the eye

it is anathema
stewing beneath the surface

but an eruption does not come
from the mouth
it is within the eye
beneath its lacquer finish
a pearlescent forever

and a small dot
like a peephole at the center

the lens of a kaleidoscope
the brain within

greener pastures

maybe
in this life

she will lick her lips
like lime of the margarita rim

and maybe his soul
will coil in a terra cotta pot
teetering on a window ledge

avant-garde girl
pondering the green grass

she'll remove him with her fingers
like a dead layer of skin

and the sky will discolor
into a rainbow

cholerangel

he has thoughts of
himself
screaming,
being torn apart by wild dogs

when she smiles

his lungs deflating for wind instruments
for something frantic
something red
between his earth
and her sky

gauge the great "self"
from the depths of someone else's eyes

exhales the iris
so blue
so green, so brown, so hazel, so

whatever

let it crawl
underneath his skin

let it separate
the flesh from his bones

and let it hurt
so incredibly
bad

that he will never
mistake it for
beauty

again

exclusions: messages from ghosts

i had measured us
in gallons of sea water,
in epsom salt,

in tears.

every sunset
viewed from a rear-view mirror.

how many times
i would leave the house
so my family
would not see me sob.

how i would focus on loathing you
to keep myself from loving you again.

there is not enough of us
to measure anymore.

we are smiley faces
on foggy windows.

shadows in hiroshima.

you bring out the worst in me.
you were a lying whore.

exclusions: palpable

he is like an actor
in his own life
playing a role
that is not natural to him

his face
that rearranges
into things
he does not understand

and his eyes
were brown at one point
they used to be receptive
they used to recognize their surroundings

now they're ash
they're cumulus grey
they're things falling to the earth

globs of mercury
running down his face

poisonous mercury

love
is not enough

exclusions: hair of the soap

heav-en
isn't heav-en anymoar

but a deadhorsee on the vegas stri_p
living a.ft.e.r. a freudian sli_p
for angel eye (s) or wormholes

but it(')s always limb o u no

and arcturus w.ill receive m/e

and ii will bee hahppy forr youe

introversions: you

red rose petals erupt
from my mouth
the color of angst these days

faith makes no sense

sugar
grows as red
as anything

sugar
as beautiful as you

the faith
that you keep

makes me question

myself

introversions: when reality fails

eyes like sparklers
peer up at me
smiling like a movie actress
on the silver screen

and where there used to be maggots inside
there are
stars

she'll let me hold her
listening for my heartbeat

our bodies coalesced
under the weight of the moon

this world in lunar overture

her soft breath
exhales
in the key of E

a piece of the sun
'tween her lips

in somnis veritas

so what

what is left
inert

my simile

my nothing

but maggot
of the cusp
where an arm
used to
extend

and there is phantom

as i swallow
an ocean dredger

as door nails

as wood rot

and finally
as

sleep

because
there is something
wrong

with me.

exocerebral: a reoccurring dream

i saw
the mountain again
in my dream
in some desert that i've never been to

surrounded
by dark clouds
they always look heavy with rain

i've never seen its peak

and it doesn't always look the same
sometimes a spire shape
sometimes broad like baldy
but it always feels the same

i can feel it when I look at it

i don't feel anything in particular
only that i feel it
like somebodies presence

sometimes i'm on the mountain
on some narrow roadway
and snowfall all around me

other times
i'm observing it from a distance

once from some winding
desert roadway
i saw it
and then i noticed that there was something about the cacti and yuccas around me that didn't look right
they looked almost plastic

sometimes there is only
a reference to the mountain
or that i happen to think about it

exclusions: second street

separation
travels

between the palm trees

between the palms of my hands

as cool as a breeze
ought
to be

as
a grave diary
inked by alternative
variable

of moon skin
in permanence

dreams of lesions

defensive wounds

severed tendons
scrap yard emotions

school yard memories

visible phalanges

the shallow moon
rippling in the water
below the bridge that i am on

my hands in blue tinge

and my hands...

