2 Star Motel #4

Between the threads
of time and space,
where nothingness resides;

An empty catacomb of prayer.

The echoes
of a faceless
bride, transcribed.

An annihilation
of particles; seismic
shifts & an oracle’s
propaganda,
make me drift
in thought:

Where eyes are
clean with tears,
and folds in time
and space bring back
deceased memories.

Between the threads
of time and space,
where nothingness resides;

An empty catacomb of prayer.

The echoes
of a faceless
bride, transcribed.

An annihilation
of particles; seismic
shifts & an oracle’s
propaganda,
make me drift
in thought:

Where eyes are
clean with tears,
and folds in time
and space bring back
deceased memories.

2 Star Motel #3

Cracked sky bleeds
white lightning,
as I echo out
the devil’s hymn,

There are blasphemies
between breaths, and
somehow saving graces,

I will press on;
and I will
raise a tower
to the sun.

Cracked sky bleeds
white lightning,
as I echo out
the devil’s hymn,

There are blasphemies
between breaths, and
somehow saving graces,

I will press on;
and I will
raise a tower
to the sun.

2 Star Motel #2

In the absence
of my lobotomy,
I see strange devils.

Stoplights.
Tall grass & open fields

Through which sunshine fades.

My womb, my
opened tomb,
venting manifold
computations; enumer-
able & blind. Number
preceding death, preceding
misinterpretation.

I see the fool played in part,
by my unconscious & other.

In the absence
of my lobotomy,
I see strange devils.

Stoplights.
Tall grass & open fields

Through which sunshine fades.

My womb, my
opened tomb,
venting manifold
computations; enumer-
able & blind. Number
preceding death, preceding
misinterpretation.

I see the fool played in part,
by my unconscious & other.

2 Star Motel #1

When God performs the
ultimate pattern combination,
and all our stars forecasting
are fallen from the sky,

And we are death,
walking out among
our brethren,

Becoming isosceles strangers.

Nuclear holocaust mitigation,
apocalyptic triangulations,
no more quarantines.

But boundless in this surface-deep
sarcophagus, the starry sky
unfolds to quench our thirst

For the rose’s prick.

When God performs the
ultimate pattern combination,
and all our stars forecasting
are fallen from the sky,

And we are death,
walking out among
our brethren,

Becoming isosceles strangers.

Nuclear holocaust mitigation,
apocalyptic triangulations,
no more quarantines.

But boundless in this surface-deep
sarcophagus, the starry sky
unfolds to quench our thirst

For the rose’s prick.

White Noise #3

Frozen limbs,
inescapable
diuretic discourses;

A frappé.

In luxury’s aisles,
bleating isosceles
Canon videographers
chime their sentences

In.

Darling,
we’ll re-
create the
tides & watch
the sun slip slowly
past as one upon an
ocean’s settlement.

Frozen limbs,
inescapable
diuretic discourses;

A frappé.

In luxury’s aisles,
bleating isosceles
Canon videographers
chime their sentences

In.

Darling,
we’ll re-
create the
tides & watch
the sun slip slowly
past as one upon an
ocean’s settlement.

White Noise #2

Pressed between
a rock and a hard
place, I’ve seen angels
coming from the stones;

But they’re abuzz with
transmogrification,
pleated neon lights
capturing still lives;

As if in the dark,
they dress in black,
woven shrouds of
charcoal & cat hair;

Meddled
minds think
as though
they cannot
comprehend
the madnesses
of God. But I say,
madness stems
from a river,
and we all drink
sooner or later.

Pressed between
a rock and a hard
place, I’ve seen angels
coming from the stones;

But they’re abuzz with
transmogrification,
pleated neon lights
capturing still lives;

As if in the dark,
they dress in black,
woven shrouds of
charcoal & cat hair;

Meddled
minds think
as though
they cannot
comprehend
the madnesses
of God. But I say,
madness stems
from a river,
and we all drink
sooner or later.

White Noise #1

In pools of clear black thought,
I measure the weight nothingness
has on skin. And in these orbs,
these intergalactic globules;
clusters of dense chaos,
so dense as to seem calm,

I breathe the flurries of my heart’s
discontent; and the sufferings of love.

Calm proportions mixed with silent
steps of sound, while processing newly
created randomly generated noise;

I sink into
he darkness
that is sound.
and busy my
skull beneath
a radio tower
piercing above
the clouds.

In pools of clear black thought,
I measure the weight nothingness
has on skin. And in these orbs,
these intergalactic globules;
clusters of dense chaos,
so dense as to seem calm,

I breathe the flurries of my heart’s
discontent; and the sufferings of love.

Calm proportions mixed with silent
steps of sound, while processing newly
created randomly generated noise;

I sink into
he darkness
that is sound.
and busy my
skull beneath
a radio tower
piercing above
the clouds.