrow when i wake up
ill be dead.
the bread-box must be larger
than the bread.

i fell through the
aesthetically pleasing crack
in the face of beauty
and everything lost its hue.
which means nothing.
its eyes were poorly painted blue
and i used them to see you.
now i notice
everything is a shape
taking up space.

constantly getting better
at being worse.
my ineptitude is rotund.
i enable it with
all the fats.
i skeletalize myself
towards a very sad suicide.
alone in the woods
ignored by the trees.
lying & waiting
for the ants
to cover me.
until i blend into
the surroundings.

the fruits of life are poison.
a cherry is a nightmare.
a nightmare wakes you up.
you wake up into hunger.
hunger is a pestilence.
the pestilence releases you,
but not before the pestilence
fills the belly of the locust.
the locust breeds love.
and love is the fruit.

the world is constantly
raining red love.

everything ive ever lost
without a heartbeat
i dismiss.
everything else
was someone i loved.
theres nothing else i can say
to explain the passing
through my heart.

these rare eventualities are
preordained to bring us
to madness.
its the work of
someone more clever
and deranged
than we.

hapless, melting streets
and burning homes;
a society of self-immolating effigies.

the fish swims from ***** to *****
and i cant catch it.

the language they use to connect
starts changing.
everyone who engages is a threat.
to make eye-contact is to ******.
laughter is empty with ulterior motives.
what they seem to be is unfathomable.
a strange, violent species.

my spine curves
& my fingers thin
as i retreat
from their
false lights
& spiritual prisons,
into a dark
calm place
where the sound of
dripping water
fills me with
near death peace
as i sit until
i become stone.

it comes with the territory
that i must tell you a scary story
and the details and scenes
are of course very gory
but it must wait
cuz this is very boring.

you still walk into my soul sometimes.
and i sort of look at anything to distract me.
you might be my health but i dont want to steal yours.

my job is a useless service.
i absorb the excess which finds its way to me in a broken economy.
and if i continue to accept this charity then i am party to the crime.

what the mouth of excess steals from the bowels of impoverishment will have nowhere to go.

so i sit and wait
and it spills onto me.

i have money to eat.
but i should have food instead.

maybe our matter is the anti-matter.

those who occupy space but
fill it with nothing but a body.
who drape themselves in an identity
provided by a paid designer.
who do use their own hand to paint the shell of themselves
but close off what any soul would see if it made its way through the false layers of color and skin.
who thoroughly entertain their friends with the most intimate details of their shallow hearts and selfish behavior.
who hiss instructions like
bugs with status to the ones who serve them as if they were
snakes with gold.
who have no smell of their own
and sweat what is poison to them.
currency flows through their veins leaving deposits of poverty residue in their derelict hearts.
who live in mausoleums with functioning fridges and bowls of plastic fruit.
whos **** will remain long after the rest of their bodies rot away;
they will continue to possess a portion of the earth with their clinical beauty, a momento of their spiritual decay.
i see them all the time but get no sense that they are of a species.
their sentiments
disease the flowers
around the place
in which they stand.
other than that
they have no presence.

when the truth comes out
it hurts everyone in the room.
like giving birth to a stick of
lit dynamite.

all light exists in the past.
there is no reason to reflect.

pre-apocolypse is the world around
and everyones doing their part.

i saw you showing off
and getting along
and making conversation.
you were all doing the same thing.
it was like watching a bunch of animals having ***.
it did nothing for me.

when youre glued to your apartment and you know all the treasures are spread through the garden but you cant get up to appreciate the fruit no matter how free and abundant they are i will be starving alone and away from you.
when your thoughts occupy so much space away from you because noone is there to fill them
i wont be there.
but you should understand.
i will be suffering in my own tank
sperate from you
never knowing of our bond.
even if we're choked and eaten by the same beast we'll never know to scream oneanothers names.
we will stay all alone if we continue to act as such.

something so beautiful
can do anything
it wants
including
pass before
everyones eyes.

theres a deep root i cant quite share
but it becomes tired of everything
including myself
and i love it.

my life is so
tiny and exposed
that you may never
know its there
the way you
avoid
a homeless person
on the srreet
even if theyre
asleep.

sometimes the only
music dancing culture food women
is the spanish.

when the blind
fall in love
with the beautiful.

a film of frost formed over everything for almost forever
but fell off fast when every form
finally felt fever.

id like to become very rich quickly
so everyone would be so nice to me
and i could leave them all.
id go to an island where everyone
lives a hundred years and are
always smiling.

im trying to write my soul down
before it leaves.

there is a childrens song
in my taxidermied heart.
it plays every time
someone opens the door
to purchase me.
they count their money
and consider their options
as they browse the room
and i convince them
the product is defective
or unsafe for small children
or obsolete or spilling fluids
and containing harsh chemicals
and they thank me while looking confused as they leave,
opening the door,
while my heart plays
a dying carousel tune
for one of the last times.
waiting
for my usefulness
to wear out
as i become
a relic
sought after by
the possessive
the obsessive
the deranged
the lonely.
a collectible
with no value
serving my purpose
to a collector
who understands
value.

my soul is starving.
i must feed it everything
and do nothing.

if i ever seek validation
in someone else
i hope they
**** me.

they jump up like dogs
to greet you
and they talk
and want attention
but i stay quiet
because i know the truth.
i know who you are:
youre an extention of something beautiful but you are ugly.