Everything is whirling around me.
Stinging splashes of monsooned life.
The overwhelming number
of possibilities never yet lived,
but should’ve been…
How do I decide it, choose it, be it–
untethered by neurosis,
relinquished from fear,
pardoned in social maladroit?
Shall I abandon this land?
This way of life?
These weak carbon bonds
that can never cohere
into lifeforms I need
The outrage and enrage
of my sickened heart
pumping blood into tears & frowns
of disgust & desire…
Yearning for vibrant love like mating butterflies,
brilliant renewal like sunrise,
fully grounded purpose like gravestones,
the furthering of higher development
like third trimester DNA…
Stepping away from ideal & visionary,
I see the nestled weeds of a dying world
climb trellises of sentient decay
into humanity’s concrete civilization
running amuck amidst
the collapse of a species–
wasted in possessions & affairs
of avarice, addiction, indifference,
motive, & insanity.
Writers, do not write in confidence
but the essence of what is,
where ever it is, when ever it is.
Some possess the eeriest energy
that just consumes
and revulsion of the truth & horror
of what this life really is.
None of us are immune
to the splicing and splitting
of foundational worldview
& core identity– into o b l i v i o n…
like an aborted baby that survived.
The weirdest freaks of nature don’t look like freaks at all…
It’s not about skin-deep shallow fleshhood
when it’s really about what’s inside–
Wild language, injured genius,
intricate stains upon the white satin of autonomy.
Isolated lonesomeness rests upon the hillside…
screaming from and into
the depths of the end of time–
Like a dangerous, unpredictable cemetery
scattered with creeking trees
and cryptic antiquity
potentiating HARP-like storms
into the base of your spine.