i am of two parts, the day and night. in the light i burn with guilt from deeds long since expired and those that have never passed; i move through the hours a simpleton, ignoring the calling and the hunger, sweating out each movement on the clock until the night arrives and in the dark…

have you found your morphine drip, father, have you clawed your way at last from the terrors of that jungle, that deep conflict, where so many souls did burn and congeal again as lost principles in the napalm of your breath, did you war your way to heaven where the fathers of our fathers were…

other worlds than this, other prayers and solemn gestures than these, other voices that speak stranger and absolute, with a ferocity like untamed lions devouring the night, feeble and newborn, one eye a pale crescent, almost not there. are there other fixtures that cling to the vault of heaven and mark progress in the scheme…

there is a wildness on the street, a leopard mentality of machinery and mathematics devised to replace spoken word with that of the phantom tongue, the mind’s rhetoric devoid of purpose. a miserable assortment of movement from here and back again, endless the call to arms of fat eyed malignance that draws on wasted breath,…

bored and dirty, i wish i could play piano and clean up my act. slow thoughts, slow movement, eyes closed for moments strung together with threads of smoke, my hands will never cease. i’d like a drink, thank you, but i’d not move now for any thrist, not for blood, not for love, float here…

it has craned its helixed neck and found cellular towns on the horizon to move over like dark clouds of fury, madness, the storms of ageless transgression. microinhabitants, eyes to the thunderheads with curious wonder, electric thought betrayed by electric non-thought, it spreads its phobia over your town and the world becomes born again in…

i have wrestled with colossi that once were dear friends, broke them down and pulled them apart, studied them, examined their massive structure and cataloged the intricate detail of their architecture, yet still, i know nothing of their hearts, i have failed to fool them of my importance. and so i sit in pale blue…

you are doomed to walk this earth child of heaven, lyric of the cosmos. alabaster star, burning without govern or cause, wrinkling the space before it an epicentrum in the great black heart of everything, the pulsating vein of eternity. the woven gestures of creation still hang in the space between spaces, the shape and…

i can smell the change in the air and i fear its coming, the strangeness of it arriving before the thing itself, pressing its stigmata upon all sight, pulling the light from sundowns and turning it a pale alien blue, something unseen in this life and unwelcome. write this feeling down, record it among the…

the soul it burns like arson, a flicker in the cosmic blink of things, split between realities that are there and those that have yet to be forged from the dreams of sleeping gods, a river flush with the wrinkled reflection of coastal cities or sudden catastrophes born from an absence of having anything better…