Reboot

The torturous chimes 

rip me away from the purest

moment of hand holding

in the back bedroom of a volcano

dragging my brain out into the cold

alone

and on foam

and I yell at Google to let me return

and I try

but the door is closed, locked

so I go down a different path

and check out some butterflies

with the eyes of a carnival worker

with a hole in his throat

and the chimes drag me back out 

and I rip all  the warmth off my body

and drag myself out

into a tornado of doubts

Should I jump into the ocean first?

Should I drink the ocean first?

Should I brew in the volcanic stew?

I choose what to do

and dive into the repetitive chimes 

from inside

that feel like a first floor

on repeat

but they really are elevating

at least

when I air out the doors

and resist from letting the sounds

choke me, cloud me, tear my ears apart

from inside out.

Overpass

Sometimes I just love 

sinking into the memory foam

as I remember 

at this moment

I could be standing alone

on a cold overpass

careless cars driving past

it could be me

but for this moment

it’s not.

Screen

i used to hate Nermal

but then I grew

to hate Garfield too

and now I hate Jon

for giving such a stage

to an unfunny cat

that I think of

when I open my door

to the panels

through the screen

which still,

despite its anatomy

won’t let me decide

which panels

to slip through the holes

to burn.

Embedded

Like dirt trapped in pores

like curse words frozen in cement

intertwined with dust and bread crumbs

and avian feathers

when I lay my pores

upon my feather filled pillows

all the separated thoughts of the sun

re-embed as my sweat embeds

with the cotton of my bed

reminding me that the divide

doesn’t exist

when the black tsunamis roll up

after each sunny earthquake

the salt will always

dig into the crevices of the rocks

at least turning daggers into sea glass.

Home

Descending into familiar caves and homes

of the upside down town of my brain

a hand to hold, to call my own

like sprinkles and sunshowers

it never rains hard or deep

just enough

pasteurized and unfiltered

when all the layers

morph into one, sandwiched

between the illogical rivers

and electric algorithms, neon signs

slug wrestling in a tin garden

made of plastic flowers

surrounded by siding

that changes from rubber to linoleum to water

as fast as the eyes under blankets of skin.

Wrapped

Electrical cords

snake around

calcium vines

and bristles

ripped from dirt

to breath earth

into cement cells

as my own cells

open and close

and restrict

& breathe deeply

only with lids closed

and covered in fertilizer

ferns wrapped around my neck

as my head soaks in cyber sex.

Stained

Driving through

the veins

flushed with alcohol

I drive through

memories

and lanes

of skies clearing up

and I think of

all the linoleum floors

and window panes

I’ve seen

that

secrete vomit

manufactured pain

even after

being cleaned

they’re always stained.

Tank

Like fish in a bag

you can’t just dump em out

you gotta cut a small hole

and let in the tank’s water first

acclimate

adjust

but it’s so hard

when you just want to rush

and even in the tank

you think about being outside it again

cutting your toe nails

and paying that bill

and washing that towel

and calling the person back

that you don’t really want to talk to

but guilt is biting your toe nails

which need to be cut

telling you

that you would want that too

if you were them

even though

when you were them

there was no you

and even when

you get in the tank

and soak it all in

you won’t let yourself

swim

just try

to.

Ripped seats

That feeling you get

after hooking up with someone 

for three days

and now you’re just

watching television

with a platonic friend

flatline

yet

ready to rip up

the couch beneath you

and you want to crawl

into the screen

and feel the wind on your face

like these kids on a road trip

that you know isn’t as cinematic

behind the lens

but you crave

that smell of sunburnt leather

in the backseat of a 1996 Chevy

with no air conditioning

legs sticking 

almost uncomfortable 

but only enough

to feel alive.

Dirt

I used

to look up

to the petals

above me

who pretended

I wasn’t there

but when

they fell

they’d grant me

but only because

we were in the same pot.

Counting

Counting calories

counting mistakes

counting the hours

that you waste

adding an extension

to the purgatory

of your self-persecution

of your warped

perception

until your execution

&only

until

the revolution

when you go from first

to third person

can you enjoy

the evolution.

Play

As a child 

I could climb into

toys, halting time

to live

among the clouds

whom billowed around 

like transparent

clean smoke

& as the trails

morphed

into snakes

solid, shedding

ash

I knew

I’d spend the rest of time

trying to find ways

to crawl back in.

Okay

Once upon a time

my mind was 

dumping out

like the contents 

of a purse

during a break

and I was trying

to toss parts

like matches

like sand

hoping

that soon

I’d have 

the time

to vacuum it out

organize

keep it all in

driving over the border

into the purse

and I lost everything in it

and the gas light went on

and soon

I was sleeping

on the floor 

of a truck

holding a crowbar

for you

who hung up on me.

I may not be as available

but I always will be.

Bleed

Each heart

that spills

out like

cherry blossom petals 

is sucked in

their mouths

to devolve

into sludge

& soon enough

the veins 

turn to gel

turn to tar.

Arsonist

Like a lollipop

that’s been rolled 

through dirt and soot

nothing sticks better

to sweetness

than the rough

who pour drano

down anthills

and turn corpses

into flames

through the armor

of their eyes.

Drainage

With each house

the warmth dissipated

through the sink drain

of my throat

House one 

insulated with sunshine

packed tight with dirt

like a Carvel cake

ferris wheels inside tea cups

and friendly snakes

wrapped around banisters

House two

expanded land

and rooms swole

that screamed

during the storms

which rolled overhead

House three

reeked of death

and the foundation

that broke off

and became

every house ever since.

Text for my OKCupid bio

I hesitate

to date

to fully open 

the curtains

when I first saw a one

tethered to me

exchange eyes with 

another who was

I pushed away 

the pit in me

and so did they

and then when they called me

on my birthday

to tell me they were 

now one

and that I didn’t want 

them 

to be happy

I crumpled

but thought

maybe it was 

one

a one-off

but when she did it again

I could not deny

the pit in me

to the point that I 

would tell any new heart

she’d hunt them down

if we entered her territory

and she would

after finding new curtains

new views

and opening the windows

just a crack

I fell into a river

and a new one,

she let me borrow 

her polka dot underwear

and my new her asked me

“whose are those?”

and I knew

and when she smirked 

after the clock did its thing

I knew

and when I found the rack

mangled and torn

I knew

but deny and deny 

and

(you're paranoid because of the past

you have a complex 

you caused the distance 

even

because of your delusions)

but years later 

they tell you

you were right

and they blame their lack

and you try to forgive

and climb inside

the unfamiliar pupils

of familiarity

so you don’t lack too

and it’s your fault

for being gullible

and for making poor decisions

then it’s your fault

for not opening the window

all the way.

And I tried

so many guys

and I saw

so many lies

so many

who took my

diamond inside

and sanded it down

my honestly

warped

into their fears

of manipulation

it shines strongly

albeit dully.

Living in constant fear

of being forced

to realize again

that someone’s dedication to me

is as fleeting and pointless

as life itself.

Why would I

willingly

let in

winds that destruct 

the trees of intuition

within?

Weeks

In the pit

of my stomach

I can feel

that I’m

a pit

in the mind

of an avacado friend

and waterfalls

run down my spine

when I think about it.

Bulbs

Under too many lamps

my cards scattered 

• ones only ghosts could organize

• and their lines were as dead as them

and I couldn’t even find

the light switches 

shuffled

among the paper

and the artificial sun 

wasn’t enough

to wake me up

so I lived in the darkness 

behind my eyelids

until the shadows 

taught me

how.

Shutters

Even though

the open window

reveals

paintings

which make me

shudder

the knowledge that they’ll fade

push me to close my shutters.