I’ve been thinking about hands
a lot lately and how fingerprints are like
permanent, foreshadowing tree rings
etched onto our beings; I wonder if
the number of rings on my palms have any
correlation to the number of years I’ll live or
the number of years he’ll live or the number of
years that she lived. I’ve been thinking a lot about
        life lines        and        heart lines
and if there is any stock to be found in palmistry;
I wonder how my fate line got to be
so muddled with my luck line.  

I see my life the way a clairvoyant would:
in cut-up and choppy strips of film—
I should have seen the omens,
I should have read the smoke signals,
I should have recognized the cards.

Act One began on a waning crescent moon
and continued until its gluttonous belly
had swollen with light; I thought to
myself that craniums made of gallium
often melt the quickest, that blood filled
with plutonium often flows the slowest.  I would
have given my body up to the pathologist free of charge,
would have let him dig his hands into my entrails for
some sort of divination, some sort of revelation—
I was never told to beware the Ides of June
nor the Kalends of November.

Act Two began with the birth of Jack Frost
and has been continuing without intermission for
the past four celestial cycles; I thought to
myself that heart valves made of sodium polyacrylate
often love the most, that sinkholes disguised as
fingertips often feel the deepest.  He whispered
in my ear cliched words about not believing in
God, but how I made him feel blessed, and in
that moment I knew he was the oneiromantic being
that had been shadowing my dreams since 1996—
I guess you could say that, sometimes,
I believe in love.

There is an art to fortune-telling
there is an art to hands
there is an art to bones
there is an art to dreams, and over the years,
I have found them coinciding more often
than not.  In my sleep, in notebooks, in
irises, in mirrors, in poetry, in small little sighs.
I do not know if I believe in fate or destiny, in
God, in auras, or in the Blood Moon Prophecy,
but I do know that I believe in you.  I find myself writing
sappy verses and smelling your shirts and I do
not know if it is because I miss you or if it is because
I’m bored or if they’ve somehow
                       mergedintothesamething.  

I’ve been wondering a lot lately about
where you show up on my hands; about where
he showed up and where she showed up.  I want
to know which lines bisect and which lines fall
short; I want to know if the resemblance between
        mother        and         daughter
continues into that of my palm lines.  I want to know
if my life line matches hers and if my heart line
is even worth giving away—

find me in your crystal ball, make me
your sacrificed animal, look for my body
in the stars, and we will know that
        it was all made to be.

We found them,
lots of them,
boiling
in the midday sun.
Bleached skulls
grinning,
some toothless,
some children,
most with a single bullet hole
in the middle
of their foreheads.
Some had them holes
in the back
of their cracked craniums.
We knew it wasn't the Mafia,
for this wasn't
their area of operations.

They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me

Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically

Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit

Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes

We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed

.................................................................­.................................................................­...

                          It was there heating
                                            sloping cavernous craniums

                         It was there illuminating
              marble hallways

         It was there immolating
                              witches at stakes

                                     Its fierce essence
                          frightens wilder-beasts

                                   Its mesmerizing radiance
  lures moths to annihilation

                       When in love, we often become
             both wilder-beast and moth

                As children, we learn
             to leap back from the flame

                               When old, we are rolled
                 into iron incinerators

                                    And every day between
   We are encompassed by suns
                       We are consumed by flickering passions

                                  We set-off firecrackers
                           for amusement

               We light candles
                                     to measure time

                         Veladoras to whisper
                                 to gods

                                          Fire is Life

                                      Something in us will
                                            forever burn.

