hum (2017)

I designed the most perfect isolation, but microbes pieced through in dust and in tyndall. 
tilt swung me left from your center. failure.

i.

the hands of my mind extend, 
and my fingertips quiver slightly

to de-noise mentally is to push downward with both hands the bile of our world’s retch

occasionally the mental noise soothes
mostly
it numbs

silence cuts through me and draws up
the demon resting beneath these beautiful blue eyes
so many compliments, honey gazes
as it grins and grips the knife that is my tongue, ready

I’m
reaching upwards, punching through the water wall and flesh to grasp
this drowning falcon
and snap its fucking neck

I regret this
but I twist
to spare its birth

shot out like flint! 
into the mouth of Men

 

what is understood by the man with the spray bottle; ethnic cleansing is all I know

ii. eia

the texture of glass
is smooth

it’s like
liquefied air
hammered in between pieces of ground
by Völundr

if I were to push us through it, 
effortlessly, 
we would fall into subatomic freneticism
we would cease

to love each other
so let it be smooth, I say

I struggle to remember the shape and color of people’s eyes, but so clearly i remember their gaze. 
it’s not even the face in detail, just a clear knowledge of them through the turn of it towards me. 
even their bodies are scattered impressions, but the spirit of the person is so vivid—the being, radiated through a gaze. and that’s why it is terrifying for me to really look at someone. I feel like I’ll see them
and with some people, 
a few
I feel like they will strip me bare if they look back, lock eyes, and they can see me. and they will know me just by looking at me. it is the feeling that if I hold that gaze I will die…




I am watching you pray
iii.

craving a comfort that doesn’t exist, I
shoot up from the dirt of corduroy couches
where are we
im living in someone else’s life

i read somewhere
“it was as if the male part had impregnated the female part inside her” 
wanted to cry with relief
but i shook instead
god came in me sideways instead of like normal

the strange thing about demons is that I don’t actually believe in them
even when they’ve been standing right over me

the strangest thing is
I still don’t know what the explanation for them is
or why they appear how they do
teeth at me

spectator
SPECIAL DELIVERY
of the sea, 
I’d prefer to run our countryside
as the pack that we are
25 PALMER STREET
but speciation
got us
strewn about
MR & MRS
and unlonely


wanted to be honest
but what do I know about that
since I’ve been nursed by truth
and never learned its beauty
only the compulsion for it

im not crazy
im not going to end up dead and alone and young
while you make it with your kids in your home
im not going to die tonight
to my own hand with this black knife
this beautiful knife and my vascular pale
im not going to get got by that thing in the face of un-me
im not going to be struck in my dream by the demon’s hand
im not
im

faltered n shook
i see myself getting folded up
getting ugly after being worn’d
all outward into the world
like
peeled air and anthrax

step the fog
its real early
jus me n this blanket and bare stone sensitive white child feet
light comes in distinctive sharp blades
sitting orange, sees tilt
waits

iv.



v.
cry to me
your sharp lament, a bark
snapping despair, the kind that pollutes interiors
a 5hr car ride

foreign deities aren’t welcomed in me no more
spiritual xenofobe,

a strange feeling, 
comfort in the decay
carbon dated
dead relationships, fossilized mud

close to something mutually acknowledged by both myself and these wet trees

its raining today
this june is a second april

 

 

I will take my clay hands and curve every corner of this city
we will walk through the canyons of buildings


vi. a song for Spring

crawl along the underside of the ozone
im
delirious
deleting this

un focus for your dance; 
I lean back
feel forget, 
you come to me in trance

I know the taste of plated silver and
we know inflection is just a bitter side affect

so size me up
and push me bac
this is the night that we decide if our afterlife is bliss

its the
29nights
fucked on the first day
on the second we will sacrifice our mothers if theyr barren
I got
25 reasons
to destroy my fathers ethos
called me heathen while I speak inside to angels
can u hear them

can u hear their chords in fade
static, animus
un made
all rationale im lost in the desert
I
adore the blood of the horse we take

honor it
Romulus is
a serpents tongue, 
o separatistic Sage my heart is telling me to flee

so I run to you
n you hold me tight
by god I fly
no longer in your wake
but we run the light, we try.

