translucent; i feel vulnerable-

my vain need for adoration, insufferable.

my heart strings pull for more,

but no one is home,

no one answers the door.

i don’t deserve love,

i’m a street pigeon, not a dove.

i’m alone even in company, by all

fault of my own,

and my brain rattles, suddenly.

i’m deserving of degredation,

i am dirty, too much effort to get clean.

but at least when you’re drunk

you say what you mean.

my filament flickers cinnamon,

and i want to shed the skin i’m in.

i long to be what you can spin

around like a top, and always win.

but alas, i am me,

imperfect and flawed- my past is sin.

i return from the void temporarily

to settle into my false entity

and bury myself deep within your sea

in apology after apology.


hallucinations cyclical, so pretty;

i feel the birth of a nation

and all at once, it’s ending.

so for me it’s the small things:

purple weeds-blue mind,

meet at sunset, maybe

among the fruit rinds, or in the yellow

shirt you wear w/ your hair a mess.

i pull you close on Logan,

i’m dying for a kiss to

drown out the memory: for

this is sacred land as far as we can see,

and to live and dream by it,

i would be eternally lucky.


serpents lick my face clean

while i exhume you, left unseen.

with an arsonist sleeping next to me,

the craving to implode is reality.

dragons breath and daylilies,

and razorblade fanfare through the trees.

i’m sick, i need saving, this i believe:

my blood is serenity,

my spit is toxicity,

and when you gaze at me,

do you take any pity?

despite insanity i’m still pretty,

and when i leave,

i’ll leave in dust; this forsaken city.

self portrait

in the aether,

we take our time in pill sized

mental theatres.

we emerge from our coccoons

once a day to retrieve the nectar

necessary for the seance,

with which we inevitably wreck her.

she is but a fragile one

held voluntarily captive from the sun,

turning corners and bedsheets

but never trying to run.

she wouldn’t get far,

a few states away at best

and her skin would be marred.

so she sits, wishing upon a star

she cannot see,

and as it turns out, she is me.

i will spend forevermore

in the primordial womb;

the nail in the coffin of life’s

terrible tomb.

the road beyond

in the throes of the final battle

the one of life versus death rattle

we must face the grand trine,

scorpion stinging rites and tines

at just the right date and time.

there will be no music here,

nor mosaic bespoke,

only the original sins and their

right to be revoked.

face the demon within,

haunting thee, flight to berlin.

no place is safe,

when internal walls cave in,

and that they do:

and no one can stop them,

not me or you

or god–

so help you child,

the one spoiled by the rod

i pray for thee,

to find the road beyond.

the end

productive citizen or new age denizen?

i am not a role model but a revolutionary:

you do not know me,

you merely see me

through a one way lens.

on the evening bus i am lulled to sleep

by the blue light and the strangers weeping;

we are all lost, on our way nowhere and

everywhere. the roads in wintry solstice

on full moons night paved with opiates,

to draw in and never lose their hold

upon a pedastal where no one can scold.

take to the streets, mean and smart

look left look right or do as i do,

just dart,

throw yourself into it, unabashedly

who cares if i die tonight, no empathy

for my own lost soul. i cannot dole out

condolences for my own sunken body,

i am one who needs exhumed.

i don’t understand how people just

go on, move on, continue to awaken.

it’s barely sunset and i’m shaking.

am i a lost cause or one to be saved?

would i even want to be?


floating on ceilings:

time spins supine,

on bathroom floors leaking red life,

one sip away from blind.

blood soaked thermals,

box knife funeral,

and leonard cohen hymnals.

dragged out on gurneys,

i’ve done this before, no mourning.

7 times the charm;

no one says that but me

and believe thee, i’m not free from harm:

the original gunman within,

standing tall and thin

to inflict upon me

the dream of intoxication-

caused me to give in.

slicing pretty patterns deep into my skin

door barricaded, somehow kicked it in.

there i fly, strapped in safely

my flesh flowing unreal and bravely

unto the doors of heaven

or haven

either works:

to be revived and not shirked

of a life, new and beautiful

survival of the human

who never thought she was

but she is: so merciful

is time.

the game

pain seeps through wicked eyes

the seventh seal, angels cry

i am merely present

on the astral plane, heaven sent

searching for haven on the cold streets

losing sight and collapsing at your feet

i need help, to know the one true creed

teach me, punish me,

i am your holy mead

create with my substance a honey

a libation made from human nature

is eternally free

so take the walk,

talk the talk,

and feed me nepenthe

what is broken can always be bent

and in turn, godliness dreamt

in dream sequences i repent

like daylilies, i die each day

just to pay the rent

where are we going?

the eternal question which the

knower is knowing

will we see the light of day

and say the things we long to say

i will die on the cross

to truly grieve my loss

and feed it to the albatross

winspan, singing man,

it’s all the same

and i the winner,

the sinner of the game

tres ojos

blink thrice,

a drink sounded nice,

but i slid around the corner

on nothingness and black ice.

i no longer wish to die,

and when i lie in my bed

it’s my lies that sleep

in my head.

but steep them not,

lest they be forgot

and exchanged for truth:

the absolute fountain of youth.

one eye sees,

two eyes gleam,

and three eyes are never

ever what they seem.

for now

in the realm of monotony

I revel in the peace

no longer in pieces it seems

I have found my release

and not one of a temporary high

but one on which I can rely

by and by,

the clock hands fly

and I am indisposed for a time

no longer mixing lemon and lime

no longer wishing to die

or forcing a rhyme

is it not so magical to try

for happiness and solace

and to no longer cry?

I’ve found it, the lock and key

and for once it seems

it’s not only me

I am grateful for eternity

for those moments I have explained

and for the hope that one day

you and I will be ordained