Tag Archives: language

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…”


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







No power in the moon 


                                                  we could
                                                  the holes
                                                  spat out
                                                  of water
                                                  on its

                                                  you look good
                                                  looks like a wind
                                                  glowing down world.
                                                  She knows, cars,
                                                  she’s just passed

                                                  the tide of me


The words

Erowid used to be this vault of intangible mystery

I don’t know how many reports I read
before I took things into my own hands

I was young, yeah
just 14

I was old—

Huichol kids were no strangers
to the small buttons in the sand

the babes of the Shipibo
drinking little cups of aya
before they were born—
breastfed and initiated—

old still—
compared to the coming of age
of the Bwiti—

I didn’t know what I was but

falsely prohibited—

I knew I had to know

Sitting in Tony’s dumpy backyard
on a busted ass couch
his loose mohawk a veil of fat

You have to keep the lighter on it
You have to hold it in for a long time
Hit it again
It’s not working, this shit is fucking bunk

We had no idea what we were in for
and I was the only one that did it right
I took these huge lungfulls
out of one of those old green acrylic bongs
until I thought I could see music notes
where their voices were
and everything went bright sky blue
I was floating
in front of a burning fireball star
we were the only things
in existence

there were two long black lines
thinning into a point on the horizon
of the blinding surface of the sun
connecting whatever I was
to whatever it was—
I could see white things
up and down it
like a highway

they were symbols,
no—they were


                     Melt down
                                                           into a shiny
                                jet black
            pull back
                                                           and plunge
             the halfmoon
     disappears                       dead
                   at the junction
                                                             of déjà vu

                    emerald lily
    who led
the way
                               back home

      who carried
                              a lotus
               made of ash
                                         into the boiling
                      like an aerosol
                                                  or a spider’s web
  made of quicksand

a slight
of the hand
                                this                   never

Jay’s spiral

   Some only have one antler left—they stop to
way toward where the sun will set                  a
their                                                I’ll           break
on           couldn’t care                   be          under
farm       I              less          blowing              the
the         it           we’ve              hash     leaveless
thru       gets      made            smoke             oak
moves   one              it                     in    attentive
herd      no                to                that                to
whole   like             the       direction              the
a            seems   sandy                   for   footsteps
furry     it         smooth                      a          from
and       though     core               while             the
nosed   even                                         I       inside
black    spiral another make I’ll think            of
me                                                                     the
watching them watch to stop I where house

One moment

withdraw the sun, draw the dotted outlines
of night,

peel apart the chests and devour
the microlight,

Solo—  with each word secedes the soul
resonation we are scanning to take flight


disavow the moon, erase the insides
of day,

carefully bind the backs to keck
a humming darkness,

without will or word rescinds the old
world we left behind