a man came to an understanding. “HOLY FUCK,” he said. “i’m dying.” he held his hands out before him, as if the metrics to this were floating there, little, vaporous. no one said anything. they were all dying, also, in parallel. he fell to his knees, boorish. they were just mostly used to the idea…

i remember the sun in a remote way, through a thin film of helical pictures the memory of the come before, soft and very faded, and compare it to this burning monster in the death of autumn, unchanged, unchanging, and i sweat even though it is so far out there. do you hear the future…

outside i can feel the world pulse with rhythm as cars float like cells down the vascular stretch and the verse breathes, expands and contracts in the infinite beauty against that terror held in hydrogen arms that seem to suffocate with love and fear indifferent. even as i drown in the mess of myself i…

at 9:01, a moment late, the first wednesday of each month the sirens set to wailing, raising up out of the cloistered morning a ritual mock fear, a test, a reminder to remain vigilent even in the calm breath of september, the awkward blind spot on the backside of the summer nuclear and just before…

the further down i go the clearer they become, unbleached words drip slowly from stalactites hanging deep within the weird neural complex, in the dark where these thoughts condense acidic and wear away what host axions exist or don’t exist. further down, deeper in where they cannot be retrieved, where nothing that goes may ever…

remember me when i am gone but forget me while i am here, forget the tired wild antics and the amphetamine rhythms, the obsessive questions, the inability to be, always looking onward and outward like a comet racing forever toward some ultimate collision. out there with the others shuffling in-patient slipper steps, easing in to…

loneliness is easier, with the leaves, the empty room, the silence. little yellow pills collide within the id and disintegrate, integrate with the molecular traffic and off swiftly to what narrow streets of grey matter call, here, these circuits are native, these patterns are familiar. when everyone knows everything there will be nothing left to…

often, when someone speaks to me, i get lost in the thought of what it must be like to not have a mind wrecked by self-mutilation, obsessive-compulsive fantasies, an addiction to addictions, a mind without trenches and gulleys well worn by the transit of stoned little messenger molecules losing their way, forgetting what they had to…

every night i try to steal a little more from the day, an hour, a minute, microseconds, as much as i can get. i maneuver until all moves have been made, and i waver at the staircase, watching my shadow slip along the wall. in the kitchen i open cabinets and consider what goes best…

the lights in the parking lot have been out for days, and the bulb by the door blew some time ago, so here in the mostly dark a young stray attempts to banter, odd little vocalizations, thin fur, lank, bones visible, she rubs against the chair longingly and then retreats at my slightest movement. the…