An inadequate interpretation
preserved in crooked craniums
contaminates the minds.
An embellished episode
dissected by firm fingers
falsifies the hearts.
An unacceptable attitude
and irreversible invalid anecdotes
poison the people.

but with a liquor tongue & sober head
drafting and redrafting the words stuttering
on my teeth to keep you here
falling backwards on my *** will
prove nothing but that i’m not content
to be anything but in the table of contents
not a side character
in your favorite book
but god i can’t stop tripping
over air and chalked-up asphalt
am i first?
am i the only one? i growl
apologies & maybe’s
but honest to hell i am
filled with vice
glittering with ill-intent
dented craniums
punctured fists
bitten up pen caps
oh sure, you’re inked up pal
but those tattoos for the weak
aren’t going to lift any skirts
her lipstick ain’t gonna paint your mouth
for you
“rosebud”
hah
we walked with ghosts that one time
kicking trash, dodging dead squirrels, singing
punk rock---betting quarters & Arizona cans
to run fast against traffic
looking for words to cause earthquakes
and fault lines in lungs
timestop: graffiti
          i fear the human condition
don’t look at me or i’ll shatter
a powder touch would ****.

Third world livin' is the intention
While im.sittin' in Satan's detention
Need I mention all the little henchmen
Trolls streamin' tag teamin'
Nothin' but government covert
Intervenin' &. schemin'
Tryna see who's conscious and who advocates the nonsense
Big brother watching with there Rolex's tick tocking no need for.knocking
Kick down the doors walk through the corridors
of the media studios blast everybody I see
Set the Islamic bombs then escape free
Catastrophe givin' by me
It's me the prophet of Lost Destiny it God in me
And I'll be labeled an adversary to the epitome
jailed with no bail ain't no freedom.of speech
New world we'll slaughter fools ain't gettin' smarter
Wise up young blood wipe the crud out my eyes
Cuz brighter days are comin' Techs is hummin'
Armageddon World War III will be summoned
Millions of souls being rapture
Takin' captive
By the Muthafuckin' Puppet masters 


As I travel through time
Deep in my mind
Hip hop approachin' the flat line
Nigguhs in blackface lookin' disgrace
Wipe the smiles off Satan's face
Corporate Companies ****** up our unity
Dictatin' what to play in our community
They say it ain't about race
But I'm lookin' with my optics
White audience is the topics makin' hot profits
Got nigguhs minds lynched my fist clinched
Punch out the airwaves and the medias a and how they portray
US want us to keep the guns bust
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Breakin' off America's Pie Crust I don't eat it
From.the ******* they feedin'
Rockin' craniums im.from the slums
Makin' liberals go crazy mental in an asylum
So as the beat goes on I'm gonna continue strong
No hate for whites but hate for whites that push that ******* black stereotypes
Deep aim wipe my snipe wipe
Out competition **** the FCC commission
As my visions progresses movin' faster
Eradictin' my enemies that are servant to the ******' Puppet Masterssssss 

i don't want to fall in love
because i'd rather say that
-
love digs its hands deep into the dirt to plant its roots,
to give false hope to the weaklings of mankind that requite is truly attainable
that love lies in the tears of our galvanised hearts, attacking the cracks of our fissured craniums
reminding us of our (now) inexorable incarceration
that love creates waveforms between fragile persons, in its attempt to orchestrate some sort of perfect dissonance
that love declares 'i am in control' (and makes us believe so)
to toy with the pieces left of our already tortured souls.
and that love only breaks us whole,
when our holes were what broke us first
-
than say love was "made" for me and you
;
because to fall in love would mean
falling
(onto your chest to remind me of what we had)
which would be a deathtrap on its own
one i would shamefully not regret

Blades split my wrists.
Pills fill my stomach.
Fourteen years young yearning for eternal rest.
But why must these thoughts consume my mind in class? At home?
Deathly shadows hold hands; wrapping around craniums boney crown, through eyes, finger tips and toes. Sealed from mouths, sound never escapes thy lips. In death, and in life. For blades will always speak a written language on arms and thighs that can never be told through expression of word.

You've held the trophy for so long,
Now is time to let it go.
Time stands still, no need to run.
You may walk, enjoy the sun.
Allow the rhythm to persuade you,
Allow the air to inhale you,
Let nature have her way with you.

