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.

Each dawn I cling to wishful visions dreamt,

As darkness shows the truth, so light conceals

cherished nightmares unowned but lent

by generous makers of the unreal,

To see them born here would be to heal

one thousand cuts, which signal not

some unjust torture nor dare reveal

an innocence, upon waking wrought,

But do bleed anew with each vile thought.

it's not good it's not wet like the underbelly of a petal
it's not green it's not pregnant there's no bliss
and now matter how i turn it it takes no highlight
plants no shadow

i wonder if left alone
if i walk away
it'll unfold and break into itself and just

be, and be alright

large withdrawal

there's plenty of time to be late

so why not stand in the longest line

turbocharge my zen

here #3 of 5

poor teller

awful undeserving teller

a throwaway moment for

everyone here

want not waste not

is that applicable?

this place is a cozy wreck

there's ample space to suffocate

in a stampede 

it's my party i can cry if i want to,

sigh if i want to

die and i want to

my life in the line

actually feels fine

#3 of 7 now

moving on up

o frost,

you call, imbue

my skin with deadness that i may not

touch the grassy softness of spring,

my mind with veils of ice that i may not

know the birth of joy-giving birth that i may

settle into familiar dark alone-making rest

for long asleeping keeping

still, and in stillness

stay, and in staying 

seek the signs, without seeing

until i can regenerate in reverse

and arise dream-divested,

hollowed, hallowed, starving for the onslaught of life