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

the words she uttered,
marked by a fine soot, scribed themselves
on the inside of my sore ribs;
with wrist and finger adroit,
it burned off the serifs
i had used to write myself down
as something utterly known.

i stood there, before her - before myself -
dross coating my feet, altered
by this strange medicine.
naked and sparse and
unknown, chiseled
before her strokes, i am.

it will
hold and
i will heal.

the scream of us
silent silent
it never left the head

metalwing riveted
flying gliding
low-flung flutter rust

the pill
taking
us crush
plush
amid quoted
cloudflower bloom soon

this is -just- a life,
and i am jus you
over there - torn too.
but this tilted
tumult, momentous,
sez otherwise dot dot dot

----- who am i to quest?
i guess i'll jus let the tugshove be(come),
and bleed n cry n stretch these
altered shoulder blades lifted
into something other,

even as
my toes
tell me
hard tales
so ocher.

don't let me in.
i'm old scratched plastic cup, the color daffodil,
sitting overnight in the blue kitchen sink.

don't let me in.
i'm too far gone; i'm tightrope walker of leftover hairs
stuck inside the hairbrush on your nightstand.

don't let me in, ever.
my thoughts are caught inside themselves
where they play the role of both inmate and guard.

do not let me in,
you'll jus get hurt. seriously.

im a ******* *******
******* bastsrd ******* bastaed
*******

in that little honey hued moment
after helixed bodies
came and went,

where the arc of something sets down
over us
from over there,

with its glow suggesting things
of clenched whitened-knuckle awe,
hugging worried spaces,

i face
myself as
not just watcher -
not just wanderer -
but rushing water wide,
being conveyed

somewhere

into the big run of the space over there
where the strange firebreather awaits
as conjured conjurer
with nestled talking wings that cue us forward,

as we
gyrate
around
in circles; swirling
objects along
the side

for now.

got the truck stuck
wheels spinning
cloey (the goat) stares at me

i went to the bar
last night. had a few drinks.
jukebox played. people danced.

my glass
spun around
in my hand,
like my head, and
it drank

me up
good.

i have
a hard time
a lot.

i know

the press the press
to be someone

so well; and, she knows me.

the trim of her pale green dress
whittles the beats that

keep me going.

wooden boy with a prop in his hand
and a flower for a face.

neuron off the grid
three hands on the wall fall
eyes on the prism hid visions of

some
thing
else

cement sidewalk head dandelioned
spaghetti-o code everywhere
grammarsplatter pattern augers up grays
i think im gonna be ok visions of

some
thing
more

signals comin in immanent
primal info before ire set
seams solidified iami visions of

some
thing
one

i am
pebble.

i lay
here
at the foot
of a rockface.

i've one
streak
of misty rose hue
that runs through
my otherwise
speckled gray body,

but which
saturates and
deepens
when the angling sun
glances off it.

i have
known
nothing else

other than

this.

consequence
comes around
to visit me
every once in a while.

but i am
in my
own,

mostly.

once upon
a time
it would
seem
i was
hewn

from my
source,

lithos onyx rainbow
shimmer grin
from ear
to ear.

i am
now,

however,

rent, insulate, here -
but also
over there,
still,
somehow,

remembering
a lost memory
that must have
been once

i think.

thin cleave of her
insinuating itself
my skin scrim accepting

altar to alter
this touch is a pill
im ****** up

pupils chasing
out the white
fell elegiacally

dark mattering
cup brimming
this is dope

and the solid book we wrote
cannot be found today

so let us rest in the powerful were
where moonbeams try to tell us it's day

anyone know anyone
in san fran area
that could spare a room
for a nite (or two)
for a homeless poet?

will
work
for
words.

if i deleted myself
would the hatred of me stop
or would i become a tree
along the river of this-****-is-forever?

star shaker in the night,
won't you shake some stars
to
night?
   t u r n
my silent invocations bright:
    this, my hid wōnt,
     urn
of awe
in wounded flyte,
till it glows, again, in palm alight.

