Mammoth

Drawn inexplicably towards
indifference,
an apathetic state,
a gray crystalline kind of weight,
a sort of beacon pointing home

where purpose is a luxury
for the many who go blindly,
yet ever so certain, kindly
into the false sublime
of hope

and there on a precipice hanging,
a mammoth to this waking,
dream witness to the
aching, flowing tepid through
the soul.

Die you fuck

Manage my death

so that i can formally

displease you

appease not a thing

that should ease you

synchronize my love

for your pain engrained

on blood-stained windscreen

i am so glad that i am not sad 

that your body I’ve shamed

it’s just that i inundate

myself with images of shit

bag fuck-wits walking this 

zombie dead dirt fuck ground

earth that dies dies dies

stinks rots bleeds fecal matter

a cold warm blooded spatter

why won’t you die you 

fuck?

Octave

An octave above 

is where my love

breeds eternity

were I without you now

my sound like mist would fade

if only you would stay

and blind you would remain

an octave above 

is where infinity rests

where my love bests

the presence of my disease

and in this space a dissonance would grace the primacy of our place 

though, 

an octave above 

is where I love

and bleed every seed anew,

to dwell inside of you.

My animal

In other worlds I have spent some days imagining you

aflame

and however bad I would burn, however long I would yearn, I would unfold darkest wings to comfort you,

in turn

For I am a beacon of light against the greyest of your bleakest days, forever hidden away by the blaze that is your flame

And yet mine hand through fire moves to carefully cradle you, to transmit a notion that love transcends an ocean, permits a fire to break if not only for a moment’s sake

but not even a second would go by in that immeasurable parcel of time when a heart beats of mine smashes through the lie

that you should never be touched by love,

my animal for you a dove.

Seattle drippings

Long let stand the pleasance of my hand on bare skin flesh to crawl with a drawl of significance on this night full of the drippings of a Seattle rain
and blood is the color of my sleeplessness the value of my sheepishness in the face of your dead grin
but i am a pear of a man the sick sick brand broken by loathing a self bloating instability that ruins to cripple me with its own redundancy over and over and over and over again
what is that in your frown in that drool on your crown as you judge as if you could as if your subjectivity was the objectivity of my enmity
believe me relieve me deceive me receive me oh just hold me tell me that i am worth the trouble.

Precipice

In sickness come dreams so lucid posing questions pointing the way to answers only half offered unveling a new mist a fresh wrist for a wrapping and i feel a sapping on the back of my neck to ponder who i am that maybe i should start afresh with eyes of the other and wonder yes wonder how they see because maybe my world is not as self manifest as i would have it be and you would give me the possibility that there is more certainty in you as to my true nature than i could ever imagine whereupon this precipice the decadence of your highest cliffs whence suddenly i might see that i am indeed the unfathomable beauty of which you speak.