they'll drop everything
that i hold dear

introversions: amoricide

pretty as anthropophagy
we are

it is in the formaldehyde
that we are safe

the humming birds
having flown away

vultures
having taken their place

love will learn it's antonyms

and love

will learn how to sleep

saint rakowitz

adorn chaos
with pituitary lost in self

and of us sparkling
like glass of us startling

last minute
deaths head gnawing
on a jane

narrow hallway to forever

and charlie gein's spon ranch east

introversions: with all my heart

what if a tongue
could bend
a cherry stem into a knot

that it could
bend time and space as well

when we exceed reality

everything will die

it is just meat
for the rhapsody
a little heliotrope said

a cathode ray goddess
in my dream

the lips of a movie star

the mother of god

exclusions: a nocturne

dance the
larvae from
wedged sky

how the eye
dries why
my rise

of air

my
change

so everest
my strange
core-mount

goodbyes
i try

to lie

see the
centipede to nourish
my
pantomime

venus
thigh

binds what carnage
lips try

and my life

eclipses the
television

like the pupil of an eye

jasmine bizet excerpt from an unwritten story

jasmine

her name is jasmine

standing
where the string quartet played
only moments ago

the dining room now
completely deserted

white tarps covering the tables and chairs
a layer of dust on every surface
like this place hadn't been touched in years

the lights dimmed low

everyone having
vanished into thin air...

everyone including jasmine
the only person that could have given
me insight as to who i am

jasmine bizet
featured cellist
to accompany gustav monticello world famous composer / conductor with the LA philharmonic

performances of haydns
concerto for cello and orchestra in D major
a breif intermission
and then schuberts 7th symphony

that's what the program pamphlet says
this paper pamphlet
that i found on the floor
where the quartet used to be

the indentations of the chair legs
still embedded in the carpet

the cover
is a picture of gustav monticello
with the orchestra in front of him
his arms raised up above his head
making a V shape
a little wand in his left hand

below

is jasmine bizet

featured cellist

her photo
a bust shot
wearing black spaghetti straps
probably a dress
her breasts like a cluster of grapes
the neck of her instrument to the left of her
her fingers
wrapped around it
lovingly
elegantly
smiling

beautiful

...a little red rose of a hair accessory just above her right ear

jasmine bizet

it says her name
is jasmine







a flash of white light occurs

perpetuum auteprep

if i could dream of
nice things

i would be able to sleep tonight

and i know
that i would dream of you

i wonder where you are
in the world
sometimes

the antarctic sun
alaskan lights
angels of mariana

the light of this world

ever waning

pleasant dreams
like an amorphous

a body yet
to be identified

i loved the amorphis

and i am glad
that you were smart enough

to leave me

mr hait's complete and total loss

six foot ten
mr hait did stand

towering over
the little k9 on the table below him

a terrier mix

and all lights upon him
his chest cut open
the escalating beep
of a heart monitor

evasive surgery
taking place

everything he knows
twenty years of experience
commanding his hands

the room alive
with vet techs

with support

and then
after every effort

with surgical tools in hand

after every proposed solution

a solid high-pitched sound
like a language censor

stuck on profanity

piercing the air
a red line on the machine
as flat as desert horizon

his eyes fixed off to a corner of the room
his eyes

wet with tears

"i can't fix this"

he says
barely finishing his sentence

the heart monitor
turned off

the bustle of the room
having died

as well as mr hait's best friend

the only piece of his life
that had ever made any sense

zero as an even number

it's quiet
now inversion of days
gone bye

admiring the
kalanchoe red as lips

as labia
apocalyptic

trachea
of no one
in particular accommodates
cock

how a jack
rabbits tendons are made to dangle
from the jaws of coyotes

how spiral
fractures occur
without knowledge

my head
blooming into the idea
of a rose

memory excerpt from an unwritten story

there is a flash of brilliant white light
and suddenly I'm somewhere

...different

surrounded by inaudible chatter
the scent of garlic and onions
string instruments playing something baroque
and the sound of porcelain clatter somewhere over my left shoulder

"so when I told jean about what had happened she just about died"

this is a restaurant
i'm in a restaurant...
how the hell am I in a restaurant?

"sara's always been kinda weird though, you know?"

seated at a table now
somewhere high end
and I'm wearing a blazer...
what in gods name is going on???