this

is beauty

no words

except: ******* ****** ****

black snake stretch rt 101
now coil
gyrate fate
convey me along

zoning
zenning out

nature got her nails
running down my back
sweet smells fill my head
i drive deep in

my hand on the wheel
thinking about a girl

K come to me
you are my whorl

i mean, it was crazy. i got really sick that night. worst luck EVER.
but she
took care of me - she fed me and
played ** on wax
and burned sage to cleanse me, all while kissing me.
she spoke French to her Persian cat. we laid together. *******.
then we jus laid there.. both afraid to break the silence that was good, so good..

my eyes were closed, i remember, and
she started kissing me,
interspersing them with these, like, super
small ephemeral licks
-one on the top lip, then one on the bottom one-
gentle and full of thought,
so light,
almost imperceptible,

like an amalgam of ice and rock the size of Manhattan
wobbling
teetering and
slipping, ever so lightly,
into our orbit.

i slept better than ever that night. spent on ***. lots.
and like dead flowers not yet
we dreamed of iridium petals falling up, wilting in the hot blazing summer light
bearing down on our fling.

then she looked at me, gazing
with a vigor that collected my scattered thoughtstream

and, fixing her stare, she said:

what if we tabled our demons?
Pulled up a chair for them? Got to know them, instead of
trying to vanquish their persistent presence?

and setting upon my worried head
sat something like
the quality of being wise; it inscribed

lithe formulation with a depth, true.
and i knew,

then

the types that once arched so high, so vaunted in blue,
were mere sets of symbols
induced with the incantation of a brow
steeped in trickery of the highest order.

there is a humble road that slowly goes up, inching into feral skies, rising high with conscious, living intent.

it is sustained by a preternatural order, allowing for, yet shaping, flux.

you must -first- be utterly grounded, rooted in, in order to reach these airy heights.

ancient scraper of skies old, babel-proofed from power grabs, confounding our words to capture this coveted ascent - convey

my sore
feet
along.

i'm looking for a space
a place to be

where aha and yes arrest my waketosleep

tune this breath of mine with crunched elements bent
toward a wavelength like large steep icy hills that spill
up into the whiteblue nipped expanse

Dark cloud form
Grin smirk
Emptied room is my heart

Charting
Scars like stars
Constellation:
House of mar

One moonbeam
Allowed in
Dust mote
dance that
Melo-d dance
Bleed yer heart plz plzzz

Fist open up
Reveal
White knuckles *******
Bloodtide
In
Out
In
Out
******* fate

Maw
Claw
Saw what's seen
Be what's been
Clench

Death will not die
But I am
dead and dying
Don't you see?

Silver lines bleed
Bright no more
Inky garb gab blah blah
Abstract claptrap
Trapped trapped

I
Yearn
For
Simplicity

Like

A tree in the wind
Or your lips parting
To receive mine
Salty hot winds
Us in each other
Twisting
it

But complications
Complicate everything
Meaning slips
Slivers slick

his typewriter is silent
and tombstone;
mine is
nonexistent, and
never was. instead
all i have is this ******* device.
all it effing knows is
silence.

blinking c u r s o r
stares at me,
waiting, whitely, like some
bad god scrubbed good with a new book.

jus thought I'd
let you
know,
*******

-catch it-
deal with it
feel Ananda

watch the past come back
to you
one
with the present

and

be Atman

like our peanut butter?
then Like our Faceblah Page!

like our yams?
then Like our Faceugh Page!

like our chartreuse eggs-n-flam?
then Like our FaceNotYourFear Page!

i love you - i
always have -
like natural flavors.

and just as the sun's hurt knee
is yellow number five,
my pale blue flame is underneath
the bottom of fate

looking for a good home cooked meal.

bifurcated breath condensed on cold window
two little lungs hung there
respirating palettes for your fingerling muse

i'm sitting, here, broken as ****,
looking through Venetian blinds
at a sunset that breaks me
even more.

the hurt
feels
so
*******
good.

if this it'stoofuckinghard
could
just
speak fluent scar
im sure the pebble
that landslides my little stream
every now and then
would slip and slide and elide into river run but
it never has
it's always mum

Does the dais
Of your tor
Raise sweet hell? Or
Does that relief on the wall
Implicate you
Like some thing winged and won
Telling your story for you?

