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...

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