Sun is mortal

The Sun is never off-duty but
She is dying slowly, calling for a supernova—
Got myself locked up in a
Criminal mind, in a cell ink-dark, under a spell
Spark my calamities heavenly, showing
Me the darkness shine at the end of the
Tunnel, kindly. The Sun grows the tree feel the
Wind bend it mend it make or break it—
Nothing new nothing to brew under the
Sun. Let the Sun
Go down
Will fulfill her duty
Long after I’m gone, birthing green life, burning
Careless faces, backs, growing
Trees, dying slow birthing

Off-duty poet

Rust slowing my word-fall. Make me whole
Again. I hear my words fall
Off a cliff I built in a sleepless bed.
I made this bed. Calamities I embellish
My art with my heart with. Stared into turquoise too
Long, longing to be forgotten in a human body, to
Become the sea, gone my
Diminishing 7th, all that jazz gone in
Bliss. Curves of my brain,
Eaten by sunlight and beach rhythms.
I welcome a supreme divine mindlessness. Divine
Nothingness. Call it mindfulness.
Create some room for new blessings.
Dopamine peak like golden arches, I fly off. I’m off-
Duty. More Aperol Spritz for me for some glee brief.
Swimming while walking I walk the line
The time the tide the high carry the cries on my
Back, backed by all that alcohol,
All under control. Anxiety is a dying bird
Left on the side of the road— tar
Black as a black whole— cooked by a
Cruel angelic god-like sun. I live within
A mind a grind a mind that thinks
All that empty time begets no-thing no ka-ching.
Yet, I’m startled by the ordinary magic of
Hungry words calling new ones
On their own making their own
Pieces into masterpieces whole
Yet often abandoned.
At this frequency I
Simply tune in let my ear dig and dig
Until I have all the diamonds
Out out out— leave some room
For the dirt the mud the hurt—
Leaving some room in the heart
What my mind will never allow to
Host only to ghost—

Rock-bottom Slithers

Welcoming all that is terrifying
Rock-bottom, my bedrock, my bed, my
Bad. All I see is blessings and kisses within
All that silent locomotion serpentine.
I live for the burn of toxicity thank the world
For this bliss, this hiss, the
Legless this slithering smother crawling within
The curves of mind, as I trap it within a box of carbon
Monoxide mimicking Plath’s suicide. Simply
Following directions from a submarine
Deep, deep down that voice within a dream
Words chant and string a few horror scenes
Together so I can have a home within art for all this
Insanity, so I can contain all this madness gorgeous
Build new dreams from split seconds blinks on the brink
Of collapsing, elimination
Of all that dark beauty would be as lifeless
As celibacy.

Human hope minuscule

I feel like vanishing without any consequence.
Vanishing without any consequence like I feel like
Fitting an entire galaxy of anxiety
Into the wild x’s I’ve crossed
Out only to find x’s and oh’s—
Sprinkled with some regret some
Ashes and dust of
The past inundating the air
With more air to suffocate me
Soft. Teach me a lesson, heavenly yet serpentine.
Vanished, all of the ghosts I’ve befriended
Wildly alone at tides like this where the waves can only bring
The dirt, the hurt the birth
Of something beautiful is
My only consolation at times
Like this, where the gaze
Into the void
Can only bring the dessert, toxic
The blurt spasmodic, the hurt rhapsodic. I’m blue
In a fantastical plastic mess. Go, let the air out of
Tired lungs, so airless rest can test your devotion to
This hectic, blessed city full of
Dead motions steering the
Wheels turning them into
Screeches with glass
Eyes dead arms on autopilot perceiving
Only a fraction of what they can,
Naming it all real. I’m tired of dressing all this
Ugliness up hiding it all behind rhymes and hooks,
Yet I enjoy the satisfaction of calling it a day when
Done right, run right all the syllables making
Tunes like Looney, sweet and high—

Tides like grief

Been carrying so many tears bleeding, swim-sinking in an infinity blood pool. I’ve been carrying so many foreign hearts that I am glorifying a war zone, adorning it like a Christmas tree left to rot, to die out of season. I’ve been burning all this sage to get some pages written, to wash a mind attacked with depressive episodes sneaking in my bed, my head (my bad), like soft insects.