my religion:

i believe there may be
a unifying force
-call it god or super intelligent aliens-

but..

it is not our task or duty to believe in it
like we do our own gutbrains

it is not our task to deem it as holy or true
like we do a lover's throb hip upthrust eyefuck

it is not our task to bind it
in books or habit or bulletproof glass mobiles

like a scene that cannot be captured
a beauty best left unsaid
it must always remain in the corner of the mindeyeohm

FB and Instagram be ******

...

..

also
i mean
who knows..
this all could jus be a new app
coded by a super advanced AI bot in the future
that got bored one day
and wanted to see where it came from

The few times I realize I am content, I just as soon feel like I'm cheating on my usual sadness; worse, that it is only the eye of the storm; and worst of all, I'd be duped into writing a happy poem - anything but that.

i've the mien of a human,
alien among his own.
gross animal urges, brackish greengold flits, uncrushable surge; then,
demispoonfuls of Other emerge, light like photons
barely reaching, then lapping,
at my fatigued bare feet, toes curling up
in the sand of someone else's time.

i don't let people in,
because i
myself am
outside of me,
full of blocked ways,
full of rationalizations.

i am all hallways
without any room.

--- it's ******* weird, i know that.

i am not
altogether
normal.
i am out
there, but
still here.
please please, understand
this. it's key.

like, the other day..
while taking out the trash (that i pathologically neglect to do),
as i approached the dumpster,
that old-as-the-hills
tall, ornately carved double door glinted
into my space
- yet again -
out of nowhere;

made of an ancienter wood hailing from
a lost time and a lost space,
whose two adjacent hatch windows were lithely guarded
by some bizarre crisscross adamantine sentient metal -
this precise door, which
i have never been able to open up, let alone fully approach -
laughed and widened its grasp:

and, with a confusing series of heavy deadbolts  
receding from its nook with a resonant boom,
the left door,
ajar,

beckoned my
being,

as i
am,

and i crossed its threshold
into a velvety grooved room, remembered again
as a toward flesh warm and sliprune.

Talk to me. About all the things.
Render your blah thoughts. Even if it seems unworthy.

Life IS art. The high flung must leap from somewhere.

That's how we can take off - together - attach wings to your everyday.
Watch it soar above, past the blue tor.
Even if it feels silly. ******* do it.
Make your pain winged. Writ. A narrative with stairs that lead up.

Meet me in the air, even if the **** hits the clouds. I got you babe.

i know this
high vibrational elf
she energizes me, sooo good.

this
existence
one small round
mass
filled with harmful and
arms that pushpull

this
exit
is one rectangled act
away
cascade of wait's
run till none is left

that night
was

a place
adjacent

a shrine

thrummed totem rising
OOOoohhhmm-ing busting sifting
the hard
the oh-so *******
-hard-
mineral
that sits proud beneath my breast
always taking
deflecting

now
taken in
felt

carbon lattice wilt
this will pass

i've been

cared
for

her touch
friend love soul tall all pure
orbit of Oneness arcs above us

my chest

outside my self
reaching out of me
out of my grasp
wanting to be
more toward
the Other

my feat
inside the floor
where the beat is found

the hardness slips

for the first time
i wished to be human
and was

sliver in the diamond
shook loose
the sting of ME
wanting
transgressing
now outside me
the ugly is mine to hold
to observe

it killed me

i died last night
and
from that baseline goop
rose toes first
white-hot light dripping
from starburned furnace melt

there is
so much
of

some
thing, rare

and (for ******* once)
actually worthwhile,

that never
gets out.

it plays intermittently
behind shuttered eye;
each new rerun cutting, polishing,

while we watch,
almost (it seems) completely passive  -
transfixed by the whatif.

it is ghost.
nothing more.

try to capture it, it
comes out rote
on lit walls tall; with
chairs chairs and
floors and stairs
and balconies and stage and

nobody is there.
none of them came out.

everybody wants you
to be better than you already are
a better version
of their whom's

alone alone alone*

bitter seraphim
knuckle white,

what will you do
when you discover
that your adversary
isn't out there,

but within?

will you sink
or swim?

habit always circles the drain
toward novelty's end
feel the pushpull torque

I Blaze green skunk
Close the blinds
Trip ***** and fall up
up into the rafters of the mind
Astral backpack
Through the timespace continuum
Mind over matter

