I. of Sighs

don’t become a lover
it will teach you to hope in the world.
instead
dream and scratch your way out of death’s womb towards that dimming light

if the stillness of space ever had made me nervous it was in those moments when our hands never touched

magnetized, sameness repelling on itself
though we were never the same

subsequently
secrets made us turn our faces to the artificial air generated by fans (Fans)
sought coolness in the heat of pressurized covalent bonds (weak)

pls affirm my faith
even if it denies my humanity
I would gladly give it up for a chance to gaze at starlight again

instead, this smog paints the night
We are intimately lost.
inanimate coughs uninterrupted—their faces stare through the tangle of binary strands

Stand alone in the plastic chair
shouting at tyrants
Assyrian runes, Egyptian glyphs, iLife emojis all cyclical in their cobalt emotion and pseudo-permanence

1848
the year regimes were thrown upon cliff faces
Spring brought a certain passion unbridled

2015
Spring did not bloom
air frozen, we kept our anger indoors in wooden coffee shop conversations

Over the scribbles on napkins and crunching of feet on discarded candy wrappers, I rose and stepped into the snow

we ate plastic food
content with the violence as fuel for our bodies to combat violence
waiting for waste to be absorbed in the soil
purge our bodies so we dont have to think about where the poison goes

waiting for my taste to be saved from its misguided intentions by your morals
the gods of ponds decreed we are sinners
please
cleanse me with your tumblr wisdom
please
lend me the soundbits of truth lest I drown in the guilt of my mistakes

II. their lies cannot suffocate me (?)

5 am only where we are
and time only feels as far away as our fears for the future

and lies can only hurt us if we leave this room
deprived of something deeper than sleep

we turn to each others’ eyes
eyes filled with ink.
you are
confused at the peace in mine, aren’t you?

The inflections behind our words say more than the conversation ever could,
fabricating a mutual portrait of the shared soul.

no i dont believe in that. but you made me for a little bit

deferred: the semester
deferred: my will

please know I had to find something beyond this existence
please dont preserve my body but let the soil absorb me

all of my poison and nutrients
all of the artifice and holy sentience
consumed into the ribs of Inter-Being
and all of me is in front of you
and all of me consists of you

breathe and know that I am sustaining you now
though I never could before

Chapter 5: The Fall of Orion
gods couldn’t tread in the room where she cut her hair
swift states of tension as the scissors moved
tufts fell to the floor

not enough stars in the sky to offer her solace for the brutalities she lived.
I could have raged against the assailant, that faceless man.
in truth I feared that I was he.

A humming screen for all your troubles, young sir!
Yes

bring me into your halls of fruit
what can I touch, lust after?// give me the answers because nobody here has them

tomorrow rinse the crust from your stained cock
but you cannot lift that image from your head
you cannot cut your dreams from their urls

I cried as a child but I didn’t know weeping until I was a man
and what is the man
what is the man

this body only a frame for decayed orchids in that time,
heaving against the weight of the world.
no more scratching at my heels and elbows
we are not children anymore, so claw at our faces and chests. 
her milk spilled on the carpet for strays

four pale apes slumped in a dark tile room
guitar
notebook
all the comforts of the Mind
and I choke on your serenity
tell you I am fine.

heavy gasps. I come up from 2 years underwater
can’t do two more years in this aqueous thick sludge, barely water
the runoff from decrepit deltas—
my lungs fill with cloudy concrete
it is soluble in the once life-giving medium

shake my ears to rid them of the pollution
infection starts paralyzing my brain already
I spew words that make no sense to me
convulse at the surface, thrashing in the small waves lapping at nothing.

Most deep sea creatures do not need the sun to survive, but feast on living and dead
organic matter that sinks below.
Whale carcasses feeding us
the bloated bodies of fish, lifeless stares condemning 

We do not need that Sacred Sun.
We found life where there was none

Chemosynthesis sustains the needs of our neighbors. They are strange beings.
we aspire to be of their unholy godliness but fear the costs

III. bottle cap surgeon

pinching at your plastic eyelids with a scapula
examining the thinness of it all,
in wonder at how you can see this way

inside the halls:
metaphysics baffled all the pastors and rabbis
a larger god made impossible by the idol of history

in the grassy knolls:
history made obsolete by their disregard, for their love of the finite limitless

Is Your mind a garden or a forest?

cling to the corners.
ring out dry clothes in this sordid snow

at the bones of the earth.
Meet me at the bones.
Christians doing Christian things
the hell they are trying to escape from is in their own clapping and singing

I see his brain fade away with age
At least I have comfort in the presence of sorrow
Rather than a past ache that never left
and when it comes it will never leave.

