Monikers

Broken Arms
Tesorset
12 O'clock Patron
Mosse Knoll

You Can't See Me

The jasper swelled from where feathers sprung
to the size of gasping breathes took upon
ghosts cellophane telephoning my apartment
I swung free the door hinges
as to welcome in the poltergeists
but found myself so yellow I was orange
transparent as a spirit myself
a host hazel assumed neglected
the remnants reflection of fireworks
to the back side of floorboards and shelf
a nervous creaking sound a breeding ground
a mound crafted from the wood shavings
and kindling that once was my home
and viewing point for the singes singing strings
now only fuel for the hunger of my ghostly brethren
spark toothed and angling fervent
a mistake sewn too late
I was ripped apart by the memory of my torment

oh how I cried for a chance
for what I claimed a right to overstep the threshold
of my spaciously overpopulated inferno
from the inside to external mount abode collapsible
I denied the lie intent remappable
I'm just the fuck out for a 2/6
and a bottle of cream soda we can use as mix
I'ma cop from the neighbors house
so don't worry bout pitching
keep your flaming benjamins
for breakfast in the morning
'cause by then I'll be devoid
of all known dollars and cents
inhibitions and recompense
from this hangover moment
I'll wear my soul on the outside as a warning
I've learnt so much about where demons reside
not stone still they travel with the beautiful fates
in the misconstrued clockwork faces of omens
in the poetry I have yet to write to spite all things
postdated erased and only when I say so stolen

I'm only visible when I let you see me
though the sun glares off'a my ghostly teeth
in the poetics seething that's not me and a pen
breathing but dejavu off your 6 side sneaking
and those are the only glances you get for free
so take the time to appreciate the appreciation
I have for that though you can't see me
I could let you if I was feeling just as I appreciate
you could see me any way if you were needing

wheeling heated in case of metamorphosis
congregated longly a lone am I? dice less
gimmick free I no longer have anything to hide
try this on for size varies depending on what room
the back draftery apparitions beseech would I
lend my airy conscientious to any weaponry
or words deterred off might of the truth be heard
freedom of speech becomes secondary
when another conscious fire and teeth
subside drip into inside of all of me revived
so this is what it's like to exist without living
this is what they meant by an ocean of seedlings
taking appendages amending no real consensus
as to the dimensions or composition of my mindscape
as I've written before so I will scribble again
is there an emotive motive not biased towards
a hard lust whether all loving or brazen sore?
is there a poet inside me that is not a metaphor?
what becomes of my loneliness?
my solitude is done for
whatever ends that means
I assume the position of a
tremulant's waxed offering throat chord
waning / a sigh of relief
I am thankful for my potential for understanding
my opacity is not without heart scars
fluctuates my jaw phonetically
flash in the shown sun dark
picks me out a single fluttering orb
take me or leave me my solitude is done for
whatever ends that means waxing / waning
maybe never beginning or ever ending
a sigh of relief / whatever that means

my solitude is done for

2 bright stars / infinite new lungs

Those shaking tresses of hair.
A cumulus cloud of onyx hydra spirals
like a universe surrounding the goddess
brought into illumination by the glow of your face.
The breeding novas of your eyes
pull me into the silhouette of your gravity,
and I am crushed by an obliterating
high of the drug that you are.
Crushed by the weight of
the storm that you personify,
by the implosion of one star into another.
The encapsulating inversion of the
invention of vision we are manifested as.

As two vessels let go of time and space
they will let go of the atoms between one another.
As they let go of the very earth beneath them
2 bright stars explode, then vanish in a vapor.

The sound of laughter rips through
what would be called forever as I cannot tell
where I end or where you breathe in.
In the space of two hearts synchronized palpitations,
worlds are created as lungs vocalize, and limbs begin.

Don't Even Speak

and this dawn knows
war
don't know woe

but this dawn knows


and this dawn knows



cuz this dawn knows




that this dawn knows



.

Justice

HIS hisses like miscarriages
takes loving words like disses
mulled over like slumlords like marriages
like he don't know the difference
between backs of hands and kisses
less like mathematics
more like thugs hits in the crisp darkness
permissive like taking lover's swords
to teutonic submissives
fall to the floor in a manic steez
buckles and collars never electronic
but a brackish breath phonetically they breathe
to my arrestment not surprisingly
all things literal seem a lot like analogies / lately
as of late me like barracudas and pikes
the pope himself and the next door dyke
the swing and the hit / the miss
the feedback on the mic
the drift between shutting the hell up
and screaming something that at least scares myself
directly under the head of my lucky strike
like reaching for the thirteen
but only ever achieving the twelve
still I hope I found what I always wanted
my heart the hammer the hieroglyphs the level
the shelf like what with A-bomb impact
like morse code ripples like mischief magma
hot spots I've delved / the sulfur pools
still but non stagnant
like hotels neon signs full flicker but not vacant
like eyelids dome over empty space where the eyes lived
not a victim even as eyeless cries can I get a witness?
like treason like the convergence of seasons frees
every man woman and child can exist without grievance
like fried chicken pleases every milado / that's me
that's you / that shy cat slinkin out the back door
feelin' left out / perhaps lonely
but man should know you're never alone
wherever be one introvert there's two more
just around the bend beyond the corner
lookin' to bust out excrete their soul
share their sores and together we can all soar
hands are oars stroking the subversive like
the now reminds me of the when
the has been reminds me of the end
like I can become all things to all men
only then the like becomes the is
I'm learning to take the loving words
like what they are / as love
ain't no disses
like I don't need adjectives anymore
to describe what from love slid
what love said what love did
what love meant
like love / I just is.