i don’t know the name— bloodclot. i don’t know a god— siphon. i know name— male body, syllables. pronouns split the difference, if god can see if god can see then make blind my eyes ruby, elixir. mountain’s mist, hawk castle, sharp cloud formation, lowering guard, sunlight like wind august, and river become trickles of […]
concrete my. mornings of smog sun and litter air, my name concrete. like sitting still with liver pigeons on lakes of tar, the sun is no pretty, anymore a scar, fire is sweat dripping to the chest. concrete eyes and a mug of unibrow judgment, there is no return to a time of label, highways […]
Heat screams with no place to hide, Spewing, steaming, pushing, stewing— Stirring beneath stretching ceiling tiles, I listen because I am willing, Whining through ear holes Like exhalation, smoke travels thoughts linger fogging. I used to tell her I would be unbreakable when I got older. And I’ll never again comprehend what the hell that […]
In what ways could the sun eat the sky? In an auburn-radiant shade, cloaked in sifting haze? Harboring mahogany howls, slowly fading crimson-cloudlines? Beating blood orange beams of sun death consume your vision; to butcher your former attention; mindless death—ignoring individualism. Sun, Eat me like you eat skylines Before my mind is mossed in […]
Like food in storage, I bear a singular label. Never mine And I fear to be thrown away. Rotting in mold, isn’t better. To be forgotten or folded in a thousand aliases— And then who am I, to define myself, if I never was to begin with? Y.o.u: the letters punched into my keyboard right […]
and those black stitches searing the head. And; because I didn’t say the first thing on my mind. Is it better to die averse, than live as proof to another? Another, because One is predecessor to Nothing. Alone, a metal table under burning light, tall menial men draping scrubs with silver rods picking the brain— […]
“Death to the sky!” Cried ants being beaten out by human heels. Each morning the crows wake me With cackling cries. I think At least fifty flock to my room. Spirals without direction, Drawn in the earth, Drawn from the ant’s mind, Aimless spirals, because what the hell Were we ever following? Ants and crows […]