Flower egg

standing tall atop ivory ticket

to echolocation medicine —

like a dolphin penis.

Bring me your golden fractal,

spiraling blooms.

 

Siamese twin mushrooms

leaning swirled hippie flora

with wise wick.

Bring me your wax caps,

melted Dali perception.

 

Brass redeemer

smoking myrrh-scented zephyrs

of sage purity.

Bring me your freshness–

invigorated with embers.

 

Flower egg

If…

If you have a mother living

who encourages who you are,

you have someone giving

you the propulsion to go far.

If you have a father living

who is loving of what you do,

you have someone forgiving

of hassles you put him through.

If you have a husband

who’s loyal, diligent, & true

you have someone willing

to be there to look out for you.

If you have a wife

who’s forward, comforting, & sweet,

you have someone life-giving

making your family complete.

If you have deep connections–

who uplift through the test of time,

you have supportive directions

who guide you to make the climb.

If you have the right village

to help you raise your child,

you have the reassurance

for your role to be resiled.

But if you only have yourself–

attempting self-love — self-taught,

you can’t be anyone to anyone

because you’re all you’ve got.

Some depression here,

Some anxiety there.

Blotches of autism & A.D.D.

Specks of identity disorders with P.T.S.D.

Splatter in panic attacks and bipolar mania.

Then, continue with a touch of schizophrenia.

Keep going with pandemic addictions coping for a release…

Then, all of a sudden,

you’ve got a lunacy masterpiece.

Bristle in grief, trauma, & abuse,

consumerism, littering, & exploitive pursuits.

Don’t forget endangerment, greed, & rage…

The ‘hive mind,’ oppression, & ‘wars over god’ page.

Add streaks of violence, indifference, &  ethnocentric haze,

alongside gashes of a corrupt political maze.

Mix in hues of neglect & giving a fuck less.

Then, bring it all together by indulging in this mess.

Patients treat patients

in the psych ward of outer space

because the ultimate mental illness 

is the entire human race.

The Ultimate Mental Illness

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 

to live?

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 

nor arrogance, 

but the essence of what is, 

where ever it is, when ever it is. 

Some possess the eeriest energy

that just consumes

 –with chills, 

succumbed pause, 

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.

Whirling