Variegation

She asked me why
my hand was always
in a mudra
I just smiled
shrugged my shoulders
I know what it feels like
to be burned alive





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The seahorse

I wanna go
under there
again
fuck you & all your asphalt
take me back
beyond the shore
beneath the waves
I don’t wanna be a particle
anymore
I don’t wanna be a wave
again
I just wanna burn
burn
burn
these tetrahertz teeth
I just wanna breathe
breathe
breathe
my liquid lungs are glowing
I wanna go
underwater
again
I wanna close
my eyes right open
fuck you & all your pretty sky
take me back out
way beyond the shore
beneath the waves
I’m not gonna be a particle
anymore
I’m not gonna be a wave
ever again
I just wanna burn
burn
burn
in a circle
I just wanna breathe
breathe
breathe
the black water
where the iceberg
meets the seafloor
scraping
in the darkness
the red water
where it bursts
open to magma
exploding
in the






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El Ganador

I got neurons in the sky
are you high

yes I am
yes I am
O yes I am
I’m gonna be
a Boltzmann brain
babe
I’m gonna go to
the end of time                                            yeah
I’m gonna be more
than just a smooth liquid sphere
that lights up
for some reason
in a series
& remembers everything
that ever happened
in a flash that spans
almost forever
there are multiverses
that would pay
by the billions
of galaxies
to have
what we
will have
I wanna have déjà vu
with you





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Gold country

Roll a joint
break it down
between these itchy fingers
feels so sticky
so real
set it down
forget about it
there’s this scratching post
at the top of my head
the smell
of undoing the knots escapes
the static screams
behind the songs
the tubes they used
glowing darkly upside down
almost hidden, untouched
clean of oil
the tremolo, the springs,
the thin twang of a fender
warbles atomic geometry
like markers
upstroked
left to hang
to sustain
twenty minutes in the pot
set a timer to forget
let it cool until it’s tepid
this exact same thing
every ten days
triple digits out there
the wall is breathing 
I got EMA on the box
she makes me feel
I’m not sweating anymore
I was burning in the sun
hollowing them out this morn’
their insides like to breathe
their outsides need the light
& who wants larfy schwag
snow lotus brings the frost
out of skyhigh spears
super silver haze
breathes in the breeze
coming down
off the Sierra’s
down
this iron dusted gulch I dwell
they dance
this time of year
the cats are passed out
on the deck
a shadow of a vulture
scans the dusty
ground pops
with crickets
a mockingbird posts up
on a dead ponderosa
after a flash of his bomber wings
I wipe the webs off
on these cutoff shorts
the bees savor every drop
of water they can find
a woodpecker knocks
it’s beak for some bugs
the only other sounds
are far off
muted by currents
the forest at the top
of the hill
the fox den
overlooking the house
the bend
in the trunk of the pine tree
I love watching
summer burn
our souls away
until there’s nothing left
but rain
but hope
but love
to find it’s way
thru the mud & snow
& acid trips
again





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Boltzmann’s wet dream

                                           In approximately ten
                                         to the power of ten
              to the power of fifty years from now
                   it’s been hypothesized
                  the entropy in what we call
                the universe will fluctuate
                                           just enough
                            for the disembodied
                brains to appear
                                                 in the vacuum
               like space ghosts
                                   roving the outskirts
of the very end of everything


                   who are these observers
                   will they even know themselves
                                   thinking, remembering
          fluctuating from above


  the iron stars collapsing
from quantum tunneling
   becoming neutron stars melting
                      into shattered black holes
                              subatomic particles
   all matter gone


you’re not supposed to make sense
                       you’re disallowed
           you’re a problem
          you’re the last sparks of phantom life
                    before it bangs like bubbles again


   you take the number of all the ways
    every subatomic particle
      can be combined
          you multiply it by ten
          to the power of ten
          to the power of ten
          to the power of fifty six
a rounding error


                              the time it will take
                              for one of the bangs
                    to start to look like this again





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Yoga mat burn stack

I was in the disclight looking at you
looking to move hawk-headed
with a stingray hovering over
my right shoulder undulating
under a floating patch of lotus
I sat down under a big moon
on screen typed out I
sat down just to hear it again
I wouldn’t mind to
melt into mist
I’d follow the squiggly
lines back underneath the leaves
back in time etched in wave
chamber cyclone tunnel junctions
the diffusion of gravity
riding the ship slow into unknowing
I don’t want to spin means
hold onto the bed hold
onto the memory etched out
for as long as you possibly can





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I seen the moon led up against my death bot

ay there

                         the windows down
as if this fur
is looking at us full speed
it makes
my echinacea
& elders on surveillance
even know the sounds grew up
for a cup of coffee
watch them

             from a small raspy speaker 

         like avocados—

with a note on it scribbled & crossed off 

some of their

      sober cars

like you
shine skyway

           we gonna
distill the high

what about to collide

after soaking our feet in the roads ended then though
  

get too far

                           the old take bayside me 
I know the taster—I got a whirlwind
of death & light

   Campbells of a cop
but what every social media network
to collide

 Is curving

Yeah I mean I know if he’s fur
he looked me like a wildfire face

   but while I write

like jalapeños—

      “in the whole focus off the times…”

                         rippling

for once around

       giggling lost

I like kites overlooking the time

       of sucking our shoes                                                   

 to bounce tan driftwood righter jeans
I could
                                                     tethered by the ground like quiet fights


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