poor shun

thoughts of melanie 

are black as tar

and my retro mind

eats at the void

do you ever forget?

i heard it was fun

the dead memory

grey and stoic

like reincarnation

how i can barely recall

like a past life

like a lapse in time

like cape horn

becoming the sea...

and

it is undoubtably 

far from concern

...like everything

and the world is a luminescent marble

rolling on black velvet.

inversion:

a pupil existing

in an eyeball

and i will engineer a multitude of things

and i will instinctively

abandon them 

i will care just enough

and i will have minimal memory

of it all

anatomy of a catalyst

my death
has nothing to do
with the .45 in my hand

the correlation
of my index finger
to the screams
of the amusement park

the soul
exiting through a puncture
of the skin

the red and blue lights
wavering along the walls

the random bodies
leading to where i am
having bled out hours ago

and even a mascot
a human being
dead within a cat costume
the likeness of a cartoon cat
personified with human stature and traits

define irony.

all the negotiating mumbo jumbo
bellowed through a megaphone

the small group of people
who are sitting on the asphalt
in front of me

they all fear for their lives

i remember
a seven year old girl
asking me why i looked so sad

i remember pluto

i remember
the pawn shop
and its thirty day waiting period

i remember being happy

i remember suffering

i remember
samael

there are not enough stars in the sky
to brighten this world

nectar

stargazers salivate
for the acetylene touch
and for the butane flare

we are pangaea's drift
like mirror veins traveling the skin
tectonics among us
dreams of binary stars

i had wanted this
to die

the little honey bee
perched upon the blossom

the star-crossed sex of lilium

the way her eyes looked
next to the fire

the way nectar
stifles airflow
in the bronchial tubes

when all roads lead to rome

ghost of haarmann
will use the cherry of his universe
to light a wick

i existed
in a compact mirror

apply the foundation

and then swing from an oak tree
like dead marionettes

and i am so hungry that

my human animal
presses its teeth together

do you see?

how did i become this...

i feel
how you felt

i could disregard every bit of this life
until there is nothing

i could have wine

i could cook chicken florentine

i could kill you
and dress your carcass in the woods
and still

be so incomplete

the paleontologist

quiet apocalypse
of the circulatory, respiratory and nervousness

head detaches like lizard tails
and then lamenting eye

your soil as brown as iris

and your voice becomes fossil fuel
your eyes become petrified forests

your body
poised in sediment

i am with you

and i am only able to study

my brain creates the hyper-real
the suggested pulse

like trilobite meat or archaeopteryx marrow or bleeding gallimimus

and it feels so impossible
like there are eons
between us

already dead

smooth confection
wears a moon silk

scratch your
eyes black
like lies that
swoon

will

erupt
the throat
like magma

calendar drains days
like petals wilt

and mother's milk
dries the shelf life flatline
why my eye dies

kills the grape vine
collects the red wine

to the ear drum

lulls a sleeper
for the finished pine

singularity

eden is her iris

watching the sun

steady as a butane flame

my jennifer sees

the universe in the wreckage

of a burning freight train

hells kinetic tongue

dilapidated cornerstone

infectious gehenna

like gravitational pull

like serotonin

like snuff films

like chopin carrying 

a bit of earth

introversions: rosetta lobe

i can feel the eye liner running 

down my face

for the white lights

streaming by like 

comets who would round the sun

they are cars and trucks and whatever else

and they'll round 

the world

if their itinerary dictates

i'm perched on

the freeway overpass

i'm a roman centurion

and i can feel 

jupiters eye

in the pit of my stomach

the updraft from the 

traffic ever flowing

we will all return to minerals

one day

but i will return to nothing

and halloween

will be

a word

upon the rosetta stone

crestfallen ants

baby boom

the ever

said nineteen forty-six

how the snarky

my way or byway

drools like catatonia

perpetuum

plays timpani in the ear canal

entrance a color world

decimates itself

like collapsed stars

a john gestures wild

but an intercom voice 

cannot see

loudmouth

of the slop box

for whatever organic anything

just get it right

just read marx or lenin (i'm sure)

just smash the accelerator

of a prius 

and it hums away

middle finger metaphor

how a screaming asshole 

pairs well to

july heat

cracking a human

into the human animal

syntax

become

little things

in our atomic dust mind

of a star

exploding in the black

inkwell

i see

you phosphorescent

in your anesthetic jive

laying naked

and at the centre of your hive

where do our roads go?

