Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Degenerate King of the Desert

They move like fidgety mannequins
Under the pale sunrise
That came upon Suddenly
dancing smoke clouds in the distance
shaded into the sky,
the never-ending desert
creepily quiet
with the ability to juxtapose
the macro and micro
in the same instant.  
Of feathers and fabric
I feel you through my being
you call me here before the
depths and the darkness
the light and the beauty
and all of the spaces between
to what do I owe this occasion?
I did it entirely of myself—
Because you made me this way.
Haughty and powerful
An unhallowed stamina captured
Envisioned through obscurity
We move though the vapor
This danse macabre
Wrought in fervor and mayhem.

like the volume being turned up
the sky fades in gradients
holding a magnificent pink  
that Exposes our human forms
In our worn frames
Degenerate and regal
With all of the privilege that comes with it
king of the underworld
Framed in the writhing sisters of fate
To the sound of mortal whispers
Their visages looking delicious—
until you see their ancient faces
eyes as vast as the wreckage of man
infinite in ephemerality
ancient in persistence
combatant and competitor
The game and the player
Complete, within this kingdom
the last raptor of the desert
Lekking without equal
Bathed in filth & prowess
God of a realm reduced to memory  

Thursday, August 18, 2016

August 18, 2016

Guys, I cant do this.
I cant sit here and comb through this—
Looking at whatever emotional angle
As I return to the house I live at
Where discontent floats like a ghost
through a cat-scented museum
where every day is spun into the one before… and after.
I can’t care—
For the injustice, the anger, the emotion
I’m so sorry.
I can’t feel right now. In some kind of cyclical sandstorm within the depths of myself. My apathy to your perspective condition, makes me feel barren
As if; burning
in the firestorm of my everyday
hardened over my fragility
I can’t love—
I’m overwhelmed in the rage.
Consumed and distracted
In this cacophony
I want to cry out:
Relieve me of my thoughts
Lift me from this wreckage
Heal my wounds
make me whole
but my voice is swept away in the sound
diluted into absurdity
lost to conversation.
Beauty is not something to be obsessed over—
It is something that is experienced
Chiseled into us as we pass through it
And I realize so painfully
this has become integrated within me
the inconsequentiality
of any two-dimensional world.

Monday, August 15, 2016


An emerald Posse

Floating @about knee-high

Like Lovecraftian færies

Mechanized in their movements

Droning through their final moments

In the desperate search for proliferation

They are dying—

They have come here to meet their end

And I have come here; to put ideas to rest

As they list & fall from exhaustion

In this excruciating heat

 Their polished bodies become undone   

Their tiny machine parts scattered across the surface of the earth

As dreams of the future  

will never be known

entropy like a wind through the æther

blowing us all into the remnants of what we once held dear

 In the distance I feel the supercell

The dropping pressure

The forming vortex

That begins to pull everything into it

I hear the sounds of your thought

Like voices pleading out from underwater

Raptured in the storm of myself

In a Relentlessness that is drowning everything around me

Somewhere within, thunder erupts

rewritten into each pressing moment

like savagery blooming in the night

in a way I am jealous; that their journeys will end here

on this fine Augustine day

I am taken by the empathy that I will persist,

as pieces of my mental landscape

gyre to the ground, buzzing in confusion

fighting to the last second

in a hardwired fear of being