i touch myself
wiping serifs from the elements
pressing this object's edge up against
my writs
where old lines layer

i'm having thoughts of editing again
until the blue cursor blinks over white nothing's glow

i can sense it's call
like autumnal grip
about to fall
into short sweet no more

butterknife seppuku
is my fav way to go

lottsa little deaths
to spread thin

till the last edit
of these things
swims
upstream

away from me

acro in the park
at the local farmer's market
energy, again

little abyss, my ear, yours..
for too long, i have trysted with
that last slip

'summoned you softly
in my dark little posies:
take this wisp

Looks like I'll be on the road again. Nowhere to go. Poor af and no motivation. Shadow without a body. kicked pebble. road marginalia

1.  return to cocoon
2.  cut wings
3.  fade into the blue black

dear ppl,

we exist on a planet
within a star system
full of other massively ginormous planets which
all -somehow-
revolve around a giant rip
in the timespace continuum
that has zero properties
and vanquishes light itself

without
a
t r  a   c        e

in other words

everything that matters
in the world
is attracted to no-thing
or at least something
we can't explain

reality
orbits
the ineffable

so

forget the answer
the question is better

and as you lie there
in that torqued fetal position
lights dimmed
you will -*******- overcome it
with a red plastic lighter lighting
blue skies that bloom past the has-been

it's a new day it's a new you
that happened

tongue pass
over each aggregate curve
wend crest push

skinmeetsbone
ran up the middle
from skull
to small
of back

orange
red
brilliance
thresholds bold slip

in

grip ten thousand tendrils
her white scalp
made known

force dealt until stilled wilt sacharrine slung

he wore a star upon his face
it said its part and then escaped

stolen babies glitz and glam
underneath he came and went

he wore this scar upon his grace
the was will be
book of him solid as sea

Remember this very moment
when an is
became a was -- spectral flits --
The past slipping in and around you --
And you were totally in it

Almost

these framed pixels won't do
it screams derivative
only mine truly haunt

cavalier blue delugecloud loud
end of history: juxtaposed, prolly
poet tooth uncouth harbinger slurp word is
tut in a tux is untucked in the back slackers unite brackish worm gonna get that last laugh
proud nevermore immaculate grip slip yum
crown lookin a lil drab cue the last can of  laughtrack
drunk offa this dram a petals fell
sipped from a chipped pinkbone china teacup
from gramma's cabinet
puke green Davenport wrapped in plastic
kept nice for company
the last novel is coming without comma
i can feel it now, cantchu?
oh, and
im not mad
im jus madhatterer than you

spit
into the mouth
of a
mortal
after they've been
smeared across
time
and space
with a touch
or a kiss
and
like a Greek myth
they shall forget what's what

see
ebony red white
shriek across their
flitting
closed eyelids

watch them
rise
then fall

i know the routine

the come down
-gone ballistic-
gravity takes the wheel

what will you bring back
after the door has been cracked?

how will you -ever-
tell others
about your
pirouette into
the space in-between the lines?

they will call you "mad"

its a fact that

i remember things that never were
trusswork of
littlegod tendril
wrapped around my feels
a dais for tor or
a dazed whirr
for her

dear A,

i scarified my hand with
the glowcherry of a cig
sitting in my car
outside your house
on that summer nite
so that i could forget less
the trap of love

it is not a thing

create
rig
do what it takes to
make beautiful the truth
but do not reach or love
like it is a thing that
wants to be found

sometimes my wants lust too much and my feels turn thin as cardboard cutout

i feel like worm. i am crawler of light dim. i am
him
that guy
and it makes me ill worn out wasted

rn I'm looking at a periwinkle blue sky
streaked w hot pink horizon
through cheap dusty uneven silhouetted blinds
in a dark room

blood taken
is a dark
winged thing

it will fly inside him

it's caw
will manifest
in stabs

angling in
it will grow on him

gyrating from metallic sliver sip
now facing the blade's plain look
his god will read dog

and it will bring him to form final
and the hatchet will spill from you
into killer blue landscape still

If and when
You space out
And miss
this
my poem
Know this:
I too roam
Within a thistledowned headspace

it isnt easy for anybody
to write
themselves

down.

the gaps of what is
or is not

elide

the silly lines you lay.

most of it is ****.
true story.

but -still- you
write the space and
chase the miss

with appendages
that lift
concrete feet.