Psychosis

one day you might

wake     up

& realize it's all a    lie

you might not know

what to feel     or

the way in which to feel

your feelings

one day you might

stay     asleep

forever and ever and ever &

there will be a knock

on the     door

  (at the same time)

he says 'hello'

& you nod agreeably

you are such a good little boy

as the both of us meander

down these skeleton stairs

and put things in

the ovens

the dryer machine

or anything that fits

into something     bigger

everywhere we go,

it seems the footprints

are always a step

ahead &

we talk about

being overstimulated

and under an influence

he says 'I don't like sex,

it's dirty and unconventional

and I think it's time I

find a girl who

knows     my     heart

'cause whenever I find a shelf,

I always find a teapot

to put on it

'forget that for now'

I say,

'remember the days

in those torn up summers

where the crickets made it seem

as if all the problems

had suddenly dissolved

into a vivid ether of imagination'?

& now its a bunch of shapes

glued together by a first grader

with no purpose other than

to make sense of it

Continental Drift

welcome to the superficial world. we supply artificial initiatives
for the little boys and girls. we prescribe a predisposition
towards conformity and normalcy and oversee society
with a crooked eye fixed on an awkward guy like a hawk.
and we are the spies. do not question our mission for it is
our vision and our vision is not one that needs revision.
consider it a lesson in lessening your aggression.
we are the operator at the end of every line telling you to redial.
press star six nine, and we'll sell you denial without having to sign.
we like to think we control your mind, but we really control your soul,
in order to keep it whole. and we breathe for you. we give you the
oxygen you need and the food to feed and the blood to bleed.
we give you the courage to proceed.
but most importantly, we are the guilty and the innocent put in a
pressure cooker and left unattended. and what ensues is a war
far more graphic than 1984. and I'm bruised from being used
to a point where I'm not longer confused, just sure.
the circumference goes round and round when you're alone.
all my tense is wet and that won't heal my bones.
I'm inside out and as far as they know, I'm about to steal the show
with a bullet that pulls at velocity like a high ideal.
I will prove I am real by them acknowledging it, for if they don't
I am only collaging in it. I am but a mirage in it. a blank montage
'till I'm finished.

see, my black skin is a sin, but I'm not African. I'm more uncharted,
let's say Finnish. let's say I'm a government whose covenant is to
supply symbiotic and sustainable sustenance without the
suffocating suction of cigarette smoke on your leprosy laden lips.

I could throw my chips in a basket and give them to the
basket cases outside the casino on my way to the races.
I could donate bottomless shoes to their muses with
blood on the laces. I could watch them walk through
the innate until they find homeostasis.
but why should I care - I'm just studying faces in this realm
I call reality on a day to day basis. the sun sets and reason erases.
the sun rises and I'm starting with traces. the only thing that I control
is in my head and I've never seen such places.

why should such silly follies matter when the mass populous lives
in a metropolis so convoluted by intruders fashioning sutures
into the future that the present is hesitant to bother?
there are too many authors offering pleasant manuscripts
on the resonance of an atmosphere you've yet to lick.
and my residence is one of evanescence, like an essence
that is too incessant to settle on ecstasy.
to you it's an epileptic effigy you will attempt to transfix
while I'm taking notes on the ancient sanskrit.

the thing is - you will never know me if you never ask.
and even if you did, I'd be drunk from Everclear in my flask -
trying to get away from the injustice and it's mask.

because I don't want to get too close to the heart of the matter.
I might end up consumed by my own flattery
not being able to charge my own battery.

so I'll leave it as it is, and find something else to do
and let them figure out that the sky is no longer blue -
for it makes me sick thinking I am part of you.

screw it.

a conversation with my dream self

I.

I saw myself in him, the subtle wrinkles

set in a brow that's done cheap labor

for big dollars this whole time.

I was sleeping and he was awake,

and whatever tunnel we came through

must have been opened for this reason.

he looked at me fervently as if waiting

for anything but an explanation.

so I opened my mouth in a way

that seemed to put the corners

of the cosmos on my inner cheeks.

