Month: April 2018

Freshly wounded rimes
How to: Solace

Speak lovingness.
Speak the essence of the
Smell post-cry
When the head
Fills with muck
Then is suddenly
Drained.

Speak the feeling of
Shaking the tears
From his salty hair
With your combed

Hand, while
They gush and
They gush and
Push out their
Spirit
Through every
Orifice.

Mystic Arcadias
Day 2: my veins are now vines. 

There’s been another security breech in which my capillaries have
shed like snakes and are now webbed rhizomes. It had, all along,
been a conspiracy of spores. My wrists suddenly shone green while 
I wrote, photosynthesizing at 3pm. A hand jerked to my head to 
check if there were leaves and there weren’t; I breathed and let 
my vascular neurons pollinate, microscopic blossoms bursting with 
every fired synapse behind my eyes. The vines filling up my casing 
stopped. But, at that point, I found I wanted them to burst from 
under my fingernails and take up the pen for me; they never did. 
Nor did the bees stick-and-poke words on the wall or my skin 
yesterday to help me decipher any code.
Mystic Arcadias

Planetarium

You can feel yourself slowly emerging.
The yawning embryonic dinosaur step.
Blink. Ventilate. Eyelash away
the eggshell snow
from the face.
Blink. Blink Crack the knees tap the
spine stretch longer the tap, the
catch of the flyspeck on the snout, and smell
the deeply acrid ray of dawn to softly sting the brow.

Your corpus crosses a
homeland wreckage blooming green
unfurling a dome like the halcyon fern
A Mosaic planetarium made
from webs and epidermis-thin iron
so that magnanimous faces pressed to it
stringed with freckled lumens
Watch.

Short Nameless Reveries

What if I evaporated?
If everything that pricks me draws a red sea-
There’s woe, and then there’s the sea.
The salt black, heavy stinging, clumped.

I picked at my face til’ it bled today and I locked myself in my room.
I hoped the grade on my “examination” would disperse
Like molecules in water. But my vision does not waver. Every color
Precipitates in torrents like sheets of wax,

As solid and clear as any lucid dream, so then
Will they miss me away? Will we grow?
Am I destined to be condensation on my friends’ foreheads,
Dripping gruesomely, drifting off steam?

Short Nameless Reveries

Violent silence
Screeches tangerine
Like a bone-jagged zap down the jawline.
When your eyes snag mine, hook-lining,
A last moth-winged utter
dissolves into an Aurora, a finger-
Prick drawing blood,
Crawling the back of my throat.

You’ve miraged from
Phantasmal hot coals, the vapor
Pulsing my brain,
Startlingly flesh and bones and scattering flying things—