it is always rome

and of black forevers

magnetic

to the vapor form

spinning little anathemas

on the radio

brain for entropy 

eardrum for the 

culling song

syntax

in the key of E

introversions: the catalyst

he understands

the descent

it makes sense

grass is simple

as grass is green

and concrete is cold and hard

substratum is self-explanatory

and always

how it ought to be

and trumpets are for entrances

rice for becomings

silence for egresses

but his hands

are strange

how they close into fists

and how they blossom

for reasons not always apparent

the metacarpals

the phalanges the joints the tendons the veins

they are strange

and how they sabotage

his footing

to exist for the fall

and for the ground

rushing up to his face

he understands

the descent in every way

it's the catalyst

that perplexes

he knows 

that he doesn't make sense

and he doesn't care

of a (hell)

she is 

symbolic

severed things

to reveal lava

gushing to the metronome in chest

it is the hell 

behind her coalesced lips

the little inaudible things

the little brink

of release

fluctuating

it is composure

for the damage within

the war of her eyes

and heaven

is an alphonse mucha salt mine 

flooded with rain

and spilling down pleated tapestry

into the sockets of her skull

fountain-esque

i can feel words 

coagulate in my throat

becoming esophageal tissue

and her

of the downward heart

of the body convulsions

the sodium war

of her eyes

i feel this

and i hold her 

because it is all 

that i can think 

to do

measurements

an incomplete

lesser worm

at your feet

aroused

smooth milk white of you

for scissors and saws

and i wonder

where you go

when i breathe

a dirge

and a juxtapose

eats the red lights

plight sight

noir rite 

confection of an 

iris blooming my

rib cage dripping

fire engine red

like bone geometry

measuring the distance

that has always been

between us

gould

the smooth convex of
freckles speckled on white shoulder
foreign as
unmapped venus
he suspects there is
a heart-shaped patch of hair
dyed rose red
below her waist line

but he is not certain

one day we will all atrophy
her little voice box said
and this was true

there exists an acid memory
to devour all short term memory
to know only acidity
a melody spinning like swans
and then into webs

it's always webs

her eyes are open
like second story windows
they're green
but not money green
and not envy
just
green

and she sobs

in a memory
crying how atheists cry
through a telephone receiver
only some thirty miles away
but it might as well have been eons

and deep down he knows

that it was an hourglass

it was never a heart.

i

drag the headless obscene
exiting a la end scene
stage left

you were.

coniferous line of teeth
mourning with me

and for the mold
fuzzy on our bed sheet

it is where our bodies
used to
sleep

this is for my postulate one

singing for the sun
and all yellow and all forevers
undone

my collapse version
to elapse worse in
aortic and pulmonary poetry. i

watched the electricity die

quietly

and without the use of

my eyes.

little things

how a penny will splash
into the water
how a tsunami devours
a tropical paradise

it is of optics and voice box
and then meat
and then veins

and we can watch the copper fall
all around us

the burning earth
melting us down
into a liquid state

and very much like a wish

how crystalline things
pair nicely with hammers

a primates tragedy
is that it does not have a tragedy
of its own

and so it will engineer one

how a man is
engineered to fit inside of a woman

how a knife fits perfectly
into the belly

exocerebral: dolly green dream

all heart shaped things all color
sit stagnant in the skull that doubles
as a bowl of porridge now a black olive secured 'tween my thumb and index or maybe it's a black widows abdomen i can never tell and it doesn't matter

i had a dream about your tits

and they were a nice pair of tits the light tan of your areola that i have never seen the color of your freckles your cheeks riddled with sex as unfamiliar as your new name

i could stare at the monitor the cursor blinking in morse code saying awful truths about me i'm sure but i would never find you today not one measly picture it is shiny steel coffin knobs in my thoughts twisted tightly to the right turned until they can go no more

it is dead things in boxes like time capsules to be exhumed one day how dead things do not stay dead how things do resurface and if the day should come i will forget every gorgeous curve of you every beautiful smile that came with a set of dolly green eyes every subtle movement as we lay asleep together as you'd drool a little on my chest every anything anywhere anyway

or at least
i suppose i would try.