I woke up vomiting
Feverish shaking and I thrust my raw red skin in the shower
sunburn covered these shoulders

insecurities hidden by a pain so obvious they couldn’t ignore it
voices outside, a plane howling overhead
didn’t know what time or what part of the world I was in
What are those languages?
the children babbled and it could have been 6 am or it could have been 8 pm
I— only frigid soul in that time apart from time

lingering. the inevitability of my failure
greatness being determined only by the masses- tell me is that what really matters?
Obsessed with the idea of the Suicide King and becoming him
“I am scared you are going to die”
said to me on the internet
and fucks sake I know that is more true than anyone else could

“I thought I understood you but maybe I don’t at all. Please forgive me if that is the case.”

again I saw the allness and nothingness of the world
what an amazing gift,
what an amazing pain
I am sorry if you thought you understood me. Please forgive me if that is the case.

lines pressed all close together

I was a fool to think that this sickness was a physical manifestation of my other sickness
truth is the physical is everywhere
in my bleeding imagination
...

the infernal internal dialogue
tribal
arrival of more voices incited
at the indecisive cries of a tired body

IV. crimson window days

sway for me.
feast on my thighs.

genderless individuals made into shapes by the white noise of this place
shapes unrecognizable to outside eyes
expedited to a new sky

we found flightless birds with glass skin there.

lucifer hides under his dresser
staring at us undressing
not lusting but lonely
long has love been foregone from him

he the sexless being
bent into shape unbreakable
unshakeable the resolve
he holds
to take our hearts and give us a taste of the faults that will tear us apart

fall away from Presence
We know that to make it in this world we must hurl ourselves on our swords
or fight without showing our faces
so tell me that beautiful lie

ii. dry tongue

one trapezoidal word from you
between an oily statue and a rusty desk-chair
bars in the window resembling something I once read in a book hums coming inside

\ indecipherable
burned fingertips

cant see the angels anymore
all I see is long dark fingers
sharp bones
it is the smiling men that hurt us the worst

the familiar dullness returned and my lips are swollen

 

-today I went on a walk

-with ___

-down some random rural street at night

-and tried to touch a cow

-and saw a falling star that was in our atmosphere streak down in the night sky. it lit up in orange and red fire first, then neon blue

-40 seconds later we heard a big boom- dunno if it was the impact or the sounds of it breaking the atmosphere

-it was gorgeous and incredibly potent in the midst of the particular conversation.
Chat Conversation End

 

Geometry taught me that the finite unbounded being resides in
ridges of scratched metal
and conversations we had but were never ours.

The waves make crisscrossing lines when they retract back into their slapping body.

what were you thinking?
trying to find something to rest my back up against

Don’t speak and desecrate this holy silence.

playing hopscotch on top of obligatory trigger warnings
and
riding motorcycles with no helmets in foreign streets
imagining dusty ankles all broken along with the promises to mother

DVONT SVPK VND DVCREVTE

can’t wash the oily smudges off my fingers and palms, soles here

standing at the ocean’s palm astounded by the swelling smoothness of those green glass walls
white boats speckling the horizon
tufts of sky against the depth of sky

DVONT SVPK VND DVCREVTE

the kids who haven’t been outside since they were Four

we made those gods whores
and will they make me a whore as well or
will they find me in my apartment bathtub and make me immortal

I only answer to the shapeless face under the meniscus of reason...
you’re never too old for a self-indulgent erection

V. holy fluorescence

Ambiguous parts that don’t quite fit together
Pissing on a statue of Jesus

Eyes blurry I am afraid I am losing my vision
Don’t listen to them if they say I am losing it I can see you just fine

staring back at the world with closed eyes
scrolling past what you say

our foreheads touched.
whisking past us—the slowness
quietly we both walked down the straight road in its wake

age-old interactions
Today we are all bespectacled
seeing white people in a predominantly brown place

all the bodies a collective motion of affirmation ______________________________________________________________________
On the bus.
a baby cries
the voice of us all
our unspoken shrieks of exhaustion, discomfort.
sterile, we lost the reflex of honesty

they are talking with cheekbones and thudding bass from those mounted speakers over there
his hat had merged into his body schema blue and white, red letters that said “PUB”

 

4our. i.AM

the shimmering orange disk made the small inland pools more crisp—
between the mountains and the sea
Mother Moon makes it move but today we only saw what we saw

chased the sun across the world to this island but I still cant have it

4our1
four

aroused by the sounds of numbers and the click of keypads
big bodies laying on mats on floors
bugs everywhere
dehydrated the roof of my mouth

mocking the fingernails and their dirt underneath
damp shirts all the time
alphabetically organize my troubles so I can conveniently present them to u
but you think in numbers

4our1

coughing small flecks of blood on your white sneakers
‘grimy life’
deepr voices echo out of our throats, terrifying. exhilarating our buzzed minds
texted u, you.
after so many months of silence you stopped being a name and regressed back into being your number
1809614
1809c614
We are intimately lost.
still your face stares through the tangle of binary threads

