Cymbalta, who eats my mistake
in the lung of night, amidst longspun fight
with insecure branches so my sorrow trailing,
in a million dense of tangled mind.
It’s so ordinary it flies thought —
as eyes are flown all the way to gloom
and boom! Void, clay girl with lamp-back
not there for me.
It’s in slow mode, self-locked 24 hours per day
in the way to live centuries
it’s also me or fireflies jumped off a strand by your whistle
hustle and fed with meteor showers.
It wasn’t when my sobs flush,
but it was your heart! A straighten rattan
a washable emulsion to draw banyan trees
instead, this poem, spread around my dead.
It was me, but I refuse to invade by empathy
and I might be a ghost then,
back through its only life
until you put your gloves and umbrella in my cave.
as you say now:
“ … be back and live. You’d be one person.”
as I say now,
be back and live. I’d be one person again.
in this economy, who’s the enemy?
me? not me, but enemy, from reign alley!
oozing the 80’s droplets beaded, sure
its economy, economy!
who said there’s only hospital for capital?
stool! life must be a hospice, never a hospital
we doomed, yet sold the suffer but
we’re finally equal
in this economy, who’s the enemy?
all the vague bigotry!
stars must be fundamental // holy! they die
then, some sort of the atoms // no! they split nor dictate lies
between the collision of universes // it’s artificial!
there must be us // there’s no us! no other lifetime!
upon the sparkling matter // sublimity, yet dark! it’s painful!
can we fold the line? // why? it going to fail us
so cold, but I hooked your spine // magniloquent! we fail once
we can start all over again // you’re gonna hurt!
we can start all over again.
If I Still Your Best Friend.
If I still your best friend,
not the pain hurled into the absence I once was
but the howling for love within a transected lies
once we occupied as a friend
Out of a desire for you,
I will not stagger nor whining upon your soul
besides, I prayed, saintly for the faded gargoyle
skulking under your bed.
It will be a lifetime task,
not the love dealt once I tried to overcome
but, I want to sip your body, as lover spits under their throats
Alas! How can? If I still your best friend
I was prayed for the rain
Trickle, Trickle, but throwing me pain
So did mom,
came to offer me warmth
Hung, Hung, yet thwacked me up
she wasn’t sorry but
yikes! Tortured me calm.
I pray for the stars
Twinkle, Twinkle, glide — but leaving me cries
So do us,
wish to keep us light
Clank, Clank, but all blinding me up
nothing but loss and lies
accost and dies.
For all the prayers
mercy! unbearable misery
has yet to be conceived
underneath the addiction
of pain. Directed
by vacating bodies,
by the minute,
I am telling You:
notice me once.
been your master, as —
love never makes you a puppet
obsessed about being a puppet
you still are, as yet—
don’t worry, only me who attached to a grocery,
pretty solitary confinement, with a lonely, lonely consolation,
“what a nifty little ginger,” i once said.
“do they ache?”
so, i put my soul into my cart, pushed my heart six feet apart,
except for that miraculous price tags,
“what a staggering cut,” i whispered,
“of milk and coffee, who’s gonna take me’ money?”
relieved, i finally hefting away my void,
along with garlic and white meat,
but gosh why are they looking at me?
that murky shopper who holding wheat
am i committing a crime?
yikes, they find my starry dead eyes!
just another day with me
not sorry for self-murdering at a grocery.
[or. I’ve just overly distracted by .you.]
how comes is malice is hope?
.or. it’s just me a tragedy upon the boon
nothing cryptic here, but nah!
i refuse others sympathy
.a liar. here i would be
lips collided beneath knothole .you exist.
i’ve now once again escaped death —
yes, yes, no, no!
.or. perhaps, i’ve just overly distracted
day begins: tattooing affairs, you shouldn’t
chastising essence, you’d love to mourn
an obey, you omit, but, you begged, to stay
you were anything, today
thought you were Hamlet, oathed self-loving pose
alas, you actually self-murdering, for the hereafter Monday
on mid-day you flutter — on mind possessed to Narkissos
though today likes to make you obey,
nothing matters — life always makes you pay
just, how much?
to tell, to sell
to share, the hell
that never has been quelled.
the invention of the saddest truth about loving
show me how to make fun things
or happy accidents How to open up sis‘s dolls,
see how she blinks without a life line.
If I’m little, show me how to win
games and become a burned boy
who’s present enough to keep standing
in doorways without shoving show me
my name and its prototype. Let me craft elastic; let me
be better even with the fear
of water even when lies keep exposed, when
I’m sent into planets to build bombs to keep bombs from obliterating
show me how to shoot these niggas faster, fill up
tubs, carry space
packs, become fire
that holds silly knuckles
Show me the crack at my head recede from the filthy state
waters of fifty wet states. Wave. Wave.
artless Make me