Sunday, May 29, 2016


Meet me in the cold.
When it’s raining
Sheets of corn snow
I want to witness you
In the teeth
of the mountains
Have you not seen my talons
Sink into the ice
of mankind
That burns
like the rage
of the sierra
in the tears
that I shed
when I look into
that burning sky
wrought by your machines
your cities
are a stain
on my soul
And I hate you.
I am consumed
in the hatred
like the tar
that rends the weak
as the spines
of the cactus
are long.
Why the Ricinius
are so deadly
as a terrifying prick
that debilitates
motor skills
I am consumed
In the hatred
That my land
Has For you.
Will saunter
Over your broken soul
In time.
And I will remain
Eternal and liquid
An oasis of ferocity
Forged in a hive
Of mechanization
I am consumed
In the anger
Of the River
That awakens
Like a dragon
in the wet season
and devours
man and metal
and glass

I am overwhelmed
in the intensity
of the raptor
that wants to peck
out your eyes
and eat
your fucking brains
rending meat
from marrow
sinew from bone
I will peel you
As the wind
That never tires
as a seething anger
that never ceases

Thursday, May 19, 2016


Dancing on the shores
It is the liquid weapon
That generates the thirst
I can never quench
The Pursuit of epiphany
The saunter of currents
Feel the nexsi
Consumed in the drama of it all
Clear, without being hurtful
I wish to assimilate
This nexus of conditions
Like a grenade
Erupting everyone’s ego in the instant
the visceral part of me can awaken you

yet, they are proletariat
sloven and terse
as we become invisible to one another.
I have felt the desiccation of this rage before
And it plays like a charade
A recurring predictable plotline
Of venom and retribution
I grind at the cogs of our great machine
Rendered in strife
Forged in anger
Where the chiseler of reaction
Hangs like a treacherous chandelier
As I echo my fields
Deliciously seeking to encorporate
the whispers of clarity
we become drawn forlorn
In a house that reeks of urinal cake
Furbished in the contrast of self-pity and self-importance
As children, clustered in fear
at some confusing apparition
some eloquent nightmarish figure
that challenges their hopes and dreams
conflicting the ethereal places that cannot be purchased.
cerebrally drawn as water from a well

The instrument of my assention
compleat in its utility
forged in the tides of the temporal
everlasting in implication
kernels of such things
transcend these theaters
and I, I am whisked away in the wrinkles
folded into places that must be unfathomable
consumed in a desiccating fire
that seeks to purge you in the flames
licking me like déjà vu
where I write the future,
one letter. at a time.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

the why

I don’t even remember who wrote it
Just the words.
In the blur
I cannot feel the jealousy
Just the betrayal
I don’t feel their fists
I taste in the rage
The tension between entities
The vicious magnificence
a dryad cannot become lost in the forest
a druid feels at home in the depths

and I,

I draw my power from it.
And I,
I cannot feel the trivial as deeply anymore
I feel like a sailor letting go of a its moorings,
floating away
right before your eyes
things that used to matter, don’t.
goals evaporate.
and the boredom of everyday
pours in through the cracks
like some derogatory heretic
coughing out phthisis
all over a delusion that I tell myself:
‘it’ll get better.’
It doesn’t, it just has its moments.
Like some magenta lining
Practice makes perfect.
Stretching out time with the mementos of progress
And I learn to relinquish
Pillars of myself
In the delusion of one day being whole
Scattered into the architecture of the universe