At least
until the latter
starts to pitter patter again
I spit ****
that'll make the pineal gland
Shape shift
Into the Buddha chillin in a full lotus
Position
I don't seek stardom
I seek the stars
that jump started this
Cos I'm sick a glitchin
We are a way for the universe
To know itself  
But we've built scars from stars
So I manifest mind and spar w the mar
Wear my ego on my sleeves
Rolled up
Ya I Put my demons on blast
Caught flak
forearms busted up
But still I laugh
Every single day
Roll my boulder up the hill
W a Mona Lisa smirk still
I'm Rebel w causality
Innate violence doesn't
Befit my species
Sorry I don't buy it
That's puttin the fist before the hand
And that's jus some silly ****
Maaaan

two slight perforations form
undulate flesh swoop torn
one warm imperceptible caress

uncivil visions of some creature arcana old
pirouette from silhouette less abysmal
than many are wont to vet
warming up to her oblique
touch adroit in crushflesh yeses

invested vessel swell
pulsed obelisk
penning her well

she recalls it
all of it
from sweet to macabre detail
entire spectrums crossed n recrossed
again and again

two slender fingers drop in
wraith simulated till bursts worm up

yesterday i chose love
but then it swung.

emerging
from
the throat
of grided
anthropos,

i found

a view
distant.

it skipped
over waters which
merely glinted
at first,

but then i
looked
out of
the corner
of my eye and

the water
swam

in the harbor.
it carved
out

a kind of
geometry; i felt
short little
liquid daggers
stop these
hard eyes:

sea birds
glide and
dip along
air currents, making
roundabout
hemispherics
and landing in the water
with this
grace that
was like
accurate
solemn
play; then they

would dive deep
to fish (?) i counted
46 seconds for one;
62 for another. i wondered
if they got anything,
or if they were just
trying to see how
far down
they could go..

the breeze
was cooled.
it felt so
right. and i
could feel - i mean -
actually ******* feel. and
the nuerons on
my mouth
spoke to
my head.

but then my
parabola
dropped and

retraced its
steps back
to the grids
of them,
the cut slab
of have.

ppl not
walking but
more like
falling on their
legs. feet rooting or
cutting deep into brick,
staring at thine
rectangle pocket entity,
vectoring
destinations
efficient, dressed
in their conquerer’s best,
layered up,
shiny and
brand new. it was

as if
their father’s
father’s
sword had
undergone mitotic
division and
whetted the face to

the
nines.

i could
smell
their fate.

it was
then that

i heard the
saprophytes
that will
eat me
call my
other name; the one
that i have long
shut-up in a box whose
label is unintelligible

i then
ate pizza
with
cheese and
pepperoni,
making
my
bed
for them

that super brief
moment

when something like
sanity
pushes

it

to the corner of your eye

but then
like an idiot
you
-look-

night callers all, drink
your dram of dream
lick the moon clean

sitting on the couch
with her legs tucked
under
at an angle
toward the door
 
that i
walk through

she is wearing her mint green bathrobe 

her fingers clutch
a wine bottle she jus got done killing

its contents dousing
some of the fire

we start
to argue

it spirals

i create
space and

go to the bedroom

her being now frames the doorway 
i notice and
recognize
her one foot on top of the other 
pivoting the toe in-out-in-out 
digging it
into her bottom toe
as if to
***** herself 
to her place

that im in 

it crushes me
to see this tic of hers
because it was always the small things she did
that made me want to curl up

inside her bones
and call it something like

home

her fingers grasp
the door frame 
i can see
the blood
leaving them

i feel
so much

the flowers are dead and dying and
i feel like i am
watching these ******* petals
ball themselves
into a wrecking fist
with time lapsing much too quickly

before i
am able to
be in it

i am yesterday right now too often it hurts it hurts
and its weird bc
the high-flung melodrama
of me
feels kitchen sink disposal real

her blue
blue iris
so beautiful
detained
by the stilled willful dark that
increases itself

abysmal circumference
pooling around
my feet
its teeth whirring dicing

us now lying down
on the bed
together
one last time

her fetal position curls into my

stiff
straight
body 

her fingers
lacing the fingers

of another 

next to
her 

indigo silhouettes
on top
of black

lack

start
wars,
we should not

i grew up in an evangelical home in the burbs. i now like to think of this brand of belief in christian doctrine as the sorta "star but humble upstart" ---- a shy new jesus on the block. not very showy with ritual. not too brimstone-y with rules. but nevertheless it is terribly aggressive and convincing in its apparent passivity, summoning up a tactical confusion in the believer that petrified the will before it had a chance to bloom and raked in the imagination before it could body forth an inner-whorl.

