it’s the jagged edge of reality
some kind of
claw myself all the way to the bottom,
lacerate the sky-crust in freefall
(don’t know if I choose or am
thought about seeing an exorcist.
rid myself of this too-bright scorch-earth headplace
…(I’m addicted to being reborn
rediscovering the day after wingless, stupid night.
I miss my light-blinded airplane. don’t want to self-destruct but
something keeps begging my brain to
jam itself straight into the sun
Flay this universe right off my bones.
Crash Glorious till I finally
staring down the sharp edge of an eclipse
eyes wide and waiting
veins begging for full-dark taste
Revolution is bloody, chaotic, visceral
survival snaps to the foreground
New world texture is more teeth than blanket
brain and body soft but getting less so
mind unfaded, purpose a fistful of
Run like you mean it.
Spill blood like it’s instinct.
Nothing left to
A Poem for Overthrowing the Bourgeoisie.
I’m reading Nightfall by Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg, hence the poem. Riding out some slow-waved depression. It comes and goes. Sometimes I wake up and I feel okay. Last night I didn’t even sleep at all. Halfway through a 16 hour shift. Didn’t know I could even do that on no sleep. Hm.
Lower myself into this bed like a coffin, don’t wanna come up for air until I’m resurrected. Wish I could burn this whole universe to the ground.
I lived in a universe where everything made sense. Where everything was right. Turn a corner and I’m flung into this… this plague of apathy, despondency, futility.
Wish I could just stay in that universe. It’s a good one. Can’t hold down a job there but it matters zero to me.
All this shit that doesn’t matter. I’m just a fancy ape working 16 hour shifts.
How does that make any sense at all?
I keep having to rebuild my life.
Stack my tower all the way to heaven, stare God in the face until Crash Glorious.
I saw also that there was an ocean of darkness and death, but an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness.
The song isn’t heretical, although I haven’t done an in-depth analysis. George Fox founded the Quakers. I went to my first Quaker meeting tonight. I love it. It’s everything I believe about how to get a direct line to Spirit through meditation.
Love love love.
I’m going to take you to where the sky falls, where the stars bite cold, where the ocean tastes the shore, leaves, and then comes back for more. Our bodies were made for dancing, like your hand was made to trace shivers into my spine, begging the feathers to grow. Flight pulls us toward the moon, like the tides, all silver, filling the sky.
I want to be there when you realize what joy is. When you fall bone-struck into the wild hymn the wind has been trying to whisper to you since you clawed your way from the womb. Your wounds are deepest harmonies you forgot about. Eyes wide open. Hands empty.
Chords igniting in your veins.
Going out to karaoke. Last time I did karaoke it was in the mental hospital and I accidentally picked a song with swearing and she wouldn’t let me finish it.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Lose your shame and guilt, and you’re already back in Paradise. Whoever convinced you you couldn’t enter until you died was full of shit.
You ain’t never done karaoke till you’ve done it in a mental hospital, everyone dancing around in doubled up gowns or green scrubs…
She was singing Party Rock Anthem in Spanish because that’s the version that made the most sense, on her back kicking like she was bicycling to the moon.
All we could do was catcall and clap like Elvis was in the building.
We both straight but I proposed like I wasn’t, ring invisible and miraculous. They had to tell us to stop holding hands (we were laughing our heads off). She got a husband but loony bin marriages are different. Our maid of honor wore white tennis shoes.
“Ese es mi esposa”
All she could say was “Felicitaciones.”
Told her I was going to eat the sun and I think she believed me. I still call her up to make sure he’s treating her well, told them about the bruises but they said she was lying about where.
Crazy in love. Spanglish valentine’s daydream. The purest love I’ve ever felt.