II.

will death find you too? or are we

more like an oncoming of spring

bare trees and all? you should know,

you are like the spare change

I never get to cash in, or the dirty snow

by a storm drain on 34th. you resemble

everything I could never find the use for,

and are strangely ephemeral. you are

a band-aid that I rip off in the morn.

if you only knew what pain I endure

removing your adhesive, you would

have found me long ago. but you're

thrown in the trash along with the

plastic knives and I fear he context

is too scrambled for me to discern

which side is better for my image.

III.

it's not over when the sky turns

white in anonymity. it's not over

when your fingers become

tiny missiles pointed at the stars.

did you know that we already know

each other? I still watch over you

when the sun hits your blinds

in the morn, and tell you stories

as you drift towards me. you are

a dwarf star holding the pain

inward and when the time comes,

will burst into documented identity

where only your surroundings matter.

for now, take them as they are,

'cause they will do anything for you

as long as you're there for them.

HiDef

dinosaurs on tall grass.  what the

fuck are they doing?  waiting to devour

or be devoured.  did they climb mountains?

did they learn to fly out of spite? I want an answer

but I want more than answers 'cause I

want to be the one answering.

I make the art inside of me.  no-one knows

better to say I don't.  some of me resides

in a former era with carnival mirrors

and plastic bags.  is it too much to ask

when I say give me a woman who

has smooth skin and a jagged heart?

I'd rather not scan the ocean floor

for some remains when you can

find washed up ones on the beach

though I've thought about it

and even the bleach

is out of reach when you're a

leech stuck between the toes

of an unfinished poem

Headspace

dig me an apartment way underground

so I can feel the dirt around me

& stretch my limbs past

ninety degree angles

I can finally quit smoking

even if it takes the fire

from under me

hang pictures of outer space

on the glossy black walls

and write some poems

bout the mice

who feel the need

to live off what I don't

I am tired of the sun

telling me I'm yellow

and running my own groceries

just to wait

in a line that does not move -

it gets replaced

with the next patron

who feels such satisfaction

for securing

a primal need

but look at the whole picture

& they're more a mob

pushing for a center

so trafficked

   (there is room but nowhere to go)

& when you're done

I am never leaving this place

even when I really leave

it will be like I never did

that's the only reason they know my name

take fourteen

I was born in an undulating ceiling

& there are no supernovas

from here on, ma'am

see, there are jail cells

which line this linoleum garden  -  hey,

doesn't it remind you

of that movie with Jean Harlow

where she doesn't quite

make it to the end?

in those times we could admire

without the NSA playing

walkie-talkie secret agent,

interrupting pizza deliveries

our future selves will be

reminiscing on

when our voices

got lost under flat water

& misinterpreted sunbeams

the era of amnesiacs

taking anesthetics for fun

though I will admit

you get used to the lack

of color from being immersed

the broken arrow

take me to that sea of empty

and erase me

the wallpaper on my face

is coming

off fast

& they said

all false martyrs

come back as ghosts

tormented by

their own affliction

like horizontal rain

on the eve of what's next

DMT

does anybody here

even take sunken currency?

hello?

these iridescent pinwheels
seem to have a
consciousness

& I want it to
pull over me as well
in lieu of floating me towards a cloud
with no name
with no area code

though now I can see
where it has brought me
& I have an idea

of how to get down
to a lost sanctuary
where they're painted red
and tell me 'welcome,
the language you speak
is reminiscent
of our gods who
believe in gods themselves'

I would take my bare feet
to the top of the monument
and observe the art-form
of all of us

see, I am drifting
not towards a continent

I am the continent

& I thought you should know
how these little wars
send pains through my spine

Where?

sometimes
the most beautiful
thing in the world
is a void
like slight imperfections
in the drumming
that make it human
or the white snow
blanketing weak earth
and you can almost
hear an

'I forgive you'
in the purity
of it's silence

Flower Bullets

I. Tucson

i was put in a room
& released into the zoo
but without proper
inoculation

the stars are hotter
in the desert
and confusion
more confusing

my theory is
the more you think
the less that is
thought out

and not all problems
can be fixed with science

II. Orlando

what a strange paradise,
the swaying palms
have yet to bear fruit
& the papaya tree in
the backyard
was cut in
half

the ground is flat
much like the people
and I'm beginning to think
I am tall again