"scott, are you alright?"

a voice says
that my name is scott
is that my name?
my head hurts

i gaze across the table
and I can feel my face go pale

my god

oh my god...
it's her
from only a moment ago
from my dream
or whatever it was
only she's...

beautiful now

her long jet black hair
with its silky shine
draped down the back of her chair
and a little red rose of a hair accessory
her red halter top dress
form fitting and taut
her brown doe eyes
sparkling at me from across the table

her fork hovering just above her pasta bowl
fettuccine wrapped around it
the pointy parts protruding like
a hand cast for edward scissorhands

i stare as her facial features take on a bewildered look
her eyes fill up with concern

i break eye contact
i look down to the plate below me
i've ordered chicken kiev apparently
half eaten
with a side of mashed potatoes and cauliflower
...it looks delicious
but I can feel my stomach growing ill

"scott?"
the concern growing in her voice

shes certainly noticed the
uneasiness in me
the tiny beads of sweat taking shape on my forehead
the lateral wrinkles that have formed there as well

all suggesting

fear

"are you ok?"

i'm focusing on the butter oozing from the eaten side of the kiev

she stares at the top of my head

and i tell the chicken breast
that i'm sorry
that i was listening
and that i'm not feeling well

i then look up

her crimson red lips
becoming the letter O
on the brink of words

"i need to use the restroom" i say to her "i'll be back in a moment"

her fettuccine wrapped fork
now resting in its bowl

and I push my chair back
and rise

she gives a slight head nod
showing she understands

but certainly
not without worry

and although my back is to her
as I walk away scanning for the facilities
i could almost feel her large brown eyes on my body
like a helicopter spotlight flooding a suburban community

i pass the string quartet that's been serenading the dinning room all evening
they're performing bach now
concerto no 2

and for a reason that I do not understand
the music makes me think of the woman
waiting back at the table

why?
and why do I know that it's bach?

who is she?
whats happening to me?
why can't I remember anything?

i gag a little as i rush along
weaving between tables

who am I?...

when i find the restroom
i push the door open with both hands
my cheeks inflate like deployed air bags in a fender bender
and I begin vomiting
on my way to a toilet stall

i throw up loudly
and profusely

i cough
i gag
and i breath a little in between
and i flush
the roar amplified throughout the room
bouncing off of the barren white walls

i flush a few times

i heave and i gasp one last gasp
and finally

i'm done

i spit into the bowl

silence all around me

kneeling quietly over the toilet water

a single strand of mucus and saliva
connecting my nose
to the toilet seat
like an isthmus

the slow drip of a faucet
the muffled sound of the string quartet
the inaudible chatter of the dinning room
the buzzing of the ceiling lights

i've made a trail of muck leading to the first stall on the right

i am
a billion thoughts
buzzing through my brain

i can't remember anything
before being in the street in the rain
like a dream
but it felt so real
the rain
her...
who is she?
am I losing my mind?

is this
real?

is this real?

the questions resounding in my skull

i stand up after a couple of minutes
i gather myself
and i run my hands open palmed
down the sides of my jacket
as if to brush the experience off
when i feel a lump In my left pocket
i stuff my hand into the slit on the side of my jacket and I feel an object

but I don't need to look at it
to know what it is

Its boxed shape
Its velvety texture
running my fingers along the convex of the top
meeting a pair of lumps for hinges at the back

it's a jewelry box

a ring???
for the woman at the table???

i whip out the box
and I crack it open
and sure enough

revealing a 14 karat white gold band
and a pretty decent rock at the top

it's a wedding ring

i feel strange about it
like I've seen it before...

i ought to freshen up

i put it back in my pocket
and i stagger over to a sink
stepping over the vomit trail
i turn the knob to the left
i lean in
and i bring cold water up to my face
In cupped hands

it feels good

running my hands down my cheeks
the coolness exciting my nerves

i open my eyes

and i freeze...

terror suddenly accompanying the blood pumping through my body

temporary paralysis
as a result

the restroom in the mirror
has the same configuration
as the one I am in
it has the same stall layout
the same water splashing into the sink below
the same faucet
the same tile work of the walls

but

everything
In the mirror

is burning

it's on fire...

but what has me more unnerved
is that although I am directly in front of the mirror

i

am
not there

i have no reflection

I react
by stumbling back
slipping on my own vomit in the process
I slam into the stall door directly behind me
the door swings open and it slams into the inside making a loud snapping sound
i catch myself
by the perforators

i see the door in the mirror do this
the flames attached to it whisked along
as it slams into the perforator

but still
i have no reflection...

and I pan to the left
and then to the right

the other mirrors reflect the room
as it is
white tile
white walls

"Is this real?"

