Eating Thorns.

All this time

in between

then and now

been simmering

been building up

rather patiently

brooding silently

been grinding teeth

been stomping feet

been digging holes

with an upward swing

eating poisonous thorns from trees

like it’s sugarcane

with Mexico’s best peyote

cigars and syringes

sparkling fringes

champagne, cocaine

and pornography

somewhere out there

fathomed too deep

where I hardly sleep

but my eyes stay closed

my mouth remains sewn

over words of my own

this place is forsaken

this space can’t be taken

the loose change shaken

from the secret pockets

sewn inside my cheeks.

 

On “What Ifs”.

“What if…?”

and, as the words
shoot from my mind
through my lips…
there’s a sign,
shooting from
somewhere
far behind.

What if…?

And, I cannot know
the aftertaste of
a poison on my lips…
a crash above,
low the high
circling
what was.

What if…?

And, as the chance
sucks itself down the drain
out of my fingertips…
there’s a pang,
deep inside
everywhere
all over again.

What if…?

And, as the present
becomes the past, here and gone,
time all spent…
hard and long,
lungs howled
everything
emptied of my song.

Sine Missione.

I can write so-called “poetry”,

and rhyme strange words essentially,

I can tell my whole sad story,

in prose that spit-shine defensively,

I can swim in an unforgiving sea,

breakers and barrels spin-cycling,

I can ride waves semi-professionally,

a pipeline that leaves my mind spiraling,

I can clean up and seem undoubtedly,

exactly the way everyone seems to be,

I can focus my brain’s scattered energy,

and complete tasks that are given to me,

I can turn off and on emotionally,

like a switch on a wall in a laboratory,

I can protect my childish feelings,

by detaching myself from reality,

I can recall things once lost to memory,

I can trace roots far back in my family,

I can complete a tax return accurately,

I can also lift and carry the heavy things,

I can speak several languages fluently,

I can tell a story pretty truthfully,

I can tow dead weight to shore safely,

I can sniff out the best kept secrecy,

but I can’t seem to truly comprehend,

how to get myself out of this wasteland,

my brain doesn’t appear to understand,

my body doesn’t answer to the demand,

how to accept the filth for which you stand?

how to walk away and not look back again?

how to convince myself that you are not human,

so that I can live with the mirror’s reflection.

 

 

Thy Will Won’t Be Done.

My wrinkled face
is beginning to waste,
limp body, still hung,
on a squeaky clothesline,
that is tightly confined,
beneath a given thumb,
any part attached to me,
repeatedly gone numb,
neurons firing incorrectly,
missed the target,
subsequently,
my brain feels like,
a bowl of old pond-scum,
the day and night,
continue to come,
Hell or high water,
thy will won’t be done.

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Deal Re-Breaker.

There’s this threshold inside of my brain that others either cross in a grain cut painfully against me, or never cross at all. It is a horrid barrier that I’m sure I have created myself; but it is a sound and solid barrier, all the same – an impenetrable construct by my own mind, immovable in my own mind. This is a threshold that grants closeness and kinship or falseness and nothingness between me and other people who come into my Life.

 

It’s hard to explain, but I’ve been trying my best when it gets brought up by (a) certain (male) people (person) whom I struggle to maintain “healthy relations” with:

 

  1. the way that my ability to even experience anything good or positive with an individual diminishes completely once I feel the slightest bit of vulnerability to him, because I am fucked up and my brain doesn’t work normally.
  2. the way that after I experience any vulnerability on a conscious level on his behalf, I seem to automatically try to sabotage everything.
  3. the way that if sabotage fails, I will resort to some innate mechanism of my emotions to execute the process of shutting down to him.
  4. the way that I spend the entire time this hideous process plays out in hating myself and constantly having to re-focus myself on what’s right, as opposed to what feels right.

 

 

 

Universal Outlaw.

I’ve got these newly creased lines,

bore in beneath my tired eyes,

dark ringed circles well-defined,

a story left untold – otherwise…

I’ve felt these feelings of mine,

quite poorly compartmentalized,

I sit with the shadows in the tree-line,

until my own unpredictability subsides…

I’ve seen the neon-bright, foreboding signs,

swam for my Life against outbound tides,

when dying’s a blessing and living’s a crime,

and I’m an outlaw to nature and humankind…

I’ve gone and become urban-institutionalized,

let my own body to take away my own mind,

looked at one too many sets of dishonest eyes,

to gauge by the memories of days left behind.