VI.
THE STAGES OF COMFORT

foregoing The Desperation of Needs
the wraith-days, and passing through them

being able to stop being what you are

I consume everything with a blatancy I didn’t learn
the edges of my mouth always brimming with seagull feathers and pebbles

A Friday evening in the city by the rocks by the shacks on the rocks by the trains next to that busy road.
We walked away from the sparkling handrails to the brownness of a place disintegrated, we run across busy traffic and jump the tracks over to the shacks by the sea. two foreigners, I could feel their eyes burning of hate or curiosity or perhaps just blank with complete lack of will
we visit the mother of an old friend, so honest we two and so human.

Somehow this is not right and wrong.
we stood at the rocks and for a moment I was afraid the waves were going to eat me up. The smell of saltwater brought us to the smell of shit.
But everything was wrapped up in an orb of cloudy sky and soft blue and orange at the horizon,
A single pinprick of white against it all—one star piercing through the late afternoon.

The shirtless lean but muscular young man rolling and lighting a single cigarette, too tired to stop the thickness of what he knew for something new.

I do not know where I am going to be, but I know where I am going.

I told myself I would never be the man who could only enjoy a single cigarette at day’s end as relief. Then I remembered that is not true. I turned around to look back at the city, noticing the juxtaposition between the wealthiest part of the capitol, the tall malls and hotels, and these huts on the rocks on the hungry water.

A train thundered by. stared at its passengers.
only a small moment
by the time I turned back to the waves and the sky, horizon all dotted with big cargo
ships,
it was covered by heavy clouds.

and to feel something heavier than those dark grey clouds. In the air, not just the feeling before rain.

He stood back and noticed the colors. I noticed the grey more than the blues and the oranges and the ocean green.
He stood back, ready to go, but I wanted to stand there forever.

Allowed the rain to fall on me, the way it was all supposed to be. Stood for a while in it. Jumped a wall and two sets of train tracks, ran across the platform and the busy highway street, laughing through the rain in the city streets back to the coffee shop. The skin of the world became broken and peaceful chaos flooded in.

 

zippers, footage

there was a wedding
there was a wedding and we were invited

we watched the purple flower arrangements up against the white tablecloths
we watched the faces with gold in their noses and ears and foreheads

there was a lot of food
and languages that I know but didn’t understand that day

all of you sat cordially.
the dates of the most important sunsets we witnessed laid out in marble,
carved.
footage of the least important sunrises but most relevant photogenic portraitures

zipping up the back of my dress in a corner somewhere
the zipper got stuck and you found someone else to help you with it

quick glances at the whisps of hair behind your head
the shadows on your neck
ankles moving out the room.

SVN.

dried up rivers that we turned into streets
turn to your left and look down.
Salamanders

putting shapes on top of surfaces and calling it art
breathe all the plaster and mold into your stomach, deep
leaning and orbiting our fragile house
in a car with an empty portfolio talking about our art

events we attend
I stare out at the mountains and lakes from this bumpy concrete roof.
excuse my recycled tenderness I learned how to do it after years of practice

what you wanted to think of me
how you felt thinking of me because of how you wanted to think of me
miscommunication by no communication
letters of confession to an illiterate man
laughing at the absurdity of it despite the normalcy of the situation
reading it and laughing
he is not sane
no one says but he to himself
jumping out at the mountains and lakes from this bumpy concrete roof
put my shape on top of those surfaces and call it art

voices cracking around phrases we aren’t comfortable with yet
Tell me what I want to hear so we can be friends.
I tell you what you want to hear so we can be friends.
sliding across hardwood floors in our socks
gingerly stepping out barefoot in the summer

after drinking from corroded faucets we wipe our mouths on mother’s sleeve

Why can’t I climb back into the womb?
the face you made, eyes
lowered, swallowing back tears.
I never want to see that face again.

VII. Of Dreams

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers, and my eyes well up as I listen
“It will be so quiet there.”

And it was so quiet there
it was so quiet there.

lonely shore

awake and maybe for the first time you really see me
night time after you looked for me

I put my shape on top of these surfaces and call it art. Call it a name
But when you name it it dies
so do not speak

do not speak

viii. (eight) fingers wrap inside my mouth, around my teeth,
blasphemous,
opening the jaws
and fucking my silence

Do not speak
when you name it it dies

take the same knife that your father fell on
take all the hairs from his arms and legs
pull them from the roots, pulp white and dispatching easy from decaying flesh

stitch your lips shut with it

take the glass bottle, broken by your holy rage
and sever the tendons on those fingers

then I will take my shape and forge a house out of it
for the first time I think I can really see you.

We found warmth in that dimming light.

I now know my dreams were never my own.