I speak for myself
I woke up with you in my head
isolate a problem
set boundariesbuild your vitrine around itexaminestudybackwardsforwardsflip, reverseanalyzetry old algorithmslook for new patternscan we hold onto reason?or must it be abandoned?shall we begin the guesswork?grab a vice ifthis gets too unrulywhere’s the solutionwhere’s the solution fucksmash the glasspour a glassdraw the curtainsturn off the lightslight a candle burn.
The Texture of Texture
texture of my braintexture of my mindtexture of a photograph of the beachtexture of a painting of the oceantexture of sandtexture of the seatexture of a grain of sandtexture of a drop of watertexture of painttexture of glosstexture of my fingertexture of yourstexture of youtexture of fabrictexture of the fabric of realitytexture of the fabric […]
defied descriptors
Am I scared of the past?Am I scared of the future?Am I scared of you?Am I scared of myself?Am I selfish?Sometimes that seems the most likelyIt’s strange to thinkthat 3 free morphemes6 phonemesone or two secondsof vocal reverberationjust a bit ofdisplaced aircauses so much anxietyit’s so easy to sayusually…but not last night. I offered,support,encouragement,hope,logical comfort,but […]
Self Indulgence
traces of old loverscomposed unintentionallyin dreams,inadvertentlyin strangers faces.They are not here;no tracesno smell no tastecannot feel them cannot heartheir voice;so what is this thatlingers? Myeyesdo notbut apparentlyIcansee them.See what?Memory—so unreliablecomposes subjectivereferenceshistories.Recall what once was,whether you care toor not.The mind’s eye never blinks.It’s symphonies,though composed by us,are impossible for us to understand,and leave us with retrospective […]
Purged of faith
the soul despairswhen forced to ask,what is a soula concrete answereludes usIs this because our soul is fluid?or because the idea of a soul is the resultof anthropocentric delusions of grandeur?Can we call the results ofprescribed fantasies,false instructions,misleading guidance…delusions?They are not the result of yourown poor reasoning.There are the product ofanother’s inability to peer into […]
A Mean Poem
What is your presence to me?an interruption?a derailment?a bewilderment?a friendship?temptation?a series of pixelsmakes a codeprovokingstimulatingnew situationssame old feelings I should not play the gamethere’s a lot more at stakethis time
To feel stuck
in this modern stateseemsungrateful orignorantas self-absorbedas our addiction to petroleum.There’s some irony for you.I own a car.I have money.I have legs.Yet,stuckis the onlyword I findto describe how I feel.Maybe it’s the knowledge,the photographs,the clever marketing schemesencouraging you to“get away” from it all,offering somewhere else.Somewhere better.It’s all the same place.Just different.
