SupermassiveReality never bendsto human expectation,it simply does its thingand becomes the consequences.At times it blossoms perfeclyin the gardens of our creation,but when it dies and rots away,we may have been the poison.No result is guaranteed,even when thoroughly tested,but life is all but barrenwithout the seed of risk.And in the end,strange beauty growsfrom feeling thingsbig enough to break you.
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,this, our neighborhood of galaxies,in which only a single staramong billionsis even remotely reachable.And we tell ourselvesto dream big.That hard workwill get us there.But on the cosmic scaleour collective capacityis nothing.For every star in the Milky Way,all four hundred billion or more,there is a galaxy.Even the Local Groupis nothing.Yet since dreams are orbitalwe hold our breath to reach them.And when we perish in the vacuumthe stars still burneverything that matters.
Forest fireWe were snaking up the I-84through Deadman Passin the Blue Mountainsof northeastern Oregon,where stories write themselves.The trees are evergreen, you said,defiant spruce and pine and firprotruding from dirt and rocks,exclamation pointsfollowing the death of everything else.I recall a membrane of cloudsat the apex, a reminder of bordersthat should never have been crossed,as overanalyzed by a tired mind.It may or may not have been there.We penetrated the veil,the first Chevyto sputter onto the Moon,monochrome and lifeless,under a radiant crystal sky.The fire had ravagedthe land to the boneleaving us trappedin the rib cage of the world.Something else descendedinto the desert below,but it was no longer us.
AwokenFor years I slept with open eyesand fibrous dreams, cut into shapesso real to the touch.It took a shock to wake me upand shed my baby skin.The cold is raw now,honest and lethalto a naked body,freezing wordssolid in the throat.Light once imaginedshines no more.Love once whisperednow rings hollowamong the echoesof the dusk.
Why the ostrich bleedsI have oversharedenough.
StarpulseTen foldsof singularityaround and aroundthat lucid pain& sing acrossthe great dividelike a pulsar,a throbbing star.Let them hear youlong after you fallthrough your heart-holeinto the never/ever& keep them wonderingwhy.
Visitor's guideIn small-town Americathat biker dude at the local Circle Kwill greet you every time,by name, even, after a while,and he will ask you if you're OK.This is not an actual question,but that is all right.In small-town Americayou should not ride your bikewhile wearing a shoulder bag,hanging like a koala bear.A school bus will eventually pass by,the kids will laugh their asses off,nice Mormon bros will call you "nice" and "bro",and a '74 Chevy will nudge you into a ditch,endangered, like a koala bear.In small-town Americayou should not just turn left for the hell of itif you don't want to see a giant old manstraddling a John Deere, wearing nothingbut nearly swallowed shorts,massive gold-rimmed Aviatorsand a double-barreled shotgun.You should never ever wonder,where he keeps his extra shells.Small-town America.I was a stranger,but you spoke to me,and I wish I had knownhow to actually answer.
MissionaryI’m ready to be used, you said;but you’ve no clue what I could doto you if you let me.It isn't a matter of control,a matter of fact, a sense of the matter;it's the thrill of losing them all.Will you declare the samewhen I gain the bend of your thoughts,or take your latest hours for myself?The turns you take yourselflead you down predictable roads;I choose to close my eyes.I want your hands, your mouth—not your eyes, or even your concern;just the weight of you over me.Let's draw the blinds and seewhat primal tongues our bodies choirin the cosmos of the dark.
DepartureReason runs dryalong the Eastern shorewhere NYC fingersfor the mainland.The man who wentis a complete strangerto what returnedfrom a different state.Now he just watchesthe land drown below.Everything elseis already gone.
