Tag Archives: Consciousness

The narrator

                                                    What is waiting on
                                                 the other side
                                              for us
                                           waiting
                                        on the other side
                                     for us
                                  is it some kind of
                               scanner
                            that detects it
                          rippling
                       pushing through
                     or did you know
                  did you know already
                it would happen
              it already happened
            like a story
         that crescendos
      right before the alarm
   goes off—the alarm
goes off

We figured it out
  before you were awake
     or even born from luca
         the map is like a song
             to us we know it
                so well
                    we can see you coming
                        from a mile away in it
                           it’s not like we own you
                              but you’re compromised
                                 it’s programmed
                                     like a pattern of blocks
                                         the more you taste it
                                             the closer you come
                                                 you’re right there
                                                     on the brink again
                                                         —right there
                                                              on the brink
                                                                 again




.



Las siestas

Somehow                                             I always end
                                              up here by the water
 with dirty feet
  it flashes back
                                          this other world
                                         we’re in now
looks like a dream
     it’s so consistent
                                                I know
                                                 so meet me by the lake
 somehow with dirty feet
flashback to the songbirds
                                           
     in the forest I’m awake
                                                but I was there again
           by the water
      with dirty feet
                                                     dirty toenails
                                                         I live alone
        during the day
               I’m not alone
                                                       by the lake
                                                I’ll pick the lighter up
  with my toes
I’ll take the clover honey
                                               from the cupboard
                                              I’ll keep it on the counter
      ’til it’s gone
 I’ll smoke a joint
                                               outside in the shade
                                                   it used to seem
so much more random
             than this leaking
                                                locality from both sides
                                                              what am I



.



Entitled

Were you there

when I woke with ankles chained to coral

could you hear it 

when I woke I was surrounded

how many of them were there

when I woke strapped down the serum inching

what was it that was murmured 

when I woke five filaments of hyphae

was it just a dream

when I woke a full lotus flame

were you absolutely certain

when I woke the ground getting closer


Orexin

It’s funny to think
about how hormones
are drugs produced
by your body
that control almost
everything that makes you you

and yet we know that isn’t true at all
—we are something else
entirely—how could we limit ourselves
to this dead iron flesh when we were
full spectrum fountains of light—

and yet that was all just an idea
—like the last full moon passing
before planting when the pull
on our waters are weakest in the dark

observable, testable—like
the last poem
in the works before the poetry
of being works its hands
of vines
into autumn’s lines

you call it
wakefulness
but you know
I’m not too sure
about that
anymore


[name redacted]

 

Used to crush fourteen hour days—
now I rely on machines

We’d all be sittin’ or standin’
there under fluorescent lights

Would wear my headphones most of
the time in my own world of techno

Snipping away at the moment meditating
smoking charas constantly for weeks

I noticed you looked young for your
age, a mother, late-thirties—you were
jealous of my speed—

Like a modern witch with your skinny
short dark hair, black hoody and pale skin—

They’d come and go maybe twelve in all—
but it was your intense energy

That stood out to me the most—
we had something in common

You were beyond me in some ways—
we had feet on both sides

Hands that had reached through other
worlds and everybody knew it—

How long we spent in this room was
irrelevant for we were somewhere
else entirely all along—

Seeing you livid on the phone brought me
some strange hope that I was not alone—

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 


It was pure automata—one evening
you approached me from behind—

Scissors no longer in hand
you worked your way into my shoulders

My neck—my back straightened out—
you shifted something biomechanical
on the right side of my throat—

We both felt it move as I was subsequently
propelled from reality into an all-too-familiar
neon vortex of light—

Fuck I must be dead—just like that!
There goes my aorta!

Yet through the timeless persistence it became
apparent that back there I was still living—

You were still pressing
while I was still flying—

You were still standing
I was still sitting—

And no one else in the room
had any idea what was happening

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

When I came back I told you
and everyone else

In endogenous ecstasy and disbelief
all was fiery—aglow and reassembling—

The dynamics of possibility may reveal itself
as gifts you can receive only once—

What was this that set us apart—brought us together—
and is it that which makes us just like everybody else