my heart pounding so hard
It could damage my rib cage

I stare into the other world just above the sink
the water still streaming from the faucet
the fire in little select spots
in blotches

not progressing
not dwindling

just burning

and i'm mustering up the courage to move closer

eventually i convince myself

and I draw closer to the mirror
taking a couple of steps forward

the flames dancing as eloquent and as soft as candle light

i move a little closer
raising my hand in the process
my index finger extended
my other hand reaching
to turn off the faucet

eventually only a couple inches from the mirror

i watch as my finger meets the surface

and i learn
that it's not glass

because

where I ought to feel a solid surface
my finger feels nothing...

and I watch as
half of my nail disappears into its reflection
sending little ripples across the surface like a pebble tossed into a pond

"what-the-hell..."

the fire and tile and stalls in the mirror
bending how a flags emblems might bend on a slightly breezy day

what the hell was in that kiev?

and just like that
the distant sounds of the quartet stop
the muffled chatter of the dinning room ceases
everything goes quiet

I whip my hand back
as if it were scolded by water
and my attention shoots to the restroom door
and the sudden silence beyond it

why did everything go quiet?

I glance back to the mirror
And i am startled yet again
but this time
to see myself...
i see the restroom as it ought to be

i put my hands on my reflection
And it's solid

it's mirror
it's glass

and nothing more

i back away
perplexed

my attention to the door
once again
the silence beyond it

i have to go out there
i need to speak to the woman
back at the table

i move closer to the exit
my sense of hearing
ever vigilante

and i grasp the door handle
the shiny brass reflecting my face
accentuating my nose
bulbous and cartoon-like

i pause
and i'm gripping the handle so tight
that my knuckles turn white

i take long breaths
the putrid smell of vomit filling my lungs
and then

exhale

this has to be a dream
all of this...

why can't I remember anything?

the woman at the table...
she obviously knows who i am

whoever she is
surely she could help me

gripping the handle

shes beautiful

i wish i could just remember

something
anything

dead silence
dead as dead can be

i need to go out there

now

the door handle
in my hand

i breath in

and i throw
the door to my right
producing in a mild rush of air
into my face

and the entire doorway
as if it were one solid light fixture panel

becomes a flash

of brilliant

white light

pentobarbital

from her
third party perspective
his motives might seem disgusting

nobody knows
how vile he is
like she does

through his actions

there is decay
showing through skin

the left side of his chest
dark like thrombosis

dark spider webs
of veins

how his dark mesh
puts him to sleep

making love



obsolete

home

the shadows change
they move upwards

and me in mid-piss

and i hate this place

and i'll get drunk
and i'll listen to bizet

and i'll write terrible poetry

and i'll post it
in spite of

myself

a great red giant

the stars
like maps to heaven

distancing to par
with cello strokes
an m83

what stars dream
for swallowed worlds

(see page 1396)

and bend
event horizon
with my eyes on

our little blue world

a tongue
explores the business end
of a .38 special

dying
is the only thing
we have ever done

correctly

you

i want it to be real
i can imagine it being real

because it feels good
and because
I have nothing else to gauge reality
from

my fingers hanging through the holes
of a chain link fence
and you're smiling on the other side
how people do
when they're happy

and if i had to dream cretaceously

i'd think we too might be something more
of a tar nature

because then we could emerge from the muck
and there would be excitement and there would be wonder

and there would be unpronounceable
latin terminology

and we'd be an
idea

of ourselves

gallimimus

a boy born
mistakenly
entices the earth

in nineteen eighty-one
living in the highest decibel
a human voice could emit

living in the idea
of a home

and he
blocked a lot of memories

remembers nightmares
of aluminum trash cans
and dead knee caps
and gallimimus devouring
his friends

sadistic torture fantasies
were escape tactics

making a stairway
out of toys
to bust through the window screen and play in the mud

escape

if for
only a moment
if only to surface for air

he knew

that he wasn't ok
he was never ok

and that he never will be

ok

nightmare excerpt from an unwritten story

the figure of a woman begins to take shape
emerging from the darkness beyond the funneled hues of the street lamps
materializing in the haze of the rainfall

the streets are deserted
and i stand in the center of a four-way intersection
as all four traffic signals perpetually blink red like an alarm clock returning to life after a power outage