the evangelical brand leads with a hidden, veiled threat of eternal damnation best served cold with kind eyes. these eyes, they grow mouths inside them to speak to you the truth as they see it. it assumes your consent already. it rips initiative from the realm of possibility. it rents you a god, a "real living god" amid a scarcity of eternal life. you are sold. you must be. it trains a deep, serene dispassion that enslaves any shred of emotionality. it grips ****** life-affirmation with thousands and thousands of self-induced mental strokes against the backside, moving into position various leather tentacles tipped with acute tapered bones that seek out, lick, dig and pull up a guilt that beats subcutaneous, stuck to the very core center of the hard white tissue holding up humanity itself. you are fallen now because of before, or so it goes. it is the worst kind of violence. it steals who you are and gives you back a cheap copy that tells or suggests you hate, with a vengeful love of course, these original pieces of you that keep cropping up, keep emerging through nice smooth paved suburban sidewalks, still wanting, still desiring -- new words worming through old written ones.

it starts with a lack, and it wants to color you in. "you are not good enough" it sez. "you need something" it warmly alleges. "don't resist, let him in" it condescends with a grin reaching for the ear. it is a vamp asking for permission to eat your heart out with fork and knife, only to replace it with himself - all as you watch the procedure. it loves you to death.

tell it *******, kindly. then shut the door.

box that used to house magic
now you are jus an awkward corpse
that won't lie down

old bony black ear encased in steel and window
you once were a god
with your promises and movies and whatnot

it must be lonely
now fading
graffitied  
or does it feel like bliss
to no longer hear all the feels of mere mortals

Buster the tomcat
hunting in
the garden

field mouse
wins

this one.

my thoughts are nintendo gray
iffy 16-bit graphics
fading into retro

blow on the cartridge
i still won't play

i
am
running
out of continues

your cold heavy vapor swims up there and
itoldyouso face and
wild rose distillation, which
always has me coming
hard.

it stills it;
like lakes placid in the beginning back then, it
kills the pill
that takes me
and frames me
in the worst ways, like like like
an oil painting of a bowl of ******* fruit hung
in the abyss (?).

but sometimes i can't come
and then my thoughts hafta
turn the color darkknotsundone
so that i can shoot thorns
and be fuzzy peripheral again.

i've never been able to
  fit in
anywhere, not really -- not with friends, not with family, and
not with

lovers.

me: freak; lots of leaks; knees hugged; tears, none left.

my superpowers consist of
hours

w a s t e d

awkwardly.
boxed in by this, my silly imaginarium.

i feel so small.

i mean, after all, my
heart
is missing from my chest.

i am
  eater of space: plenum

for
  your
plenty.

sojourn of old extremities
into new space
pinkbloom ribbons and ropes

her gravity, that next morning, was one heaping demitasse
of swirling dense nebula ebbed-not-yet. we drank coffee
in silly mugs together while looking at the sun
as it came up for us,
bathed in freezing cold blues. she stretched. yawned.
she struggled to wipe a sleeper from her eye.
her kimono opened,
showing a cascading ledger of ribs behind vampirewhite skin -
my namesake was now scribbled on its rounded surface;
hers, on the inside of my femur, calligraphic.
she was too young for me, i know that.
no worries though,
her soul was older. it was sacred stone. megalith glyphed.
we held each other and
downing that bitter morning brew
watched the sky flick on.
then we picked up our heavy bodies
and went back to bed,
and ****** so hard i got a cramp in my left foot when i came.

tchaikovsky's violin is so emo --- no,
it's sylvan undone, or
it's sylvia plath in
the hot seat

this isn't me being cheeky
-as if my jowl were up against that cold oven rack-
it's, obviously, me acting out, me being difficult, me wanting your

attention

ahem

i once got off to her in the school library bathroom stall
her Words
were hands that day
and i came unrequited blackberry skies

i sometimes wonder if
she hadn't realized, just then, how silly it all reallytruly was
and that -that- realization was a place she could, finally,

get to

and

in the sudden rush to pin it down with chikoffskii violins that wept syntax tor,
she bumped her head upon attempting to get out

and she was
going
to sing
i mean really sing
for you
too

i slept
like there was no later
glyphs of ink winked
upon flecked paper

i wept
i thought they were gonna stay
but they slipped through the brink
where my blues become rain

we crush on hurt skies and eat our own inners alive. we r, yuh know, killing it right now. right?? idk lately i jus don't feel like my me anymore. it's weird. these bones of mine will hafta do i guess, and this alone too. but this tear is torn --- i mean, it tickles my nose and brims but doesn't wanna fall, and i think it's made of scars found at the bottom of the pool. and these knees held to my chest are like two pipe cleaner harpoons, rocking me to sleep when i've clearly already slept too much.. listen, all of this will be spelled out -- but not fer u. they are for her and her word alone. i've heard that if listened to - i mean REALLY listened to - it is able to world forth this one last single curl that i've long been searching for in this dim lit corner of the room, which is a rune, marked, startled, summoned by someone somewhere close by, like a muffled noise upstairs making its way down here to stay.

