SCRAPS #1

[counterphobe]

Disconnected wordjams 75% drunk

His hand the cup of my curved shoulder. The palm I stood and, like the monkey king, pissed on. So were the skies heavenly, black and white keys zebra stripes crosswalk bars. Playing the piano actually requires a series of mallet strikes. Guitar sounds the more percussive form: thwack, exhale, skin sliding on frets or a beer bottle, whine. Failed artists probably populate the faceless afterlife. Maybe I'll be somewhere with wings instead. If he were there, all would be forgiven. If not, he would be dead.

when I drove on the road for the first time I knew I might kill because of the spinning red flies above the carcass of meat (the concrete was steaming) I had once prayed to in another dialect (was not my own was) a jumble a game all the tough grain of life laid out before me a bad exercise in philosophy and the human form wanted to pull over to check the pulse between ribs with my tongue (call it life-long and undesirable, unpredictable, save for) the intermediate interventions I wanted to have regardless sucking out all the texture like stringflat gum or those smooth barks of tree trunks from the downwards part of a hike not so that others had been here before but that no one had owned it for you (who is an entire universe) who need not carve your name but to know the force of emotionality that would counteract my defensive cynicism that you may not have realized applied more generally to anything I had control over (even you) thus my anger and my inability to keep still the government always tracking the attributes that meant the least so three red lights run sooner no matter to the pedestrians (swallowing around metallic piercings the only area that would sooner reject in a few weeks than a few hours that spoutluck viscerality I could tell you were special and I will never know someone quite as new

What I meant by love was never love as you understood it. A big, pretty picture like Bob Ross; the only man who’d ever calmed me down. Happy little clouds, happy little flat fans of paintbrushes, a world entirely our own and safe and calm. You never made me cry, I wanted you to. I was never that guy, I wanted you to be. I never wanted anything at all. So sit next to me on this swingset in state-space J termed unpredictable oscillations demanding growth; say what’s that but another post-facto-manifesto: we were someone different. Rather you drive me off the boundary of the unknowable into the choking black sea than to leave me alone. In the silver spanning star, an oval of the Earth, I heard God in your voice. (the resonance of it. the space between tones. all we didn’t say on that springstress train already ablaze with future bony breaths.) I will have you forever. Ever, and ever, for whom that holds

I exist in this world, under which I desire you,
and no more syntax,
but the completed
trustworthiness of one who
no longer acknowledges
humiliation
rag doll displacement

Ghost towns populated
edges of my Vision All Green And
Explore like rainbow in:
bringing more illuminescent Nacre

man, amniotic
trying to find heat against myself
stiff cold penetrating such
that the direction of wind
is inevitable and without reason

yes, I am delinquent,
I wanted to be heard, selfishly, what more
a word when I have meaning
to you a semiotic dialect
an abundance of As
take me please
leave the rest to waste

is rhyme easier is
pattern simple by some
means of developed
construction or rather a
schizophrenic seeking machine
a mind a man a method
all alone all done all threes
held close to the chest

what I want is transient determined
by one or two or a couple of people no
right timing no right place nothing
right a world composed of ants rotting
from the inside out  || from the inside out