and despite the cold january rain pelting against my body

i am warm
mostly from running
but partly that i can feel the traffic signals
like they're inside of my skull
like heat lamps pulsating against the inner membrane
like a high fever
like a pounding
like cut wrists spurting life in rhythm
to the metronome in chest

my head aches
i try to catch my breath

she draws closer between every strobe of the signals
revealing a little more of herself in every flash

i try to take a step back
but i cannot move

and it's not when i recognize
who she is
that sends the troubling feeling
up my spine

it's when she is about a sedans length from being within the intersection
that I realize she is not walking
and that her feet are
dangling below her
suspended about an inch
above the asphalt
levitating towards me

and ever closer

and it's flash
and then closer
flash and closer

and then her skinny fingers flickering
open and close
reaching out
eagerly anticipating contact
like a game of marco polo

her mouth unhinged
hanging agape
as wide as munch's "the scream"
the rain pattering
the hum of the lights
the only sounds to be heard

her eyes now visible
unnerving and noticeably
dilated to an unnatural size

closer now

and i can see that she's naked
her long black hair heavy with rain hanging down each side of her neck covering the areola of each breast like parted curtains showcasing a drab backdrop of tan human flesh
a navel at center stage

i open my jaws
so wide that i feel a tear occur
at the creases of my weathered mouth

but there is no sound

just rain
just electrical hum
just the faint clicking sounds
of bulbs sparking and dying in unison

just the ghost of my breath twisting away from me in the cold winter air

my throat having gone dry

her hands
grasping ahold of my shoulders
her eyes
as black as wishing wells

the clouds crashing into one another

the color red
making her face appear
at quarter note intervals

so close
that we could be mistaken

for lovers

bleh

j.r. hayes and
vonnegut
on the restroom
counter top

palahniuk and
bukowski
in the trunk of my car

kirkman in the living room

berlitz at my bedside

and

me

in a paper ball
hurled into a waste basket




stupid awsome writers...

"mejo, can you get down a few avocados?"

twist of the hook
and an avocado falls

the sun sinks
into the neighbors roof

it does not catch fire
though i can visualize it

my breathe
reeking of ghosts
my eyes
distant as stars

but i sit down
with my grandmother
with a box of avocados

and the earth pauses itself
for a moment

and we

have a very decent conversation

about plants

everything

is in relation
to your eyes glinting in the sodium
they produce

our expired tongues

gun barrels smoking
and still

how a helicopter
keeps a spotlight so steady

the way daylight becomes
your hair

how tomorrow doesn't exist

i can feel the earth
buckling under the weight of the sun

pilate esque

he is the meat
of a white chalk outline

stumbles over
tongue
and self

legs buckle

and the floor
rushes up
to his cheek

he'll go off on his own
rounding dangerously steep bends

that he could have fallen
that he could have plummeted
to his death

i didn't try to stop him

and it surprises
me

how little
i care

anymore

while listening to brahms

observation is
a (________) ordeal

distance = appeased tumblers

it is important
not to contaminate

with bias

adjust for heart
in winter solstice

a death
in black garbage bags

black pupils
black dahlia

neat

tidy

corner

of the mind



and soft

like snowfall
how

it wants to kill
me



how it wants me to push

daisies


how i'd need
you

how I need you.




(to die)

parapraxis

i dreamt of teeth
in control
of throat

we were stoic in the day
melodramatic by night

and with the kind of eyes
that might gaze
from the apex of pyramids

the sky forever
stifling our views

the kind of eyes
that might fall

to the floor
as something
sugar-coated-sour passes

but we are slaves
to nothing

skin charred and blackened
from the light world

retreat to the womb
black and aphotic

and i'll hold you up to the sun
like a lit matchstick





realizing

2 C8H18 + 25 O2 → 16 CO2 + 18 H2O

no help is
nothing but normalcy burns

photosynthesis stain
blame strange
song same drain names
mother mary beads
thumb and index

dreams

nothing means
fusion solution confusion

ex colorado flow allen
down all drowned
know hounds prowl
brain exposé say nice
day

dot the eyes
and burn

intruder

a can of red paint
falling from scaffolding

as I try to imagine stability
as I push the next round into its chamber

i think about families
who enjoy each others company

i think about god

(and a can tumbles in the sky)

i think about
the dinner table
when i was a teenager
where I revealed
i was a satanist

i slap the revolver shut
and it goes "click"
it's satisfying to hear
it's solid
it's affirming

a sound that only my weapon
can make

(the can falls. and we are falling)

my revolver blurring
as she comes back into focus
just above the barrel

i'm aiming

and shes sobbing,
hunched over his body

her everything

they're both in their pajamas
they were watching television
i watch

them

for a few moments
intrigued

fascinated with the raw emotion
that runs from her eyes
that emanates from her mouth

