Brief Nirvana

And this brilliant light hits us and we’re cured.

Our ragged chapters, disintegrate

Bend like shadows and forked silhouettes

Our bodies integrate as would a forest:

Scaled down first and then torched,

Its skeletal system removed,

The matrix of our leaves, singed down

Through sacred floor.

An atom splits and un-ends a portal,

I look across the vastness and toss my feet there.

Tiptoeing, I quit wandering. Release my shell on a sandy grave,

shove away time, what’s leftover, in a jar.

In the center of this tunnel,

fluid edges & staggering wholeness

collapse, gaping & whispering

about the end.

A redemptive quiet stalks the moon.

Our blueprints, soiled.

We grow ourselves over.

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Black Whole 816

We are crummy kids and martyrs
Birds of warped feathers and electric cores

Unstable faces wanting
To heal.

We pile an old coffee table
In ashes

We knit together our dreams
In a frantic rug

Waiting for an explosion,
for the day we become Holy,
Old messes dripping away,

The day we find the horizon
of the ocean that terrorized
Us, we’ll scaffold that star
we named “hopefully Estrella”

From an alien grotto
We’ll stumble in quiet bliss

One day, I’m convinced
We’ll be somewhere radiant
Hair and eyes tousled
In meteors

Our old and battered world
dancing through us, blooming
from a Lunar gorge.

We release our safeties.

short & furiously

he met his life and choked it,
tattooed stars on his palms
to watch them fade

his orbital life
swung from ugly skyscrapers
and molted like an apple core

he sent his questions to space
but lost his map,

wanted everything a mess
so empty meant something

on his forearm, he tattooed repulsive
in black ink, his kneecap preached don’t try

unlucky with permanence
his caved chest, a skinny tunnel
his torso shrunk close to his bones
compacted inversely, he became
black holes and supernova

as I became angry
for everything still trapped
beneath the sky,

I fell in love with his pain.

Hell Off Earth

I am living in his backwards screenplay and he is rewinding.

We marry on set. He tells the same story to everyone:

How we took the black hole out, slogged away the human left.

How we ate toxically and traveled for the clouds.

Where our stories made us less than we were.

I left the earth for you, I say.

I grew these feathers for you.

The mechanics of his voice

Fissure.

His eyes become the fierce jungles from which I run.

From the outside, we see everything and touch nothing.

His eyes, so dark at night.

The sky is always this dark.

First Coffee Table

Low to the ground,
white and oaky.

Banana peels,
lost sushi roll sock,
yuengling bottlecaps,
incense towers,
a remote to nowhere,
another remote to nowhere,
sock-like hat,
coconut wearing said hat,
empty pen caskets,
rusty scissors,
suspicious ash,
suspicious papers,
less-rusty scissors,
peanut crumbs,
a broken lighter,
orphaned chargers,

Pokemon silver.

The tapestry against the sun

The tangles of limbs and people

Soaring too far past

Low to the ground

Her Rusted Voice, Her Nails

the broth of her mouth
drenched everyone
as she tended them like babies
cradled in a gutter, lending men
the pit of her ear as if
they spoke frequencies
deeper than wells

her life knew how
to walk red, dark circles in guts,
her hands knew how
to grow a fire with only sticks and breath
and hold the echoes of a man’s war
in her diaphragm

from them, she learned to know
freckles as parasites,
to be jester-like
in each small parody of war,
become a trophy of silence,

forget she could be god.

she poured another drink
down the hole
and felt herself buzz
like those bees, those men dying
silent and shocked
in the background