You're not a failure for failingHer small, anxious handsgrabbed the cup, a bit too largeas it slipped down and tumbled to the ground,the milky mess covering the carpet:her mother let out a disapproving sighand rolled her eyes,“Will you ever do anything right?”and that’s when she beganto limit her aspirations,so that her dreams would never be too large,so she’d never make any mistakesshe’d never again drop the cup,but she’d never have enough to drink.
fa(r)ceface me, faux pas princess;meet my eyes,take a deep breath.let's begin.where do i go in the wakeof your empty empathy embersburning through the wallsi built to hold me safe -this honesty blisters blatant,and i wonder how perceptionhas managed to fail youin such a spectacular way.face me, flighty fighter;hold my gaze,hold my gaze,only cowards look away.this is a warning,or a goodbye.if you play at salvation for long enough,maybe someday you'll be ableto save yourself.this is a machination that whirs whirlpool predictabilityand you imagine that youknow me, daydreamer -let's revise,let's rewrite;i am so much morethan definitions.face me, flickerswitch;maybe i would love you moreif the lights were out.(maybe i could love you longerif you kept your mouthclosed.)and sometimes i believethat you can only love mewhen i'm playingthe victim,because you're so busyin your role of saviourthat
that's no earthquake, it's just my trembling lipsI ama battlefieldon a fault line-desire on my tongueand indecisionstuck between my teeth-what words will my breath carrywhen the land bucklesand parts?
Two sidesA dark lifeFull of secretsHiddenBehind closed doorsA cheerful smileEmpty and fakeA maskSo others won't worry
crumblingscrowded house,crowded mind;you are a neglectedinfrastructure.there's a road ahead,and it's a broken-down disaster.your steps unsteady,you are opening your eyes.you are coming outof the dark.this isn't what you wanted,but it's time to revise.deterioration,decimation;you are an overrunanarchy.there's a world in you,it's not what you wanted.this isn't what you planned,but it can still bebeautiful.(re)take the city(re)claim the land(re)build.
whispers are a certaintyher utterance swervesin the vanguard of tumultbefore it is moltenand molded into a river of clay,then sculptedinto a bust.(and it neverpanned out the wayshe wanted it to.)this vacillationis an effigyof grandiose statu(r)esand her locution stands tallwhen the barricadesare torn down.it only recoilswhen defensesare dam(m/n)ingbecause weightis not meant to floatin the gravitas of gravity.
morningtidethis dawn i squinted intoand pushed upfrom chested seafloor.stood atop my anchorsand let heal my arch wounds.i am the sea and all thingsradiant.no mirror can contain meand no mind the same.look, my limbs havewandered this dry earth andsought out the weary dustand made lakes.i am the quench of all thingsdesperate.these days i pick myself upand plant broad fernsin my feet's absence.all of the earth blooms darlingbeneath me and through me.i am the wellspring of beautyexigent.
Tears and AshesYou don't need to lie,to make yourself interesting;Or gain some brand of..empathy..Sympathy created this way,is often devastating;Even if pain is commonly..relatable..Your character won't elevate;It'll only deplete..Unraveling faster,than every falsity,that waltzed you into..your next disaster..The lies become,the only consistent..factor..As you throw yourself,into the flames,you lose all the parts that..matter..And when the smoke clearsthe wreckage will be..irreparable..For everything you hoped,to embrace;Will be laid to waste..As everything you lovedabout your coveted lie has been..erased..You sit alone again;Tears and ashes,all you've claimed.
stay even-keel, even if it killsraptor, raptorraptures wrapped her head in with the rafters.echo bliss with depthuntil she's wrapped upin a bow-tie(d/own)uniform of sober tilting.somber livingand taping rhythmto the wriststhat duct veinslike streams of tape.this is naturaland animal. it's incrediblehow societal cultures can bein countering your feintsof disbelief.this beliefis that realityduct tapesyour echoes of blisswith depthof sober tiltinguniform of sober livingbecause bliss is addictive.and we need all folksdown (to earth)to make sure no oneis higher (than anyone else).
Heaps of horsesI wish I was less desperateto be different;I wish it was more differentto be desperate.
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