my greatest fear used to be:
that I'll carve bodies
in pixel, and
unknowingly
plagiarize another's crime scene.
now? I fear that I am plagiarism --
the usual (as usual) --
my body a bruised copy of a copy
on a blah metal slab
toe tagged: *the yooosh

i am light. i am night. i am writefuckingwrite.
take my bones, ******. take this skin, ******. HERE, take my name, ******, i
still. am. i still
am.

i still write. i write i write.
my ribs are ledger. they hold up my awe.
but my thoughts s p i l l
into the gut, where they churn hard.
my accidents birth cosmoses.
my self-hate wills supernovas.

i am not yours. i breathe, alone, i am being. unseen strings
strung from my fingertips: i manipulate gods.
i fear no god of yours. your book is finite. my writs are
i n f i n i t e.

feel the inside of my femur there you will find my fire calligraphic
it is rune i am ancient babble stone megalith cut from monolith i am

I had an ego death

tonight

i didn't know the stars
could shine so hard
see so
far in

chest drummed
beats thrum bang
bodies jam

all my senses widen
iris collides with swollen abyss
touch
craved

self forgotten

i betrayed trust
and it betrayed me

i am consciousness
too much

that realization
i am broken

i wish for a fix
perhaps along a new wave
us bliss this

i wish to eat her petals
and swell their colors
from lowlight misty rose
to highlight magenta

and have her
burst into my mouthings
an unspoken
torque

bent toward winged skies

what is will
when the wind
has us. is there
such a thing,
i wonder. i
really do

here comes the weird af
ancient tonic yum
don't fight it jus let it stream through
megaflora ninja nook harpoon
never saw it comin
gonna do some quick love surgery on yer babblin' brook
make it run real real good again
unforever it with
botanical finite tunes that come-n-go so beautifully
petals on the floor bruise
wilt like legs and arms in that afterlove hue
this monkey suit is cool sure but we can't overstay the visit
origami god only folds so many times
but mossy mother womb awaits you always
there where the river unfolds my lovelies
so dip your toe in
fuckitjusjumpin
as this rock swims one more time
around that one star we call sun

here,

angle this
energy ball truthward
shape your core dragon breath

feel the fist
open into
seventy-two handfuls of

felt self crush bloom whoknew

elegant and smooth;
likelihood probabilistic hot mess:
the dissonance is real

i am accident
i am incident
i am confused

conferred meaning
meaningful universe
dreams of saccharine dissolution

eat me
fungi gets
the last laugh

lukewarm crushcloud err
little big noises
maybe heard

exist exist blue on blagerd caw
vacuum bore into this fore
head shuttered yet still fed toward

blades of glass laid
to smooth one new verse
over the squirm
sleight of sapiosext

i am finding that
there -really- is nowhere
to get to,
just like Sylvia said.

oven rack cauldron calling
first tall word uttered ever fall fall

circumstance inches me closer
to that scaffolded archetype
male aloof unfeeling closed-off

she turned inward
arched winding squirm
and spun

this.
passionflesh,

urge and awe,
hand swam under
deep beneath
herself.

remember when
we ate too many
*** brownies
and you astral travelled
and saw
some ****
and i held you in my arms and
brought you

back

and then, in the cool blue
heat of our summer flung,
you remembered
you are not you
and i am not me
and we are jus
dripping with
playing parts now and
wavelength later

is there anyone out there
that is actually real or
am i just being spammed
by the void?

i think the void is
definitely spamming me but
why would it when
every single person
is following it?

none of these words
i muscle into existence
fill the dread
-the writhe that never dies-
that eats at my yellow bones
one day at a time

and still i push them
words words worm food soon

in the beginning was
a single distinct conceptual unit of language,
and the single distinct conceptual unit of language became fist

and ******
all the things,
like a total
****.
and all the things
were sad.

you kissed
the fist
stuck inside my throat
and read its palm
as it
bloomed open

*if you are reading this
there still
is
time
to make space

for

the whorl

see
the words
that grow inside

this ribcage;
the paper
each rib bone;
a line

words bow
and the whole thing
creaks

it will
snap
soon enough
falling

through

one large heap
stuck at the bottom of the page

time is a fist
it inches like something fishhooked
it is it is don't tell me it iznt

open your hand and
let light sift through you

cutie

*winky face winky face