MysticI was infected psychically—raved & wailedin my utter silencelike an insane Buddhisttranced to near deathinside the locked ecosystemfed by Venus’ love-poison air& every water sourcebegging for drowning.I ghost wrote—spilling the vomitof unconsciousness,inebriated by yourbristling ideologyas I floated atmospheric—only alive for motor function.I was a sievefor your illness—my self evictedwithout consent formsfor a lifetimecompressed into halfan incoherent hourwhile you pulsed insidelike a blood clot formedto kill my own validity.In the morningthe kitchen light flickeredlike a horror film—when I read myselfin the sunlight’s mirrorI could still see youXeroxed in the periphery.
DogmaI am not afraidof becoming a lunatic—raving the gospelof a man forgedfrom ancient Italianmasterpieces on16th street with thehopeless beggars& erratic preachers,blatantly dismissing theworld as false & flat,hurling it back to the15th century for my ownecstatic sainthoodin his vision,being loved morethan the grotesquechimera I havemade of myself& locked below thestaircase of schizophrenic14 year old emotions—I am terrified oflosing the only gripI have on my own realityeveryone else has alwaysdismissed as hallucination.
Lazy EyeReel my head back infrom the coast of nuance—the hours in daysshift together in sanduntil they are impossibleto size increments,midnights blurring intosurrealistic sleep-states,the day long & laboriousas examining flaws whilethe dip-dyed goldaline sunwashes out the skyuntil nightfall.My fingers click outtotems of tested faith& crowded lines of codeno Navajo could unwind—the subtle-startle undercurrentof life shining me likea river rock as I releaseshort bursts of truth that’sunder-painted beneath thelayers of my speech.I hold my breath againstmy chest—waiting for an arrivalof inopportune excitement.
BattologyInside it’s grey-tingedlike a dirty dove’s wingsfrom the opaque bokehof rain-light—my hangover sits beside melike a miniature ship too bigfor its bottle-head.Every night I’ve been drunkon intellectual wine—smoking daisy-chainedcigarettes like sanity,taking shots that respiremy faith in the id & ego-less conversation, eatingglass after glass of patchworkidealism until my mindslopes to the left side’sprimary colors & stumblesinto the alleyway whereneedled prolix meetsnervous combustion.In the morning my bodythrobs with slow motionredundancy, four pairsof discerning eyes watching mewith flaccid accusation.
DroughtNo matter how muchI call through the crystal junglefull of blood diamondeyes in the trees, under thesyngenesis fogging waterof the levitating swamp,up in the eastward eagle’snest rimmed with thephantom limbs of trinkets,you will not come.I climbed to the top ofthe aerial antenna, chokedout your name in Morse codeon the red-rain soaked bulb,found the underground mistresstunnel below adulterous Denver& echoed flighty pleas, dousedmy pills with smoke & coffee grounds—still absentia.Even though my voice has beena bullhorn since adolescence,poems do not have ears& all my happiness is fallingoff the hinges of wasted potential.
The Fragile Revisions in Lifefor the geniuses shattered by madness In Rockland or Fort Logan whereI love you too much for yourpsychosis synopsis, your ravingenlightenment, Blake-tranquility& giddy wisdom, my mother withthe deep black, her revolving doorof abusers, lack of esteem heldto her worth, father with his barbedbelt eventually eaten by his malignantthoughts, the suitor stalking the ghost-rich grounds only contained by the flashglow of the dog’s eyes red & blue, my firstlover-father with