peace

to tread bare faced, raw

through a world of masked liars

is true bravery

I never could get the hang of Thursdays

I awoke to Shadowy Men

on a Shadowy Planet, guitars &

nostalgia signaling me from my

phone, dragging me out of a 

basement nightmare where all my

comics & vinyl were filled with

bugs (also, eggs of bugs)

devastating

~but before that~

there were donkeys on the

deck, an entire family of them just

pissing and jumping everywhere

(their elders spoke English but 

said nothing of consequence)

these eventually morphed into 

my friends, who were holding 

drinks & ignoring me

go ahead &

analyze that

yeah, I'm glad I'm out,

into this blur of a world & 

Kids in the Hall isn't a 

terrible way to wake

~but~

the cat is screaming 

at my door & 

I'm out of cream for my

coffee & 

there's this desert 

in my mouth from the

4am boozy boys

ahhh already

fuck you, Thursday. 

Vivian

all these interviews 

show that she was alone

among the children, 

quietly mad & cruel

had the world been such a

sacrifice if her brilliance 

shown so clearly in

black & white, photos of

lives unseen

is it better to burn 

brightly & dangerous, 

engulfed

or 

to coast happily

ignorant of the

dark alleys, 

spreading one's

mediocrity evenly 

over just the

surface

connecting & loving,

being loved without

sharp corners, collections, 

fixed points of anger

pleading at the end

just to be seen

rope bridge

quote from a dream world: 

"safety isn't always comfort, 

but sometimes danger.

excitement isn't necessarily 

danger, but sometimes safety."

full circle. I guess. 

that doesn't 

make sense,

but I just woke up.

I had another bridge dream

where I stalled on my side

of a long rope bridge over a

canyon of certain death.

this isn't my worst fear

but it's definitely

one of them.

it replaced the bridge to Hatteras

(which seemed taller than necessary,

but I suppose that was my perception).

Hatteras wasn't on the other side &

that doesn't make sense, either. 

anyhow,

to be where I needed,

I had to cross.

I'm a little disgusted by this

obvious metaphor.

oh, snap

a band snaps me back

in an instant, a flimsy circle

over thin skin to hold me 

in place, from distraction

gone but persistent, here 

surrounded by reminders, 

there's nowhere else to go

but backwards, pulled in,

a foot propped on a table,

a song taped to the line

(SNAP) the world comes

back into focus, a duller

version of a daydream that's

already seeping back in, an

eyelash blown into the wind

(SNAP) someone is playing

Piano Man in spanish, I sing

along in english, it's sad & it's

sweet & I knew it complete,

a way to shield the hated heat

(SNAP) move faster, focus & 

when he comes round with the 

clipboard again, take the time,

this place only amplifies what's

lovely & fleeting by being neither

self pep talk

ignore where the mind goes

when tired and alone. this is a

nightmare field of nowhere,

existing only to rehearse for a

contingency, a risk assessment, 

an emergency exit from fear.

don't pretend to care or not,

the soul dismantles with every

lie, the spirit clouds each time

we change our masks to face

another's disguise. there is love

that can't be found in fictions. 

never doubt there's room for you,

your authenticity, your voice, to live. 

no place but everywhere, a space

homemade within the skin, a hidden

world where you are always allowed,

fully accepted, & loved unrestricted.

mistakes aren't defining & flaws are

beauty in the eyes of the worthy. 

tattoos are only decorative scars, 

same as all physical imperfections, 

mental differences, past experience, 

it's all just the ornamental ink of life.

telephone

we're all reduced to 

smaller than 

I AM.

an idea,

a role, 

a type, 

a function.

a means but

not an end. 

all our words 

matter less.

there are no

soul confrontations,

only others to

bounce our own

sounds back.

return, confirm,

congratulate. 

it's the essence 

of a game of

telephone

to distort 

every word.

interpret, reshape

into a thing that fits

what is expected, 

what is wanted. 

on both ends 

of the call.