I want them to know
there is a way out
from somewhere 
internal

'cause in this building
of white walls
you must make your
own shoes

I am falling
in love with it
all over
again
but I am still falling

III. Jersey

making peace
with what you left behind
is much harder than
hammering a nail
then removing it

it's more a
kick in the face
and siphoning pain
onto a page
but,
I bled it until
I was empty and
the pages became
more representative of
the person
I used to be

& that is how
I am reminded

'I do not love you,
you merely complete
a part of me
I had to leave
at the baggage claim
to make room for
my head'

IV.

you must
keep looking
even if it means
hiding in black clouds
at midnight
or believing in
something you have
yet to feel
and yet
it goes by quicker
when you know what
you're looking for

Wormtape

memories get stacked in

our library with the glass dome

ceiling but there are not enough

shelves so the old ones are thrown

against a wall and away from the light.

eventually these 'books' turn into

messy metaphors as the bindings

have dissolved and no-one has time

to read about the continuations

of growing old so the fiction starts

to rise in popularity. problem is

those pages stick when you lose

your place -

then an online database

got implemented and the glass dome

was replaced with some computers

and even a coffee shop with free

Wi-Fi so when you get home,

all that's on your mind are the

symphonic beats or maybe a

distraction which doesn't

involve thinking

we never really get home, though -

that library becomes a high-end

Wall-Mart with a best-seller shelf

and we fall asleep in the

mattress section

Reflections

maybe I need some marijuana
to help mitigate this subtle displeasure
with life
in all its morning glory

cheap wine and smokes
I tell myself,
that will do the trick

and I'm reminded of that girl
who drank before
the interview
for a bartending job

feels like karma is hard to come by
these days

some of them I refuse
to wear coats
when everyone else is
and others I'll tell them 'you're welcome'

though putting myself out
on a thin rope
in unforgiving winds
is pretty constant

this is how I made myself
this is how I can
unmake

these ants forge cities from our ashes

the ticking of the clock - it comes and goes to help me understand but my memory is lacking on both sides of the spectrum and I sense my senses are senseless without a run-on sentence. now I'm no carpenter of tangible things though my tangents seem to correlate with a common theme.
the roads are covered in precipitation that never could decide which side to stay on. it's nearly dawn and I open the garage just to see mess I missed while sleeping. at least with the energy drinks in the fridge I can crash with some dignity.

afternoons are by far the worse. I'm not self-critical enough; not aware of how it all matters by the time my final cigarette is violently vacuumed into a lung or two. but much like the sleet, I really have no opinions lying on my bed and subsequently none on the matter. why should I when I'm so close to an edge that has no bottom and less gravity the farther you free fall?
sometimes I'll fix the fleeting crevices of my eyelids on the crack between drapes and think to myself 'hey look there's a crack between the drapes'. If I really let myself go, I can float off my mattress or even feel that gravity pull me off from it. I don't think I was meant to remember such horrors.

I'm inclined to think painful deaths last a long time, so pardon me while I take my chances with the ants and plunder underground in a line.

another childless mother

release the tension and ascertain
an ascension. build with bricks like
they were legos and forge empires
using spires and a sign that says
'for hire' and sustain a mind who can
rewind the double helix vertebrae
then find a dark way down. reach
out for it in electric comatose fever
but do not ask rhetorically - they own
the grass and the ice accordingly.
gravity wants to remind you this -
the work is not worth the risk
when it is brisk at this time of day.
next time you pray, lick the lint
off my indecision with precision
and prove me right, that these pins
spin on a desired axis. just relax
'cause two more weeks will go
right by as you turn to a drive-thru
and weigh in over medium or large
with Portishead charging like a
machine gun but it's all for fun,
have you forgotten? holding crumpled
cotton to re-fill a hand who wants
to go outside and hide in plane sight
where light infiltrates their veins.

maybe we'll find a new Antarctica
and name it so. as of now
I can't afford a frozen ford but I
hear there is one on eBay.
at least the beast's eyes are
cracked diamonds, which would
explain the crooked book I'm in.