Body intact flesh heavy
All ashes no dust.
Like eyes aching in longing
For sleep. Eternal
Beautiful end rotten
End free end/and/end
Dot/dot/dot
Somewhere in the future
Someone’s eyes light up in
Blue lights downloading some
Trees for oxygen after all that
Downing of forest of jungles
Of evaporation of rains of tears
After all that browning
Of the dead leaves
Of the living
Leaves

II.

Spider eggs
I vacuum cleaned hundreds of spider eggs black
Waiting to be born in some quiet prayer— or eggs
Of some other type of insect i did not recognize—
Only to regret heartless later; the type of regret that is
Kept locked like a secret, a secret with no release through
Confessions so you carry it within like a dark
Cloud of smoke but you breathe on, breathe heavy and
Slow until you decide to kill the feeling as you allow it
To be eclipsed by something sensible, like it had to
Be done or I would have to kill hundreds of them
And instead you save the “mother”.
The deed is done the kill is done. But I
Escorted the mother spider out
In a rakı glass trapped it in gentle vertigo’s
To leave it outside— I once took out a baby scorpion
Outside trapped in another glass tail up ready to attack
And I wonder how many other pets
I have in my place, venomous and harmless,
Cohabiting without my knowledge
Like the animals in my head like
The zombie thoughts in my bed and under
Banging on the walls to turn them
Into doors into new doors of
Perception only to leave them
Unregulated untangled and not
Vacuum cleaned as my webs of
Opacity remain intact and electric
Like lightnings with their own
Minds, as I remember that
the thoughts sucked clean only in
Deadness— in my right mind—
In a left alone beehive the queen
Is enraged at her own dethroning,
And I remember all
That is unfair with a flair of
Nonchalance submissive

III.

Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies.'

(Charles Dickens, Great Expectations)

  1. A tombstone delivered to your door so you can give birth to
  2. Your own memento mori, somewhere along the way my
  3. Metaphors got metamorphosed, like the ashes thrown
  4. Into the ocean in fragile cups of sorrow to
  5. Turn into something else— mixing with the filth of sand,
  6. Filth of air of everything else on earth. Swirling
  7. Clouds in rose-tinted
  8. Skies feigning optimism of those rose-tinted glasses, faking
  9. Happiness in endings but I enjoy holding onto this equalizer this
  10. Sure thing of the wooden box-bed, with a hint of satisfaction
  11. Infernally. I am holding onto a white marble certainty with
  12. Black letters and numbers inscribed in a daunted imagination
  13. Looking for answers and lies where the dead lies so the living
  14. Self can rest in peace in ease please.

(I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.)

(Charles Dickens, Great Expectations)

Flow state born out of a boring ice-heart metaphor
Instead of a heart I have stubborn ice—
Defying gravity defying the rays of light, the waves of heat:
A generous act still, for I am gifted
With the awareness of my pulses: still.
Ashes moving like the wind like the ocean
Cracking the skies open like lightning
But gentle, but serene as if muted
As if censored, taking the edge off
Smooth and crescent. My words
The un-fazed un-dazed phases
Of the moon shameless in
Stealing some star’s light
To shine I will always need
You my muse revived every time
I remember an ancient version
To replace but when I run out
Of soft lightning and moonshine I
Look for ways to burn myself
To illuminate better and bitter

Flies (And shit everywhere)

Inspired by Diane Seuss’s sonnet
[The problem with sweetness is death.]
From the poetry collection Frank: Sonnets
A core memory unlocked when I
Read the line “shit everywhere.
When I quit the owner slapped me.”
When I quit, my old boss
Told me I could come back to work
When I failed, or if I failed
As a musician, as an artist, as
A sonnet, a semi-sonnet not
A Shakespearean sonnet but I
Got hung up on that line describing
Not so elegantly, what is not so
Elegant in the first place.
[now add some profound line on death,
And every commentary on death is a
Wake-up call, so place the word death next to
Something you would not consider death to be
Anything like, like sweetness like pies] smells not
Like some cool teen spirit but like the
Death of a loving heart and all those
Endearing words are an island with no cars—
Shit everywhere. All those words are lies—
Flies, buzzing in i love you’s. Looking to get
Bitten so you can scratch the bite off until you
Bleed harmless like it is just a nuisance
But you are bugged anyways—