(the paint is fire engine red)

i wish it were me
laying there below her
loved
cherished

dead

but

this is real

this is their house
this is me
having found their spare house key
under the welcome mat
having shot a man six times

still kneeling by his body
she doesn't take her eyes
off of him

i pull the hammer back
with my thumb

and a loud bang
accompanies a burst of color
to the floor


It is beautiful
it is art


and she is dead

pathétique

a quiet quiet
pierce the doe browns

preceding the huff
to end all that was my world
laid down
unstrung and silent

and it humbles me now
to visit with my ghosts

i do not need rationalization
i do not need sensibility

i am vapor form

with my maria elena milagro de hoyos

messier 57

a wordly
is everything
your wordly is

read
like

piece of
substratum
flake

dreaming
of an everything

scent of plath, palahniuk or bukowski

sleeping
like pompeii

trepanning the cranium
with

a tiny metal
angel

and there is nothing

and there is
nothing

and there is

nothing

worth saving

you can see

a star in the sky
having already
burned out

quite some time
ago

ri^er

replacing the
name with
sleight of hand

companion to
nothing and
moon over water

into the river
like a baptismal

and i am born

lost in a
world of goodbyes

somewhere along
the alder

a scape

un chien andalou

cuts us open

for clarity

and the sun
surely

does not belong

here

there is only

mayhem
below us

and fire ants
glowing orange-red
on an exodus
to the clouds above

we were holding

hands

twelve-hundred feet up
on the garcia trail
squeezing so hard that it hurt

her long black hair

alive

and dancing in the wind
swirling like a van gogh skyline

we watch it all

waiting

for the screams
to stop

for the cities
to finish burning

and where her eyes should
have been
there was emptiness

her lips
dried and cracked

her voice
in deep inaudible murmurs

and everything
without





meaning






i miss her.

The Perils Of Lye

tongue of virus

licks it's lips
until they are coalesced

we will not need
words

we will never need words

and hollowness
will rain
from the heavens

Trinidad Esparza

more caring
than i could ever be

more man
than i ever will be

he taught me
chess

he encouraged me
to write

he loved
he cared

he sent mcdonalds
coupons every christmas
and birthday

he took me to disneyland






and i forgot him






and i was a ghost.



and

he loved
and he cared

and he was slumped
in his cubicle
when
they found him

and he was so pale
laying dead
in the emergency room

and i was in shock

and when i put my hand on his
shoulder
before they rolled
him away

i felt like a ghost

and i don't know
how to deal with this


and he was my uncle

and christ
it hurts

A Flower

you're real

and it
excites/scares/saddens
me

because
you were without
a name

for a time

you were jasmine or
dahlia or lilly

but now
you have a real name

and i don't understand
why that troubles me

it makes me sad

to know how little
i understand

myself

You Are All The Same

we will control
sky via machine

said of
quiver of a lip
strong to darkness

sacrifices
dead vermin
to obeliscal
counter intuitive

eyes
counterfeit
as monarch flickers

heart sustains
as beautiful
as plutonium

devours

exocerebral: 03/28/12

stalactites and
stalagmites
for their teeth

darkness for their skin
and i am terrified

they're coming for us

and all of my friends
seem to be in a daze
unaware or uncaring
i'm not sure which

i tell them about the monsters

but they are uninterested

we're in a house with
too many windows
and a bomb shelter
made mostly of glass

and my friends
stand around me
confused
watching as i board up
the front door

"are you afraid of something?"
one of them asks.

