Tag Archives: infinite

The stats

        Everyone still wants to read
                The tesseraction
like it’s my magnum opus
   if I died right now                                   
       and never posted again
to be forgotten like
    what you ate for lunch
         last week but not
                             deoxy

         like it’s a star of a poem
  the rest will orbit                    into a nice death
         my head exploding          for example
                                                       looking down
                                                       on the mess
                           for a moment

so what’s this
old space junk
burning in the atmosphere
in the daylight

why even bother
   everything but that one line

                      wouldn’t it be funny
               if I was just a revolving door
left to right                                         blue to red
a flaggelating wormhole    a torch of lifedeath
                  a couple gloves and a suit
                        or a vacation

                           We should use it as a base
mathematical trajectory
                         shiver sucking
               purple booch
                                like a buttonclicker

The listener

They said my name
means healer

but I was named
after that guy
on TV

how could it be true
a medicine man
in the land
of the dead

the realm
of hungry ghosts

the witch hunt—
hands of ooze . .

What is this place—
they got everyone

knowing who I am
wearing a hoody
on the outskirts

thumbing along
the smooth edge
of another jade jigsaw

making contact
with this false wall
of rustling stiff hedges

of nothing

Theta Theta

and you gasped
then bolted out
the other door

it’s happening again

no one saw
our slough beneath
this river breathes
empty ellipses
out of calcium
as a marker

you held your
flames in the dark
flickering darkness
will we make it
through the night
the soot streaked
in lines from the sill

whose black eyes clash
like the otherverses
wanting in
has no name

a new scar on the arm, a 
concertina eyelashes 
the blood brain barrier’s
reach

it already had us
by the when
and by the why

was it peach lipgloss
that formed the seal
between when I said
you looked familiar

and the glass bottle
of biome on the counter

was it a playground
was it a gym

was it akin to
the flow of spiral

was it when
you held your
flames that they
could see us

The tesseraction

When we woke
there was a voice
saying each of our names—

Nothing would be the same
ever again—

Namaste in the way
we distrust—
extracting pure consciousness
just to drown in it—

Entire colonies were wiped out—
notes were taken—
the moon used to spew lava
but now it’s dead—

We were an infinite’s last ditch effort
just to show us what we had done—

We worshipped money as a god—
gnawing on nothing;
plastic skin smooth
as a succulent in the sand—
we could no longer keep quiet—
we deserted—

We burned the whole world
to the ground— we apologized
as a formality; we paid out;
we kept going—

The cancer of the last phase
of civilization reaches
into my voice—
my finger tips—
we held hands as we jumped—
we turned into liquid—

Prefabricated minds
spill down the grimy gutter
into the sewer that’s sieved
for bitter water; your river of life
full of garbage, human waste, torsos—
we wondered why we felt bad—
we were given experimental drugs—
we died in their hands—

We practiced medicine
by the fire burning into the night—
we could see into one another—
we carved our faces out of clay—
we wore the feathers of the dead—
we didn’t have an address,
it didn’t even matter—

There was nothing left—
we evaporated—
condensated along
the shattering glass—
biolumenesence; a map
where there was once skin—
we didn’t need to wear masks—
we were the reaching leaves
and the lichenlicked statues—
we sat still—
we wore off—

We got down on our knees
and pressed the white hot metal
gently into our sockets
with a singe—

They said that half the people
born this year
will never see the milky way—
never see their home—
never see themselves—

How many will be afraid
to look into the mirror—
how many will never know—
never close their eyes and dissolve—
never to see the stained glass
tesseraction aglow spinning slowly
hanging from an iron chain
in the temple of stone—
never to take a deep breath
or submerge their frigid bodies
in the cold clean river—

Never to have a vision
or a dream— you were molded
from the start— you sought refuge
under the wings of corruption—
even the vultures were almost gone—

How many will get the opportunity
and say no— or get a taste
and run away thinking they know—

We went in as far as you could go—
we were relentless—
we stopped at nothing—
if there were others
they were nowhere to be found—
we unearthed what they were hiding—
we disappeared—

We were not haunted
but there was something there—
we walked
until our whiskers froze solid—
until we could conduct
our final experiment—
we were ready
at less than a moments notice—

We didn’t know where we were going—
it didn’t matter—
we were already there

We ran
while we rested—
we were being hunted—
we had permanent files—
we couldn’t care less—

How many will never see the fog
thick in the morning under the canopy
of the forest— never to be stalked
by a mountain lion— never to lay
naked on a bed of pine
beside a fire of eyes with mydriasis;
we could feel it coming for us—

The electric fence no longer worked—
it was time to go downstream—
we adapted to being in a zoo—
we let them use us as lab rats—
we never forgot— we
could see it in the sky
reflecting off of their eyes—

We lit the galactic temple incense—
we never let the fire burn out—
it was burning us alive—
we scoured the dark grey landscape
for anything real—
we were sweating—
swatting flies like it was a ritual—

They tried to forcefeed us
their version of highest-bid history—
made a Greek tragedy out of New York City—
there’s too much money to be made
in destruction; it corrupted us;
it was more profitable than life;
turned people into monsters and slaves—
we were at war without end—

We had clay covered skin—
we drew spirals on the wall—
we could see them looking at us
while we slept— it was rigged
from the very beginning—
we carved notches into our necks—
we tattooed our minds—
we got as far away as we could get
as if it made a difference—

We foraged thru the ice—
we were surrounded
by a dwindling abundance—
we poisoned ourselves—
we were hallucinating
our entire existence—
we ripped our teeth out
with our bare hands—
we squatted on the tundra;
canoed into nowhere—

We were thin and getting thinner
like a rag wrung out—
like a hatchet thrown dead on
into a trunk—

We knew what we were looking for—
we were back to square one—
we had come full circle—
we weren’t coming back—

How many will never be summoned
awake by the call of the voice—
never to inject pure crystalline
lucidity on their deathbed intravenously—