Projections of a
seizure,
the cascading
lights form
imagery of
my deceased
child.
Cries leave scars,
contemplating,
death throes.
Suspicion;
mad indecision,
no more
alone.
Projections of a
seizure,
the cascading
lights form
imagery of
my deceased
child.
Cries leave scars,
contemplating,
death throes.
Suspicion;
mad indecision,
no more
alone.
My solemn oath,
to pierce your
indistinguishable
vocabulary with
sword & word.
The word, ‘cantankerous,’
proceeds from the flatly
resting tongue, I see
your intelligence light up
the bluish blackness
of the night,
Piercing the sky.
My solemn oath,
to pierce your
indistinguishable
vocabulary with
sword & word.
The word, ‘cantankerous,’
proceeds from the flatly
resting tongue, I see
your intelligence light up
the bluish blackness
of the night,
Piercing the sky.
The smoothness of
a perfect curvature,
to resurrect my
deadened flame,
A lost, imperfect burn,
slowly wetted through.
I gave my blood,
to you, and wept
Till seven years ago,
for the hunger in my
veins and the thirst
upon my sores,
A deafened drop
of pins, of whole,
unbroken glass;
Gave me pause
as I imagined the sound
piercing my pulsing heart.
The smoothness of
a perfect curvature,
to resurrect my
deadened flame,
A lost, imperfect burn,
slowly wetted through.
I gave my blood,
to you, and wept
Till seven years ago,
for the hunger in my
veins and the thirst
upon my sores,
A deafened drop
of pins, of whole,
unbroken glass;
Gave me pause
as I imagined the sound
piercing my pulsing heart.
In our conception of the past,
perceived communications,
petrified misunderstandings
set in stone. Cold. Solid. Stone,
But;
Sculptor sands &
chips away at our
miscommunication.
Buries our fleshy extracts,
And I say,
in a voice
soft & low,
“I love you like butterflies
love the cool Spring air.”
In our conception of the past,
perceived communications,
petrified misunderstandings
set in stone. Cold. Solid. Stone,
But;
Sculptor sands &
chips away at our
miscommunication.
Buries our fleshy extracts,
And I say,
in a voice
soft & low,
“I love you like butterflies
love the cool Spring air.”
In the history
of permutation,
No scars can heal
the resonating
voices of the abyss
Or souls can steal,
away,
my damage.
But you have
it in your
hands,
the cup
from which
my blood
may be made
Purer.
In the history
of permutation,
No scars can heal
the resonating
voices of the abyss
Or souls can steal,
away,
my damage.
But you have
it in your
hands,
the cup
from which
my blood
may be made
Purer.
There are
no castles,
no knights,
no damsels in distress.
Only time’s slow tick,
approaching the linear
end of our disruptions.
There are
no castles,
no knights,
no damsels in distress.
Only time’s slow tick,
approaching the linear
end of our disruptions.
Capitalization, accursed sensory overload;
circuitry ambivalence, ambidextrous origins
of an aboriginal saint. Succeeded by white light
pouring out the migration path of egrets.
I am my own bird.
Bird. I give you my bird. Middle fucking finger.
Hallucinogenic compounds stretching as far
as the eye can see, punished with Purgatory.
Chills.
In isolationist
self-inflicted
idolatry,
We reveal
too much of her
embers and her
Scientific pornography.
Blessed are the meek,
the science of attraction,
and the startled wisps,
of nuclear reactors.
Gongs sweep down,
through Psalms’ valley of death
sirens in the night,
loosening their destruction.
Capitalization, accursed sensory overload;
circuitry ambivalence, ambidextrous origins
of an aboriginal saint. Succeeded by white light
pouring out the migration path of egrets.
I am my own bird.
Bird. I give you my bird. Middle fucking finger.
Hallucinogenic compounds stretching as far
as the eye can see, punished with Purgatory.
Chills.
In isolationist
self-inflicted
idolatry,
We reveal
too much of her
embers and her
Scientific pornography.
Blessed are the meek,
the science of attraction,
and the startled wisps,
of nuclear reactors.
Gongs sweep down,
through Psalms’ valley of death
sirens in the night,
loosening their destruction.
Rage like mechanical discontinuity,
and a venom and a poison
prescribed by the Wishing
in your wells of deep misunderstandings.
I howl,
but you don’t know
why.
I howl,
without words.
And you wonder,
what does it mean,
this obfuscated cry,
of a monster.
You see a monster
and a devil
beneath my skin.
Rage like mechanical discontinuity,
and a venom and a poison
prescribed by the Wishing
in your wells of deep misunderstandings.
I howl,
but you don’t know
why.
I howl,
without words.
And you wonder,
what does it mean,
this obfuscated cry,
of a monster.
You see a monster
and a devil
beneath my skin.
Chronic desecration. Alleviation from
pin-pricked wounds & glass slices
in fleshy forms, on fingers
and in tongues.
“It is too soon,”
she warbles
her voice a voiceless
void of concrete & messiah.
Tame tongues
misplace the disliked
anagrams for, “not your mother.”
I walk into the ocean mist,
between two worlds,
between young & old
pariahs; messiahs, alight
and aloof medusas,
Seemingly overbalanced
requital of fact & fictitious
promenades.
Chronic desecration. Alleviation from
pin-pricked wounds & glass slices
in fleshy forms, on fingers
and in tongues.
“It is too soon,”
she warbles
her voice a voiceless
void of concrete & messiah.
Tame tongues
misplace the disliked
anagrams for, “not your mother.”
I walk into the ocean mist,
between two worlds,
between young & old
pariahs; messiahs, alight
and aloof medusas,
Seemingly overbalanced
requital of fact & fictitious
promenades.
Mahogany chest; drawers full
of secrets. I will divulge
the bitterer parts of Summer’s
bleeding feet, as you
make your way, through
an evening of self-propulsion.
Most of what I say,
has meaning in the aftermath
of deterioration & decay;
I divulge and color your walls
sky blue. And pink.
Metastasized harmonics
glued to the pier; watching
the gulls disappear.
Mahogany chest; drawers full
of secrets. I will divulge
the bitterer parts of Summer’s
bleeding feet, as you
make your way, through
an evening of self-propulsion.
Most of what I say,
has meaning in the aftermath
of deterioration & decay;
I divulge and color your walls
sky blue. And pink.
Metastasized harmonics
glued to the pier; watching
the gulls disappear.
Maria Morisot 