"i'm terrified."
i reply

"don't you understand?
we're going to die.
they're coming for us."

no reaction

they just
stand there
with blank expressions

not even blinking

and there is something
about their eyes
that feels very disturbing
something isn't right

but i can't put my finger
on it




3:24am
cold sweat

wide awake

i'm afraid
and i'm not sure

why

Re

sawn off
at the wrists
see
changing
like wax and oil

weightless green
fingers stirring
heaven undone
diurnal descending

white poppys
or paratroops
or snow

and gomorrah

is a boy catching flakes
on his tongue

Missing Gazebo

siege of
ghosts

where the brush ends
voices begin

and i am in limbo

my life on hold

a chemical haze
of the iris

and my organs are sand
in an etch-a-sketch world
gone vertical

a street lamp
that flickers
and deserts me

polaris
swallowed by clouds

and me

where a gazebo
used to be

Else

dead a body is vacancy
is dormancy is winter skin
is disposable camera style
emptied zip gun zip-lock bagged

drools a cityscape
fatigued as gone is gone is
a papier-mâché

changing

becoming
dead children stuffed
with dope

for the ever

Ckhil

arch of the spine
senses the cathode blue in
you matricide muse clip
the heads of dolls

ask kemper
or gein paving a world blacklist thought returns

my spine arched
like a rainbow

retrieving
the shell casings
sparkling like animal eyes
all around
us

-sun

at a distance
as it likes to be
it can see for eons

but when
touch is exchanged
for sight

it will be
absent

the light

Cuddle

staggers inn
what is thought to be
love illustrious flower state
gaudy and
godly the dogs are
attracted to the decay inside
hollow bellied for the maggots
profluent life cycles little things perpetuating

i couldn't see you

eyes emerge from the skull as sun
spots a willow weeping loss
ratios in jars of formaldehyde
cuddles with a pillow at night

and imagines sometimes
that

it is an

angel

A Stevie

Destroyer of the apex
To tear out his eyes

They serve no purpose

But how will he know if he's happy?

The warmth in him
Having vanished
Years ago

His body
Teetering on the ledge
Of a freeway over-pass
Indisposed

Arms spread
like a crucifix

The sun behind him
Like an orange shotgun blast

The wind
Pushing against his body

Happiness
In the roar
Of the engines below

Heaven

Is not
A place

Baby Blue

Oh music
How I wish I could be you
And not

Me

Because you make sense

All things
As instruments
To measure ourselves

Breath giving life to woodwinds
Fingers dancing on strings
A living prayer
A living weakness

The ether
Took her baby blues
Right out from my skull

And how the years would hide her
From me

Those baby blues
Would surface from a mirror

I am affraid of doubt
And the ideas
Idle thoughts become

Even if
They're only in my mind

It says something
For my mental state I'm sure

There is too much contempt
In me

And
There is no music

Re all it'y

It is a bad day

For.

A good night

Baroque

Like the finger

Likes to linger

Lies white strung

Tethered to impediment

Predicts the day it will fall

Curvature of the finger

Stinger

Dreamer

Linger on Oberon

Coal clean vision everything

Window frost loveliness

Cataract sphere machine

Orbits itself unseen

Cool cost of anything

In its iris turned venom

Fatigued in a dream

Burning rose and jasmine and

Velveteen

IX

I thought I saw you in the moon

But it was just sex through an opened window

And i am a voyeur

And for a second

I can smell your fragrance

Your signature scent

And theremins rise

And I can see you

That you are galaxies

Through a telescope

And that I am exhaust fumes in a closed garage

I am eyes yellow like phlegm

I am bubonic

I am revelations

I am brightly colored centipedes

In an opened palm

I could part the light bulb from its fixture

And learn to feel

All over again

How Embarrassing...

I replace my sleep with alcohol

And then I drive

An assortment of empty bottles

In my wake

Too many bottles

And too many times doing this

Because I will run out of luck one day

Because the night is never long

Enough

And if I crash my car tonight

And die

The police will recover

Pornography

A machete

A hacksaw

And tennis balls from the trunk of my car

Tennis balls...

