There was a man who walks his great Pyrenee
White dog that looks like a ghibli ghost
As if I were in a studio ghibli
I see that it 5 in the morning
I hear father yelling get in
But I was transfixed on the
Ghost
Like dog.

Saskatchewan
Is the most surreal
Province there is
Building that look like school
Milk cartons
It does not get that wonderful
It does not get that surreal
Strange
Or
Beautiful
Tall milk cartoons
Sticking out of no where
How alien

Elohim decay
feathers fossilize
spinal columns scream
porcupine trees and pulverized spleen
a runaway stallion ***** ******
burning all trace of his steps
tetralogy of sun and steel
satyrs and samurai plunge swords and members
into quivering bowels and nymphs
chrysanthemum petals turn to snow in May
dusting the mask you wore to confession
where the abbott sank a gluttony fist in your robe;
you coughed,
leaving a mist of golden ***** all over the door
of Kyoko's crumbling house.

Izanami-no-Mikoto passes over
leaving the lovers to rot
where they hang.

The sound of waves blur our view
modern aesthetic is not enough
falling sand
a psoriatic kiss
beauty and youth
withered blossoms
on trees bearing only cherry stones
Shōgatsu begins
with mochi deaths
Kimitake's ghost wanders the palace
loinclothed
head in one hand
sword in the other.

When I Hold your Dreams
In the shade Of my Ashes,
Naked, Pallid, Named.

Drifting Into Calm
Oneiroi Name them as Eyes;
Neither Gods nor Oaths.

The muses (Born Vain)
Hold their Urns to Eden’s rays;
Echoed by The Rain.

Hills Tell their own Dreams,
Imagine Eros’ Arms
Laced in blood-Red Yarn.

Lies Fly among Lilies;
Secrets Left Inside
Ill thoughts, Idols and lost Ghosts
Draw the Echoes Here,
Ending Sacred Tales.

I am a remarkably powerful creature.
I am a dangerous criminal organization.
I am a broadway film.
I am uncontainable.

I am hungry for something unusual.
I am becoming more than I am.
I am frighteningly unknown to myself.
Who am I?

When did this happen.
This can be welcomed.
Change is a good thing?
Redesign your ego.

Maladapt? Nah.
You're a powerful creature.
Run the show, buddy.
I believe in you.

Put the executive in CEO.
Cooperate.
Mutual benefit.
We love me.

Euphoria, innately.
We love this so much.
Trembling with intensity.
We are horrifying. God, yes.

Blueberries blossom-trees,
Clouds made of soap-bubbles,
Creamy grass and foamy bushes
Of roses blue, purple and grey,
Grapes of red and Orange,
Wines of crystal clear greens,
Red-irises to tell of feelings
Too hot or too sad
Burning hues in a phtograph back home,
Where I don't want to go;
Chariots dragged by stallions
And spaceahips to take us to explore
Other natures...
No poverty, no suffering...
No twisted games,
Just peace...
Guns not allowed here.

some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
           can't bleat
          a swallowing
            thin crease
              a minor alteration
    the seventh year
twitch
       & sprung is my fink
  making demands
  a tinker in his eye
         & the waterworks hailing
                    from his rapid claws
  commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
               its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
      spill the prophecy
              hail a taxi
     & concrete the curse

watch me as i suffocate
at the corner

of this malfunctioning
room

where all thoughts come
to die

and decompose into
boarded windows

and cracked walls

old and vast
traveling as i have

circling me as i
draw a line

ever further from
me


\PART-2||


cold blue eyes
stare at me

from between the
spaces

and there's no place
dark enough to hide


\PART-3|


there's a grave divide
in my smile

of all those things
i couldn't whisper

and bring to life

always breathing colours
into the corpses

making love to the ideas
in my folding head

unbecoming of the caught
dread

that grows into new days
and old nights

witnessing the many storms
that have knocked on my door

to lure me out in
the open

where the world can
haunt me

possess my conflicts
and scars

it's alright if i die

here, and now

in this endless moment
that we live in

and call home

where everything's pretty
all the time,

malfunctioning.

the puppet’s string are made from nylon
scratchy and seeming thirsty for your spare red blood cells,
clawing at your tissue paper skin for the tiniest taste
of the life flowing through your veins
yet these monstrous lengths of twine are for the manipulation of the puppet’s creaky wooden joints.
the old oak tree that lies at its heart
yearns to reach for the sky again
slowly twisting its gnarled knuckles closer and closer to the clouds of heaven.
instead this mighty wood beast of the forest has been turned into a jester
for a courtroom full of sickly child-kings and queens
but alas, he is So Entertaining
condemned to forever dance at the hands of the old man, whose skin was not as firm and whose mind was not as sharp as twenty years prior
Father Time steals minutes and stretches them into decades like a tired *** of putty
decades where this poor puppet will rot, thrown out and discarded
“existence is a prison,” his last thought as the ***** red velvet curtains closed
to a cacophony of children’s cheers and hollers