I feel like air. I feel numb and void like empty space. I am numb because of empathy. It creates vacancy where I once was. I am empty space to you like between a chair and the floor. Between your hand and mine. Between an ocean and the sky. Who are you protecting? Yourself or I? No matter. No substance. No thing. I am just a breath of something that was once there.

hoonew video of me doin my derp dance

thoughts of a jungle cat

am i shameful

am i cruel

manipulating

does intention pour out of me, slip away

muttering on the wind

swirling away in flora patterns of spiraling thank yous

and apologies that pile up at my paws

marble dust piles collect whiskers graze rough surface

of mal-intent and tears

am i truthful

am i kind

enlightened

am i perfect beautiful and whole

as i’d like to believe

the dreamer in disguise the one who can sympathize?

or am i just a tiger in your eyes.

untameable beast from jungles deep and forests dark

red water current oblivion crushing direction

and gripping like fire drowning like hailstorm distemperment

spitting lies like poisonous snake hissing cold ground wilderness alive and awake

ready to take take take

strangle death grip hold on for dear life the vines won’t save you now

from your own doing

from your own rotten despair. 

am i a figment, a pigment of your imagination only

to be curdled and thrown about in your cavernous stalagmites of uncertainty

and silence.

here the ground grows still the crocodiles don’t dare to venture,

too frightened of the gaping rip the silent pool

place where wolves cannot tread

hawk soars over silently sees all and says not a word

for fear of tumultuous earthquake

his love of meaningful glances keeps him sincere

am i pure bliss a sip from the goddess’ cup

sacrifice me, pelt maimed and eyes rolled back into thick striped skull

am i worthless now 

am i your commodity loose morality breeding my immortality

skin adorns sweet old lady’s shoulders shivering child and adultering mothers

am i proud in death 

was i proud alive sweet blood tooth claws ripping into hide

tender frolick cool bath of swimmer’s delight

no, i’m just a jungle cat, running to survive.

hinge

hinge

door hinge I heard you whinging the other night

I went over to you and knocked

the vase over, pieces flew violently

over the balcony’s edge

of the end I was just a fledgling

feeling barely alit with your florescentia

when, bursting through

to the other side you sledgehammered

yourself hard into my frame and 

I cringe when I hear you flex

your screws and coo over your rattle

the bars of this cage I’ve made around myself

I and me and the hands

which are washing themselves

of your veneer and shine

on little door hinge, shine on

tacos rapidos

i miss tacos rapidos

late night carbohydrate binges

calluses tracing knees thighs hands intertwine

i miss your earlobes

i miss writing you

aye mi corazon, señor

feeling you from miles apart

indifferent mountainsides caressed your

right eyebrow

and yes i’m still in love with you

how hard is that to believe these days

i miss your form

your conscience and secrets

applauso a ti, señor

your dreams coming to light

fantastic rays of sun outweigh your love of

heights

i miss dreaming with you

lovely apparition there

forms lying round

i’ll always think of you that way

todos acqui, nada lugar

i miss confusing lyrics with conversation

making up slang to replace the act of slanging

(verb, transitive) dealing, selling/handling narcotics

looking out from the inside of jokes, exchanging looks, blushes

-sigh- tell more.

reveal your human side

you only cried twice

i count more from here

at least on my part

i miss thinking your every molecule was sacred

every knuckle 

your attentive ear

scrutinizing my every breath

every beat and measure

yours yours eternally

siempre

Topographic Map of Teacher’s Hand

the mirror

the mirror bought half off

was more a gesture to some unknown and hidden time when it may have seemed

necessary

but now

only seemed a hoax

of a game one might play.

One day

she was 6 and the tangles ran deep into the veins so that

pulling them out seemed like

a torture worse than death.

she wanted to smash it

7 years of bad luck might not be half bad

after all

“Egos and Narcissistic Impulses”

Blistering trust

broken pressure

soft demoralized satisfaction

 

            The   mark

                  Of                 turmoil

and discipline

 

                        Risk

                        His

                        Steakhouse

Yes, dust and sweat and blood…dust and sweat and blood, dust and sweat and blood, dust and sweat and blood

 

Pleasure of deep nothing

something from The Pink Institution

Beautiful troughing children began a famous ball

equally she touched the civilization

master dropping pink skin burns a sweaty stomach pounding soft and it

comes

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