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when they tell you to kill yourselfthey allow you just one beliefMore Like This
for life
id est
as long as you can hold yourself
your fallacies
your god
your junk
upright.
i’m not worth more
than $200K
that someone sunk
into a shrieking hive of cooling fans
and the peculiar reticence of diodes.
don’t believe me?
see what happens
when i topple them.
i’ll be disowned.
they’ll banish me from bars, from grocery aisles
set fire to my house
boil my children in street cauldrons
and sell off my lover.
whatever it was
you put in for
on day one
when they knocked on your door
and left the world
strapped to a timebomb
in your porch swing
what cavity you craved
to r
deconstructionthere's an astral penanceMore Like This
in
being that body.
birth is the greatest failure.
that suns set fire to the globules
and smoothed their scar collective
to your saturday pelt
you wheel about,
the broken arbor of a clock
that spacetime folds
for the pulse
beneath the colour of your cheeks
that you slide your thin veneer
between the panes,
pushing out your nervous bulb
six dozen springs
that you know it is a room
that makes a door,
a house that makes a room
and mountains
flake
into your eyes
that we’ll pile upon each other,
soon,
layers and then layers,
we'll become petroleum
and impenetrable god particles
simpering for a sc
self-radicalizeddo you stand up,More Like This
stiffen
in the middle of breakfast,
toppling tea and childhood paradigms
and dumbfound yourself?
do birds and traffic, then, settle into symbols,
treelines bowing from giant fingers
to cordon you off from all but The Path,
voices thundering in your vainglorious
meat
to proselytize your animus?
does your machination bring you peace?
Jackson Pollock: Number 8, 1949at a certain angle of my dreadMore Like This
I can see the motion of your hair
glomming onto chaos in furious tangles
slickened with existential after-birth;
i have faith in our confusion.
comtrails of protozoa
desperate for the exit
collide with vectors of a monarch
in a honeysuckle rage
and deep within the forest
of your dark and brittle neurons
i am buried to the eyes,
waiting for a seizure
.
guiltclosest to myselfMore Like This
once
on Mount Nebo’s
pine needle lips.
trails splintered out
away from my burden
into a hundred secret lives.
i wanted to be lost there
in the topsoil of the forest
where I didn't have the mass
to trouble my makers.
the crime
of my heavy shell
of soft internals
was a splendid gift for treebeds,
not a lapse in the peace of infinitude.
historythe air was moltenMore Like This
everywhere
you left
it
i see the evidence
cooling in your wake
granite
monoliths
and iron maidens
the process of falling and flyingi.More Like This
we
swam in the clouds, often-
you breathed, once-
twice we
sailed in the
dirt
the amount of time
we bathed in ecstasy, rarely
(it is that second your tongue
did not entwine with
my own)
so
how far down
did you say
i fell into the hole
the rabbit owned
i dirtied my floral dress
that my mother had sewn me
so your hands would try to get
through the fabric
in order for me to become naked
my mother had sewn
a second coat of skin for me
there were only scrapes left
from my
escalation
but they were not
my own
i know they did not belong to me
i did not possess
these scrapes
the collection of china
clanked and imprinted the
revelation
of how
the clouds
are no
longer
the color of
egothe willow is a gorgeous idiot.More Like This
she does not fathom why her feathers
vault to the grass
like gouges in a green fount.
do not praise my derelictions
and unpracticed mourning,
the angle of my slump.
i have given in to gravity
and furious flights
of thirst
but even so,
my envy has a blossom
and a leaf
and i may seem to wave you in
though, i am barely present,
bitter sap in a blind pillar
and i do not deserve to feel
the distant murmur of your affection.
lawnmower at 7:49AManother false alarmMore Like This
this morning.
what happens:
i wake from nothing,
but even less than this.
born from the soundless cradle of amnesia,
calm from motherlove,
channels clear of their frequent bias,
i have no reason for history.
i am tireless.
i am opening.
eyes turn up,
and a face.
they seek their darlings
and will whittle down the universe
for cycles of millennia
until they come, at last,
to rest upon themselves.
they are busy in my head.
a bedroom
with a window chasing east
after a giant wound in the dark
illuminates the immensity; it is close and far away.
i wonder, what will become of the impossible?
will all the shriveled to
I'm a ''good'' girlI've done some crazy shit in my 19 years of life. Gone to another city and got two tattoos on the same day, in a guy's bedroom, spent my rent money on whatever and so on. But last night..More Like This
It all started when I fought a little with a guy I kinda like. I was tired of being his puppy, always there, even if he wouldn't talk to me for weeks. After that, I told him I might go to a concert on a beach outside town. I didn't go, cause it was too far and the taxi would be really expensive and so on. So I went to a karaoke pub in town. All good, nothing happened..Until I logged on facebook out of boredome and saw that he went to that concert, after blabbing about needing a car to come home and stuff. I was pissed. So I finished my second beer and asked for ''walk away'', by Kelly Klarkson. Apparently, I did a great job singing. That lead to meeting a gay guy, really nice guy, bought me a beer,
Sta.sh
Polaris by `Crickatoo