twenty nine nights
lost in the sacred weight
on the second we
resurrect the goddesses n dance in gardens

thirty-six twists the demon
it escapes, 
I breathe and leave it
breathe and I see:

white heron
parking lot
we cut our hands
and
she eats the night.



oxbow moon with blood under me
vii.

after I go home and stretch
I will
cut out the fat from the thighs and stomachs of the rich
and force them to eat it

ive lived my whole life in other people’s houses
and now I am paid to walk their halls
how many hours have I stared at that thinning face in the mirrors of their elevators

I am the abortion of twelve goddesses
rotted and uncoiled helixes
I am your wet waste, algae overhydrated stench

she wont look at him
he takes his shirt off
and she turns from his whale carcass

the only way to keep something alive is to convince ourselves that it wasn’t to begin with
Likewise, the only way to kill something is to convince ourselves that it was never really alive in the first place

wearing just a skirt, 
only half of me can be covered
turn it up or down, can’t say
How do I choose? 
either way you see a part of me I don’t want you to

I’m the indeterminant within potentiality, even
not fester nor hope
I sit on the bodies of my fathers and ask what symptoms of their spirits I have

ur body covered in plastic wrap and
your feet decorated with stars you stole: 
you are the feast




the library closes at five
vii. today

market of apples and everyones telling me how its so expensive
I was hoping I could get advice about where to go… 
found the right one
if you travel
cheaper
always gonna be something that’s wrong

pondered
violins
and I know they’re, like, combed

envy is the only word
no
some days you know its gonna take
you keep doing
sometimes I come down here and go to the
heavy bags of groceries
star bucks

here I am aware of the wall of noise and disintegration
that I step through
like sand in thin sheets
sobs daily
still cant handle
so he tells me to shut my eyes
because they are burning

the rubies I will drop into the water
which will wash them up onto the slag-shores
which will turn them over to the mouths of dogs
whose bellies I will cut open and pry them out and
ritualize again, 
humming my mother’s cradle song

by this muddied white horse I came to this earth
and by this horse I will leave it

I’ve been incubating in this urn for 22 years, 
floating, ash
where my painted child resonates in me, food for
the pyre

and I am fasting on this day
and the six days following
I look up to Orion and know that, 
as a sepulcher of tensions, 
it has feelings

they move as a hand, as wind
through the cobblestones
cripple my left leg

wearied already, 
walking through walls and the scream of one thousand thousand aching fucking meats

I stoop. 
blind my left eye as well
so I see only half the world
(your half)



viii. inti, lacus, loctus

ea bald sun döttimé 
su selah salupt

gnitr finrif dreyut

alus danik, 
blad nir yvleyhim

I,m
a bloodied fish
friendly only to the microbes
spending two of your lifetimes eating infections and snarling
hauled in a net off the coast of New Bedford
or was it
Gloucester
I don’t know the difference
im begging to break surface
my wet body thumping floor and sliming the hulls of other dumb faces

if I approach your face, please
step back
or let me in
whet the stones you strap to spears
strike, strike. brutality ruthless truth I crave

you cant tell lies in a fight
you can only die
or kill
leaving maimed with the truth of your soul torn out for the onlookers

so let us
strip to cloth, alone
on this fertile ground
and raise our hands

the realest experiences are those that are a private language, a spirit, a turning in your gut. Only you can know it and somehow when spoken the words never reach your target the way they take you out, atavistic
and yet for something to be solid, to be real, it must be shared. it’s held accountable, I forget things, i ask you, you remember, you tell me and even though i don’t remember i recall that it happened. 
we spend our whole lives speaking private languages, trying to reach each other, failing, landing on some semblance of understanding, talking past each other forever

and i don’t need you for this to be real, and i want you to see but you never will so
can we at least be half blind, uned and completely senseless together
?




