lost in the light-dappled darkness 

the striations in the cloud-stricken stars 

scatter a greeting: welcome and goodbye

welcome and goodbye to our ancient future

(b)(p)(w)(s)

(the point in spacetime when coalescence of self completed)

(inviting many to celebrate, receiving one

decorations and cake

like a slash to the face)

(existent then)

(behold the gift

this necklace of blood crystals

dappled with shimmering teardrops

it dazzles as it chokes)

i want to see the sea

in other words, self consciousness

at the boundary of individual throbbing into collective

like order seeks to inseminate itself into high entropy
on land, knowing the empty sky by its radiation
a pair of seagulls circling manhattan towers seek and seek

youtube / the house

Sure but if you go back far enough, everyone is guilty, and everyone is innocent. And that grand breakeven doesn’t cleanse you or me or anyone. The thirst for blood has never lessened in the throat of man. How many of the 2.4M people who watched this youtube video on elevating consciousness ever escaped the prison of their minds? More or less than the number who clicked the ad for the unisex jewelry brand sponsoring it? Nobody knows these analytics. The battle march continues in narrow hallways that lead to echo chambers. If the storm doesn’t last, I’ll miss my chance to go for a run in the broken splashing beams of rainlight, and my life will have shrunk the length of another video, this one on vulnerability in the corporate workplace. The likes and comments are buoying the notion of capitalism as religion. The crowd is going wild. In the time it took me to detect the bullshit and hey siri the hourly forecast, the rain stopped, so I kept watching. 

This house has no exterior because its tenants have no interior. The battle march continues in narrow hallways leading to echo chambers echo echo chambers leading to echo. Every would-be quiet corner of escape and solitude overflows with stacked chairs, dusty lamps, dead plants and storage boxes of long-held, longer-forgotten memories, individually formed and collectively discarded. The black in the windows isn't night. A knock at the door retracts itself into the void. No one can live here; everyone must.

another opiate open-wide day along

a long long line of dread wrapping

like a thread around a throat to mute

a thought left alone to sleepwalk off

a cliff and go deep down in the dark

of the day in the run-on stream of time

carrying it all away and around again

to another wide-open opiate day along

a dead long line of dread wrapping

like a throat around a cry to kill

a hope left alone to sleepwalk off

a cliff and go deep down in the dark

of the night in the run-on stream of time

carrying it all around and away again

until

you wanna eat until you're full

you wanna live until you die

you wanna love until you're loved

then quit 

and say goodbye 

when people ask what happened

you want silence in reply 

the hollow sound of guilt

echoing a hundred whys -

and when you're dust - to dust

and maybe finally adored

you'll wanna want again

but you can't

anymore

lazy sunday

on a lazy sunday the pain doesn't idle,

i wash the outsides of my apartment windows,

straining on the inside ledge wondering why even,

trying not to fall out or daring i do,

taking a shower, still as watched prey,
detecting the calculus in a grid of water droplets on tile,

i see it's just a system superdetermined.
listening to ___ from twenty years ago,

it floods into my ears and out my eyes,
tears falls from the past to the present for the future:
when i returned to ___ and learned that joy isn't for keeping,
when i met ___ and understood the deceit of love,
when i roamed the streets a beast and came home a stone,
when i killed ___ through negligence and stupidity,

when i'll witness ___ and feel the freedom of loss,
each moment is permanent vapor,

blending into the spring air

flowing in through the bathroom window,
laughter and screams aloft.