extroversions: things

you imagine yourself
hanging in a meat locker

and like a telephone receiver
hanging there

with nothing to say

you were

of the machevellian chin
of the nietzsche brow

a dead arab
the burning sun
the unchecked hell within

and a hook through the abdomen

killgineering

and just like that
it begins again
almost on cue

and he reaches
with his invertebrate touch
his mollusk fingers
weak

but able
to grip the revolver
squeeze the trigger

the hammer comes down
and it goes "click"

no matter how much liquor
he pours down his throat
he cannot fall asleep

stress level
genetics
bad memories
mental instability

or dogs

"bark bark bark"
"click click click"

the bullets are
standing upright
in a small box on the kitchen table
neatly arranged

"feed their babies to the sun"
he scrawls on the white board attached to the refrigerator door

pausing,

contemplating,
the felt tip of his marker resting on
the board

"remember to pick up milk",
he writes

"bark bark"
"click click"

the living room walls are illuminated by the television static

and it really is much prettier to watch than any game show or sit com or sporting event

scratching his forehead
with the business end of the six-shooter

"bark"
"click"

he tilts his head to the side
gazing out the window
glaring

the neighbors dog
"sadie"
is there
barking incessantly

at nothing

an enigmatic ruckus
a foreign language
a strange pattern of noise

like morse code

maybe sadie is asking to be euthanized

...maybe sadie just wants me to kill.

berkowitz
had nights like this...

r/enucleate

when we are
overly pituitary

the mind-code thrives
on an "unlike"

constantinople eyes
new amsterdam skies

what lies to cut ties
with reality

give us
a wick to light
the world around us...

rhy

you could watch the life
disappear
from my eyes

the beast in me
doesn't make sense

how easily i drain
from this body

how easily it consumes

disembodied as angels
or demons
or whatever

watch
as the world bleeds out
and that we are the red cross collecting blood
like rain water
in the backyard kiddy pool

no

imagine that we are

peter kürten
achieving orgasm

yes

and you could see
a beast
with its glazed-over eyes
and how its head
might not miss
it's body so much

control
is a nice idea
but an idea

nonetheless

watch how meat
graduates to the sky
and how sky does reign

watch how the lips of machines
drip ferrari red
for the promise of affinity
a glade of the greener grass

watch
how i
tilt you
up
so that
you might drain
into me

the idea of you

the alcohol i consume
in these late hours

i imagine sometimes
that
it is you

valley of stalagmites

in some outlandish dream

a portion of their souls
mushrooms up into the sky
billowing up with the blast from the bombs

the resounding boom
a multitude of goodbyes
thundering across a once
vibrant city scape

an otherworldly exodus

and you could imagine
the climate changing thereafter
killing off most living things

the world turning
some sickly tinge like an infection
the color of rust and water stain
mucus mixed with congealed blood

fall colors abounding

dead tones materialized
autumn glazed over every surface

it speaks: the end of flowers

the absence of god,
or maybe the ever presence of god;

but it doesn't matter.

because the world
perpetuates.

because the world

simply

is.

a vera

death, see
how she
did stroll
of the blue
eyes
like little pieces
of the sky
her crystallized
iris'

i
was mesmerized

and you
were so goddamn
beautiful

self

i go into
a headless self

and it is how i might imagine madness
to be

and i gaze into the vacant
unfurnished head

speaking volumes in tongue

it does not have to make sense

the lop-sided moon
will be perfect for only a moment

already losing it's symmetry

i'm turning into things turning
into things

spy a rosary forever long
like pig entrails wrapped around my wrist

the proverbial self in the air
baring it's teeth

i'll never have to watch things die
if i kill them first...