Gargantuan

Since I’m not a magician
I’m not going to rob you with illusions
alluding to what miraculously went missing.

Since I’m not a magician
there’s no glittered confetti
at the end of each act
since time lacked any patience
to steal your heart or mind away
you might want to depend
on all the comparisons
you were told would
make you subjectively better

and then call it FACT!

lUcKY as a Beggar

Lucky
Luck
Ah ha, Oh yeah

luckily

a torn form
is never lucky

a malleable action
an Ahhaohyeah
mix needs a full

Oh ho?

A yet tousled revealing dishevelled

in the none unusual
in the utmost unlikely

Throw Away

Well, first you need to disconnect
Then, tell the other that it is over

You cry for one day, but plan
how things are to proceed:

Silence for a month
then process and decide…

So neatly planned
as like making a biscuit

quickly, and so effortlessly
disregarded

Vulture

come out dead like me
come out to pick
to feed at the dying
near cold bloodied

come out as you
you don’t lie

come out and
suck on what
is left
what
remains

Function of a Proof. Revised

In the perpetual hum for purposeful sound
in the perpetual sight of recurring triggers
in the cerebral cortex where it all begins
rest, and arise in distortion, I’ve located
the injury that can never heal, and has now
grown into a germ, a seed that multiplies
that yawns at its clones, admiring its progress
reverberating proof for its recurrence.

Disguised as neurons, spreading its message
holding the nervous system hostage, it clings
to the mind and develops a language, its own
trapping the heart of memory, its function is to
inhabit, to encumber, to ill assess. I’ve discovered
when it became The… It occurred simultaneously
with the struggle for words to dissect the point of
these proofs, but my discovery was too late, The…
created its very own elaborate function, a syntax.

They tell me there’s still some purpose for its existence
an invisible membrane, which when made aware
acquires a self conscious bruise: a quick kill for a study
of overreaching steps, spent too much in a cocoon for self analysis
falsehoods for comparisons, error messages prompting no end
never having a place, a cause as faceless as an unknown not.
And like the study of broken, it still makes a whole.

The Sea Has No Branches

so touch, gulp, then grab onto anything
anything keeping you still alive. With this point
reach for something else other than infinity
my fingers cross as we begin to drown for branches
they grow old reaching parallel but never touching.

Mourning Glee

listening
and all
I want
to hear
so beautifully

arranged in

Oh I hear
I can’t wait

to listen
in patience

Is what
her songs
sound like