The breeze of the trees beckons the bearer,
May he also bear these organic buildings?
He cannot without sacrifice, without compromise,
He has forgotten his torch was from the tree of life.

Life is as eternal as death,
Romanticising one to diminish the other,
Through a silly parade, a wondrous charade,
He remembers he is alive, mortality is  a beautiful thing,
Mortality,
Also a word.

One cannot run,
Nor rationalise.
Words: ailments;
Hindrances to the body.
Words are fuel,
Food for minds.
Craniums Process,
Converting Signals.

He gives silence to respect himself,
He gives his heart to the woods,
For his physique will reside here,
Once borrowed time is complete.

Silence in respect.

but with a liquor tongue & sober head
drafting and redrafting the words stuttering
on my teeth to keep you here
falling backwards on my *** will
prove nothing but that i’m not content
to be anything but in the table of contents
not a side character
in your favorite book
but god i can’t stop tripping
over air and chalked-up asphalt
am i first?
am i the only one? i growl
apologies & maybe’s
but honest to hell i am
filled with vice
glittering with ill-intent
dented craniums
punctured fists
bitten up pen caps

oh sure, you’re inked up pal
but those tattoos for the weak
aren’t going to lift any skirts
her lipstick ain’t gonna paint your mouth
for you
“rosebud”
hah

we walked with ghosts that one time
kicking trash, dodging dead squirrels, singing
punk rock---betting quarters & Arizona cans
to run fast against traffic
(this was back when) we wanted
to look for truths in picture books
and lies in the law
chubby fingers & a BIC stick pen
tracing imagined cartoon lives
our speech planned in bubbles

timestop: fastforward
snarling, “oh baby she’s a classic /
          like a little black dress”
with opened siamese mouths /
          rolled out tongue
fingerpainting bruises on skin
with pixie stick smudged thumbs
          “she’s a faded moon /
          but you’ll be faded soon”

between muffled dashboard speakers
streaming swears came the stillness
of carving numbers (each other’s
biography pages)
safety pins hinging on rawed knuckles
forever scarred visual bookmark

waiting for words to cause earthquakes
and fault lines in lungs
what was painted across the wall
in looped ‘*******’ cursive
timestop: graffiti
          i fear the human condition
don’t look at me or i’ll shatter
a powder touch would ****.

You've held the trophy for so long,
Now is time to let it go.
Time stands still, no need to run.
You may walk, enjoy the sun.
Allow the rhythm to persuade you,
Allow the air to inhale you,
Let nature have her way with you.

The breeze of the trees beckons the bearer,
May he also bear these organic buildings?
He cannot without sacrifice, without compromise,
He has forgotten his torch was from the tree of life.

Life is as eternal as death,
Romanticising one to diminish the other,
Through a silly parade, a wondrous charade,
He remembers he is alive, mortality is beautiful thing,
Mortality,
Also a word.

One cannot run,
Nor rationalise.
Words: ailments;
Hindrances to the body.
Words are fuel,
Food for minds.
Craniums Process,
Converting Signals.

He gives silence to respect himself,
He gives his heart to the woods,
For his physique will reside here,
Once borrowed time is complete.

Silence in respect.

Snakeskin,
Crawled into it and it felt good.
Real good.  Good enough to live in.
Forked tongue slips in and out;
Poison drips, fangs cannot be contained.

Eating all, choking on frogs, going for bigger prey
Until all is gone, gone, gone -
Lining up to pet the snake, feel the skin next to theirs
******* out brains to fill craniums with crap.
And the world has gone mad, bad, and sad.

Burning fire which blazed so bright
dimming down now, ashen.
Embers.
                Forgiving.
                                    Patient.
Latent energy spent to sustain warmth.  

I carry your spirit within flesh and thought.
Essence in paradox.

                   Water
gently explaining its journey from the sky.
Each drop expressing pleasure and purpose.
Stopping to say hello;
sizzling; tapping craniums; returned.  

All my friends are within me this night
and give
stillness.