the rusty dry blood taste of rain saturate your clothes,
when even the world could not hide from you, it is the apocalypse
on rooftops that is so cold, liquid smog dispersion
at below freezing violence.
crying to your favourite mournful violin-strung songs in private
and if only my heart wasn't stuck to this chest, or this presence
to my head, that orchestrates the neurons, as
if they belong to a purpose removed in hibernation.
it's been a while since i thought about getting a little bit older, how i can no longer see the
amphibious spores, unsinkable
in a sleepy garden palace.


i started listening to a boy's guitar,
{today i found electric pieces of him everywhere
splashed on subway walls
gliding purely with whales in supersonic
buoyancy, so grounded compared to space.}
i want to die in his acoustic fingers
as i have died so many times in my dreams

while he huddles me, huddling his romance.

"I'm going to fight the dinosaurs, take the ring to Mordor,
win the World Cup and win World War III"


tonight and every night is the night for musical sirens

they make wicked lyrical affairs with poetry and opera
somewhere between the stars and the clouds
swept in a sky trance
i want to blend that voice with the forests
and wake up on a beach, along the pink flame of horizon,
to an elegant tragedy, its silvery composition echoes
beyond and above, and beyond.


.
images randomly start and disappear, as they do in senseless exhaustive conversations,
why is the only solution to realising love -is
not to love.
the past, is like catching glimmers from a newly tinseled pine cone at christmases
i would trade getting nothing for a moment with God, easy as that time when
i clapsed my hands together, and he began to follow me faithfully.

and what you are is the price that you sell yourself for. so i can't stand to look at myself, really look closely and discover that i'm a cheap makeshift-mechanic job, riddled with faulty parts.
why are our bodies so damaged in a conceived kind of way,
i want to get the blueprint to life, and draw our destinies
all over earth, so that in 5000 years, someone will dig up surviving traces, like finding missing parts of an ancient map to a monumental secret. begin the hunt all over again for the grail of human existence.

then we will see, there's no use for knowledge when there is no unity among man.



it would be ok if i am never read, or understood, by you, by anyone,
because i don't believe in fame, just.
fleeting impressions
anonymous kindness
revere a mother's love
your gloryart collection.
that i may never hurt you as so many others have.
unlike another character superficially contrived,
and you can hate that i have no structure
dismiss this as parlor monologue
we are all parts of equal nothings,
and those values squeezed within desperate fossil fingers,
of loyal militants
depart with ashes, to timelost desolation.


please don't fret
like i do
breathing in elixir
spun by antioxidants from a wild lawn
and atmospheric stardrops
staring at the burnt maze
contemplating 4-dimensional planetary resolution theory
deadly forcefields, that would not be
if consciousness did not depend on subjectivity.


somewhere in the distance
there are deviant grievous practices
drag-racing for adrenaline highs.
given the immaculate positional chance
we live in a hot air balloon
for an inexplicable second-to-moment blip
uni- multi- infinity- verse- then .us.
and it frightens me so.

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