you meditate imbued in divinity but the man with closed eyes is an easy target
ix.

stump of me stretches for probiotic nutrition
a culture beneath the blasting hot lights
several mucus smears squelching orchestras allergen, 
semen
shivering dead eyed ape-of-a-being lost in lethargy’s purgatory

and now I’ve landed, off an aeroplane
to the wilds of my grandmother’s hip bones
indiscernable mountains and sky, 
cloud cover jut edge
and open field at her repurposed scalp

walking through a field of bees
my siblings ahead and
mother and father
to the left

the wood-bees have made their home in old fortresses, 
and the honeys in blunderbusses, 
sweet blood and gunpowder, 
ashy breakfast bagel spread

this place strips me, I fear
their conviction in my dead selves
their reality mutilates me, 
a ghost

 

kiss and kill
pica, 
eyes righteous cast up to you
expectant devoted and
lips coated with dirt

crouched
your knee-level
meal of stone
hoping for pliability in the clay

teeth eroded by that which I erode
the foot crushing its way through my little white knives? 
mouth scythed, its roof
uninterruptedly in
pain, 
we
shake to the next knock on the door of our rooms
“can I come in?”
 

failure
x.

my wrists sway unconsciously
trumpets behind, 
a soft croon
crescend o
to kettle boil

pepper mint or earl grey? 
epilepsy flash, twitch
got Michael’s light in my irises
and rhododendron oil seared under skin

i got lips all cracked up
i got lines of deceit from the past 11 or so
months, 
chalked to the walls of my un-womb

got no more milk for these cats that wash up on the porch
got a wordless goodbye choke waiting to not come out
got time, 
a little time, 
to rewrite those deceits
and sit on new porches

got a couple siblings in love, 
got old parents
who watched the garden behind their house get wild, 
after their sons and daughters left

i got a couple drafts of my last will and
testament in my head
aint penned it

got two more sobs than the neighbor to my left
and one less than the princes I attend for
scraps

dont you understand what I have to do? 
what hasnt been
and what will

even this shrine is feeble
and the totems rubbed raw

 

xi. undertow

something moved a little nudge
beneath the moss

“I love the sea!” 
I realize,

and not love, 
but to me it gives something back
maybe, 
a full obliteration of the senses leaving your ragged arteries crystalized by saltwater

moving across terrain, 
there aren’t metric markers, 
there’s the watering hole, 
the territory of our warring tribe we must circumvent, 
overhang of rocks, rain home until
tomorrow’s sunset
time and need aren’t divorced: 
I’m here to eat

something moved a little bit
superstrings pulled, 
alleviating the noose of fates. 
I have love for the sea

 

hail, axle, jarred

usually there are five perfect noises
forty-eight minutes of high impact
i will never forget a face especially when we kissed and it was a flood sustaining
massive trauma to the head

these days
i step
to the outlands of the south, 
walking lawns that cascade down into parking lot expanse
spirit rotting grass from the root up

symbiotic child, motherless
we hunger for that rash that coats our lover mouths
cruelty and cat-killing has burrowed into my dream-self

I sat in that farmhouse, dry tall grass, isolate, 
confessing my sins to the ulcerous sluggards I call my kin
the man who killed his wife? 
and the one who has eaten the earth

contours
xii.

one large charcoaled hand swoops down to my forehead, blessing me
i turn and retreat to the back of the buttressed hall, under veils in layers of six
opaque, the world
a visual aide to my noiseless thoughts

out they come
losing their grip on me as soon as they are elocuted
thus silence is the final and most important word

im being sanded down by god, it seems
..into what

pornographers burn today, September my love
I stretch out a feeble hand, am fired like photons through consciousness
I am sailing into a windless sea
I am petting one million cats

born and un-lived into every instance of circular action, reaction
here I ready my ship. 
knots which will not fail, 
ropes of every young hair cut, saved from the witch’s knit

silence cuts through me and draws up
a blankness: 
chitin in my pores, vision
vacant and wholly present