brainspit (a song)

make yourself desirable;
drink until you're pliable;
no more being reliable;
now leave me be-- to rot, to sleep.

Prozac makes me flexible;
prosaic, boring, laughable.
grab my hair, my hand, and pull
me down into your mindful deep.

string me along;
sing me your song;
cut your mind's bond to Solipsism.

cater to me;
fall down on me;
tell me these thoughts are wrong, wrong, wrong.

dive in headlong;
tell me I'm wrong;
head and heart rent apart by schism.

Lament XX.XX.010

Will I ever make it to the age of Old;
and will I stay myself long enough
to measure with a wizened eye
the distances I've traveled ---

Time has not been unkind;
it has worn me down with grace.
Its strokes are soft and feathered,
I a mountain to the winged gull in flight.

Time has not been unfriendly;
it has come to know me well—
friend as old as the Hours themselves—
and I, a second too far gone.

Will I remember who I am, before
the sun remembers itself in flame ---

Will I ever make it to the age of Old?

Encounter 13.10.010

You mould inside my mind.

Your cries are heard on high;
severed head held aloft;
immolation is nigh.

Your grip is fierce—your voice, soft—
and I: beheld by your blazing eyes.
Pins of fire, pins of lies—
your heady words liquer to be quaff'd.

You tell me lies, you come from the skies;
truth is broken and all hope dies.
You feed me lies, you descend from the skies—
to take our children, our love, our lives.

in a place where there is no darkness

From White, through
static;
rain;
to your Door.

I could have lived forever,
naked and steaming—
fiery being—
in the October night air
in which we met;
fortuitous conjunct—under what God's
eyes, I cannot
[darenot]
say.

I can still smell your soap
on my hands—
and I know it will never happen again,
but it's nice to pretend.
It's nice to pretend.

Naught but friends,
you say.
Though we shared in warmth, so shall I remain.

Forever will the bitterness return;
forever must I be visited
by the angels fallen—Smirnouph, Kannabis, Solétude;
Nephilim deux, et
Seraphin who
smell of stars and vacuous static
and the nothingness we have found
betwixt our selves overswollen.

[I can feel the angels behind my eyes—]

Your eyes belie; my ears whisper trickeries.

[—Seraphim are falling.]

I have fallen,
I am fallen,
I have fallen,
I am fallen—

and I remember only somber grey;
transference of heat;
small deaths, and sleep.

And I know we will
[never]
meet again someday.