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