Muted Liltmay nights brew blackon calloused retinasI crush three shades of dissentout of the rubble (aftermath)on a film of labile skinencapsulated winter shadowspatterned bruises by ghosts in inkroot-bound dead whisperings:december's late memory
Pseudo-Taoistic Tendencieshere, to live in obsolete measurements of stasis and find solace in the way time bends in sweet detriment of itselfto listen, enlivened by the sound of ten thousand and one parched Persian tongues rasping of emancipation from the underbellies of our mirrored faunaswhere the universe is felt and God is swallowed:on her salted fountains on his derelict fingers tracing unadorned love on another woman's hipbonesan elephant's dying breath, andthe smell of climax and unsettled wombsfelt, and tasted:in hospital tubesindignation, self-sufficiency failure of recognitionthe partisans of our cause and command
In my bathroom againGod's in my bathroom again,he's shaving the patches of hisbeard and pulling clown-facesat the soap. Last nighthe held me as I lay in a fever,made little screams, keptthe hot tongues from my face,the mushrooms from my spine.He says his old girlfriendtried to drink his blood, thatit messed him up for a while. He saysit's been a long time.God looks sad, jingling histeeth at me like loosechange. The clicks of myheart make me sick;folding his pyjamaswould be the kind thingto do.
Leaving Home (Video)A little video I made for one my songs, I hope you enjoy!
upon leaving edensend me far away to wherethe sun shines silver like brokenmirrors and wild things wanderthrough the night; places with funny names and maps etched from tree bark & lichened stonesthat line up end to end for miles:where truth is a birthmark that scars us by, upon the coastglass of wine- toast to the rising moon sublime. dreams are in thirdperson, cupped by the creak of wild woods that whistle, and teachus what it means to be alive.come, nestle up against cedaredfantasy & watch the birds fly southfor the winter, hoping for somethingother than white sand & buried treasure.save all our tragic souls from becomingwhat we should
Achromatic Dreamstoday, god gave me present.-i.stilted windows, white bonesdecaying lungs and my mind racesat the rate of a lone moth's jaded wingswe taste better aloneii.clemency is earned by the damned, by the damnedarbitrary sacrificeswe belong to nobodyiii.and she bowed with artless gracekissed the sky, shed stardust tears choked on angelic moonshinewe draw our own constellations-today, i gave god presence.
Bereaved Orphanto the ugliest part of my barring psyche: hello, beautiful.i submit myself to you, in absolute austerity, i present myself in all my inelegance and liability.see: black and white, every indifference to chromaticity the way we see naked stars at night, the way we lose ourselves to drinking in false favor offanaticism and relativism, andthis is a venal apology, my selfish justification for liberating you against your detrimental and tragic will, my baseless excuse for your existing inexistence, asi bleed desperation onto these languid walls, with the need to isolate the physical foundation of where you are fashioned
on essencebut first, kiss my dopamine--rest your untiring hands on this swelled belly: feel meas i swallow oceans whole enoughto condensate these north pacific skies, and acceptpetrichor’s last offering.so kindly are these breathsleft to lay reston the beds of noetic trees, let us watchas they breathe,let us watch as they breathe;tasting the oxygen swirling at the back of our throats: life.i love how simply the lull of your voicebathes me in laconic moonlighthow this longing slows time two degrees belowthe sixth of listening to mountains growpieced is this slow-beating apologetic metronome, teethed andsweetheart thesewere
the poem i never wrotei’ve got four fingers on each hand to count and recount the carnal instinct of familiarity.i have kissed you out of the liveliness of the moonand her returning blanket of sea, like the softness & quietudeof your eyelid’s atlantic flutter. like the blue dream of skythat extends the cover of your vagrant esteem. your heart,gypsy to the cadence of likeness domestic of catholic balancegingerly, ever able and oh so nomadicextends the voice of its beat as small as the worldand as vast as our amalgamated essentiality. sunlyis you by which i am reborn, and time fails us where the aim of waking is to dream.i’ve got
thank you