flowers

my flowers are dead

crushed and rotting in a jar

just taking up space

I knew I'd kill them,

picked them months ago with no

water yet to give

petal by petal

each wilt under the knowledge

that I'm their owner

the dry spray of breath

betrays my expectations 

brittle and fallen

colors have faded

to an old & pale blood stain

marked with rejection

they know sometimes I

wish I'd never picked them, but

they're too parched to cry

oh, when will I learn

flowers only thrive when I

leave them in the earth

Lok Gweltz

the shuffle between keys,

birds, the echo of room

stir memories of oceans 

never seen, cool salt air 

never breathed, a rocky

French coast of delicious

gloom only visited for the 

length of a song, a dance

for lonely notes uniting

under his fingers

blood in the cut

the silence resonates 

louder lately,

paces through my body, 

bouncing limb 

to limb, into my very

nervous system, 

echoing the sound of

indefinite absence

it's a disquieting quiet

felt as starvation,

amplified by the effects of

memories, pills, time,

a resounding nothing

pounding rhythmic

while I hunger for

noise

back & forth

numbness follows from 

these contradictory states 

I occupy

overflowing,

indifference 

contentment,

resentment 

as if extreme emotions

could cancel each other 

completely

leave a blank 

space that grumbles

hungry

there's nothing to 

feed it that won't 

breed its opposite

neutralize

empty again

tonight

I'm filling this void

with velveeta

red

I'm an island of bone in a sea of 

blood slipping up my white shores,

washed with the stain of ruin, 

dragging the unwary under the 

heady iron waves of my blessed curse,

luring, conquering, sucking words 

of poets, songs of man into my 

inferno lungs & exhaling the smoke of 

this burning world into the 

faces of their ghosts

The Dreaming

I'm a consciousness in a 

void where the depths are 

safe. Each exchange is a 

private internal discussion

with selves of varying faces,

playing out disjointed scenes

to a nonsensical film with no

discernable start or conclusion.

This daily subjugation is welcomed,

embraced with eyes shut, held at

times with a desperation that only

follows a dry absence. I lay still,

begging at times for him to pull me

under, craving the descent into a

delicious sort of madness where I

create myself truthful & new, shed the 

exquisite corpse assembled from

distorted sight, misconceptions, & 

the partial observations of others.

I become energy.

I return to my source.

work

drained of everything & refilled

with noise & hunger, I'm so tired.

withdrawal settles into bones

an ache for a drug barely tasted

& I watch the dark corners for

scenarios. those shadows are

never as deep. the mannequins 

holding brooms, scattered paused

across the floor, are catching breath 

with me, inadvertently stopping time,

holding the moment until the dusty air

begins to tremble, unable to hold the

collective inner screams.

I'm the chairman of the bored

the rain has made its way

into my lungs, cloud cover

blocks the signal & I'm quiet

each car door slam, distant

dog bark, I'm smaller, further,

sinking into the floorboards

indifferent to this simulation,

the perceptual isolation of this

life, removed from all sense

absently chewing on reality, 

arbitrary social contracts, object

permanence, & my lower lip

cursing the homemade roadblocks

frustrating the paths to nirvana,

all the self-fulfilling incapacity

mostly I'm just bored, overthinking

the world, laying around & watching

the fucking Roku screensaver

awake

from routine to dream

this wanted lucidity

pours into spaces

between, 

spills down into 

empty crevices,

saturates with 

substance, 

filling, finding 

dark corners 

left to dust, 

greasing parts 

left to rust,

a flood of sweet

clarity washing

clean the doubts

from the trust

stream-of-thought benadryl haze

my thoughts have 

come untethered 

tonight, 

maybe it's the rain, 

the death, or just the 

lack of little death 

keeping me from 

seeing clearly, 

feeling clearly, 

or just having a 

normal fucking mind

but nothing is so 

simple anymore

nothing as transparent

as me, writing this

trite self-indulgent 

bullshit in place of 

forcing the things 

I promised,

because words are

hard when they're

expected.