I feel like

I should leave

An explanation

Evitagen

Fingers creep

And I am death

And we are all death

And I want to feel every inch of myself hanging

From the rafters

Give me minimal slack

And I will ruin a good evening

I am dreaming of you tonight

I'll kill everything

Until I am

Exoskeletal

I'll kill everything

Until

I am nothing but ash

I wish

I knew what you were thinking

I wish I were a better person

I wish I could be beautiful

Like you

I wish I wish

Nevermind

Noah Ferrer

Death

Was the empty aluminum cans

In an suv

Ruunning the red light

It was the crunching sound of metal

And tires screeching

Death was glass like stars

And a street lamp descending

Fallen

Shattered

Destroyed

A family destroyed

My friend destroyed

And eleven year old Noah Ferrer

Gone from this world

At 12:26am

(K)no(w) Life

There are living organs

Beneath it's skin

There are aspirations and sciences

And well developed lexicons

That it acknowledges and lives by

But it lives it's life in spurts

Between traffic jams

And red lights

And waiting rooms

And jail cells

And court ordered therapy groups

Waiting for its sparse little moments

Tiny windows of time

Where even if by only the flicker of a clock

The animal might show itself

But then

It would be back to

Standing in line

For the espresso it craved all morning

There is no life

Here

Pray the sun explodes

Become the ocean

Kill everything that you are

Kemperesque

when skin turns
a biopsy reveals
sparkling polaris

curious teeth in the shelterbelt

a war drum
is just an instrument

the human animal
licks it's jowls

and a garbage disposal gurgles
with torn esophagus

the womb is a sunburst
in outer layer
a cavity on the inside

a living, breathing wound

all static is just noise
schizophrenic to panoramic
coming in through every pore

laying dead
and half eaten
on the kitchen floor

Nile

She smiles with alexandria to luxor
And in my arms with alexandria to luxor

And the whole world from alexandria
To luxor

And her scent is calming
Her beautiful hair


Hair
As long as the nile

From alexandria to luxor

Coveted girl
Beautiful girl

Mai tai girl
Fiddling with

Sand
Turned to glass
Somewhere in the desert

Vague

i can only see myself through

someone else's eyes.

A Prayer

Your finger lingers

The stinger hypodermic

Rosary beads

For the heart

And it's

Remora, the aorta

I had never seen him cry before

Scared with

Sparkling child's eyes

Where the tile is white as nothing

Im prowling in a nocturne

With anesthetics for urns

And they'll cut open his chest tomorrow

And they'll do things to his heart

And I'm scared

Please

Don't take my grandpa.

Exit

My eyes are so heavy

And the road in front of me

Is like time lapse footage

Miles of black ribbon

Disappearing under the tires

Little flash frames

Between zoning out

And coming to

An uneasy Schumann on the radio

I think about hospitals and clean white tile

The rhythm of a lifeline

The date of expiration

And I realize

The center divider is a better exit

Than any off ramp

I want to die screaming

Happiness

the ghetto flowers

could swallow an airplane

with those butterfly eyes

flickering like they're caught

between radio stations

the brevity of ghosts

twisting off my lips

vanishing as they always do

some things are expected

a little roman finds a mark antony

and we watch airplanes

traveling into the orange forever-long

the color of goodbyes

the day expiring and losing complexion

butterflies will die

and when the C battery explodes

(the one i was told not to put in the fire)

stars will rain down

(in a 30 ft radius)

and I will be scraped and I will be burned

and I will be

happy

Thought(less)+ness

The sound of paper balls

Tumbling about outside my van window

They're like eyeballs

Without pupils

They're stillborn thoughts

Premature and not yet ready to live

Dead things in the breeze

Whirling against the alley wall

My pen drips ink and it is

Milk dripping from a wet nurse

To nourish the asphalt

And all its urine stains, condom wrappers,

Gum spots dried and blackened

A bit of wasted life

And I am searching now

Maybe for something I can relate to

Something I can wrap my head around

Something real

"is this real?"

I jot it down

Stare at it for a moment

Then I crumple it up

And I toss it out the window

IX (cor)

I have little faith anymore

I taste like nothing

I move like air

I am beauty

Swallowed up and then passed

Feeling forever

Without her

Feeling one horseman shy

Of a sky

In flames

Ingesting all poisons

To fill the cavity beneath my rib cage

Bryan is gone

All sunrises gone

All feeling gone

And he is never coming back

Not Even Worms

Your mouth is opened so wide

Your eyes are so shiny with tears

You're screaming

But I can't hear you

Over mozart's Jupiter

My ear buds nestled in nice and tight

Dragging the exacto knife

From just below your sternum

Trailing down between your labia

I have wondered some things

I have wondered

If I could stomach torturing you

But i wonder more wether or not

The soil could stomach

Your vile taste

Neola

Down a set of stairs

Like the vertebrae

Of freeway fatalities

A reminder

In satellites

Of elongated

Last syllables

Of words

You could have been her twin

Of the tongue

Danced a hearse

Dipped and then cursed

As titan

Did ascend