wednesday afternoon depersonalization

everything keeps starting, 

stopping, stalling out from 

being pulled in five different 

directions, nothing seems real &

at times, I'm not even tangible 

until I make contact, don't 

exist without that pressure

the weight of another 

until then I'm only an idea

abstract, formless

a wisp of words and dream

ungrounded, watching my 

body float between worlds 

powerless

there's a phenomenon

which brings together

those who would ordinarily 

hide

the sudden shut down of

every distraction, every

convenience, the hum of 

power

they're in the yard now

is it just us, why is this

happening, when will it

end

I'm suddenly starving to

death, there wasn't enough

coffee, how long will this

last

the front rooms, illuminated,

dim then brighten with each 

passing cloud, the air so very

still

an hour has passed & I am certain

this is the end, or the start of the

inevitable zombie apocalypse, send

help

the restoration of our lives, sanity

is estimated for later this evening

DAMMIT, I'll have to shower in the 

dark

someday

**a poem found on my phone's notepad from 7/10/21**

one day I'd like to sit with

someone who knows

that I know that they know

and neither need articulate 

one day I'd like to laugh across a

beer or two without it 

already being my blood

just once, try mushrooms

and not lose my damn head

I'd like to wake up to a

beginning and not prepare for an end

I want to know the

feeling of untethered

connecting only with 

that which fulfills me

those who love me 

make my decisions without guilt

enter the unknown without fear

see my past without regret

imagine the future without dread

love without restraint

live without you

silent film

a slow & silent descent

see to the children

make dinner, wash the

dishes, slide down down

doors shut, eyes closed

rain starts, stops, only

falls for me, only falls

on me, appliances hum

no one is breathing,

hollow comments, 

formalities "it's raining 

again," "I'm so tired"

sit in the drizzle watching

cars pass, digest the quiet 

resting uneasy in the air,

a bland veil of solitude 

blood moon

robed in stained purity

I submit

helpless to this 

crimson satellite

dance blindly to the 

hum of raw life in my veins

under humid glow, she 

draws me close

slips silently into shadow

whispering darkly,

secret tales to 

restless souls

fog

that fog hanging under the moon

is just the smoke exhaled from my

string of spent luckies as I

sigh havoc into the night

it rained earlier & the streetlamp

must be catching mist in the trees,

it's creating glowing pinpoints, fairy

lights that glimmer with the wind

I can hear the North River, though

not visible in the dark, I can tell it's full,

hushing all other sound in a white noise

holding me in trance as I sit, just being

I could stay here till dawn this way

with the fog & the river & twinkle lights

keeping my secrets, surrounding me

with a mystic sense of knowing

space & time

I've turned on my

porch light, I suppose

that's all I can do

the key was left 

under the mat to

my wide open door

invitation extended to

what, I don't know,

space to speak aloud

room for thoughts to

convey outside of

easily mistook riddles

a place to just be

without funneling self into

accepted working form

just space & time to 

connect, no assumptions 

no expectations

the jennybot is malfunctioning

dear universe

please pull this heavy

fucking blanket off

I can't see enough

to make sense of

anything, the air is

just so close

everything happening

all at once, the noise

can't focus, can't care, my

breaker keeps tripping over

every mouth speaking

the sound of the TV

the dull temperature of the air

how can everything feel like

too much but also

nothing

angry beaches

flowing forward, a tide

(despite the world's 

ignorant rip current 

drawing back) 

containing strength as an 

ocean churning in love &

rage, bearers of existence & the 

weight of the entire deep,

rising as one wave, an

impregnable wall of tears

toppling the thieves 

threatening to steal the 

autonomy of the sea

downtime

here's some frustration

caught in an unknown

limbo, running out of

room, out of time

again with this

time & space

nonsense

(the absurdity of this 

neverending sea of

shitting turtles 

I have to deal with)

~in other news~

riddled with a vague

sense that I'm always

making up my own

dance to no music

(I just need a clear

enough song, a beat

some feet to step on

a hand on my back)

(also

fuck these turtles)

lovely lovely morning

storms, clouds

give way to an

after rain clarity,

vivid warmth of

leaves filtering light

into patterns on my

toes while I build

scenes in the sky

between sips of

coffee, humming 

all of me

why not take

all of me

That time I cried through an entire Tori Amos show

I let it all overflow

hiding it with my hair

tears from nearly 

finding the afterworld

in a Lincoln, 

from hearing her voice 

after so long, silent 

all these years &

found beyond 

so many different 

kinds of storms,

grateful for Precious Things

from clearer skies

Holy fuck, we're still alive??

tori wails her

siren song over

my town car speakers

under threat of

tornado

THREE WARNINGS!

TAKE SHELTER!

NOW!

through torrential

downpour

I cry, grip the wheel

& levitate out of myself

my potato copilot lighting

my smokes as we

Thelma & Louised

into the misty abyss

the end

was nigh