medicine tree

cross eternity

with me

maybe not

maybe hide

behind my medicine

tree

behind pills

and pulls

and puffs

and that’s

where you belong

on that faraway

land

isolated

raging desire

waiting

catatonically

still,

me in

bones

 

 

 

still i cannot

make my mind

up,

will you

be my personal

turpentine?

that’s to decide

until you

show up at

the pit of my stomach

familiar,

hunger

 

 

dear

medicine tree,

 

 

i’m sorry

if i’m not,

chewing

swallowing

chewing

and if i am,

either way,

i’m scared,

but i’m

not

and i

want to

see your

skin tight

dry crusting

lips bugging

begging

but i do

and i don’t,

and i don’t know

whether to swallow

your pill,

or not,

or swallow it,

then spit it out

 

 

so if i have

this masochistic desire that

underwires the

fire between

my brows

forgive me if

i like to deprive

in order

to strive

so slowly,

slowly i’ll

hide a few snicks

and snacks

here and there

and i’ll stop

gulping that last

spoonful

i’ll stop sitting

i’ll stop breathing

i’ll stop expanding

or contracting

 

 

sit under

my medicine tree

i’ll pass you a pill

i won’t ask you to

pick between

blue or red

because i won’t

be the pill

but the space

between them

resting along

your ribs

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math class

sleepy

droopy

heads like

dying daisies,

petals of hair

on the brink,

falling off the edge

of eyelids

 

 

yawns that

could gulp down

the world

in one contagious

outrageous

inhale

(and that just made

me yawn)

 

 

rubbing and

scrubbing eyes

stretching arms out

of hibernation

 

 

dull frustration

 

 

beating softly against

temples

squeaking with

sleep

deprivation

 

 

all waiting for

one big

revelation

the zenith of a

rollercoaster,

the pop of a

cork

 

 

but

it drones

on and

time drags on

stretching our

neurons

thin

 

 

we’re nothing

but mathematical

ghosts

agent of selection

“experimentally

assessing

the need

of such agent”

 

 

agent of

selection,

the hands pulling

your strings

you realise,

you have no spine

no skyline

nothing divine

just sloppy

soppy

floppy

veins bending

(regulated)

blood flow

 

 

 

agent of

selection,

you were never

the one

in control

run back

before the patrol,

make sure to

disintegrate your

soul

 

 

agent

of selection,

and so “the organisms

that are better suited to their

environment

survive

 

 

the pressure”

 

 

pressures that

squeeze you into

a drop of oil:

pull, tug and

grind you up into

a canned shaped

compressed

version of meat,

not anymore

you.

they’ll put a

label on this

can:

not your name

but your

dolla

dolla

bill

worth

 

 

 

agent

of selection,

only the

most suited

survive

so open your mouth

and give them numbers

upon numbers

of only the highest percentile

promised of

how you’re

“flexible”

“adaptable”

“always ready to

learn”

 

 

3 words

to describe

yourself,

tell me about

your biggest

challenge

prove

prove

prove

you’re worth survival

in this maze

of green paper

 

 

“selective agent

picking

the

better

suited

for the environment”

 

 

between

two tectonic plates

small organism,

will you survive?

 

 

between

polished shoes and

ticking time bombs,

small organism,

will you survive?

 

 

will you survive?

will you survive?

will you survive?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

capsize

I can’t muster up,

roll up,

a compendium of courage

just enough

to balance onto this string,

so i’m always on

tiptoes,

either grappling for gravity

or

floating (so high I can’t feel my fingers)

 

 

teach me these few

things, how not to:

clip fingernails to

split knives, then try to trace my face

or smash teacups

because the house has

ceased to whisper (i can’t stand silence)

or scorch the tips of pencils

when words stay hanging below my throat,

limply,

refusing to move any

farther onto paper

 

 

sometimes,

if my mind eases on the accelerator,

i’ll make sure to

stand under a storm

and hope for lightning

i’ll have my hands full of

plasma coalesced into electricity

(so blue it could burn your eyes)

at least there’s this

effervescence,

that I can dissect,

squint into,

pick and fiddle with

like an old toy

made out of unknown

mechanisms

watch me

step onto that minefield covered

mind of mine

ready to explode

with just an exhale

in the right direction

 

 

my life is a time bomb

and i’m running away from

the silence between each tick

tick

tick.

from feeling like

an empty hotel room with

undone beds.

don’t leave me vacant,

 

 

 

I’d rather capsize a boat

than have it afloat

 

Dragon’s breath//inspiration

crimson

vehement

red

passion feels

like a dragon’s exhale

on your skin

and

when it hits

in parallel lines

below your brows

you light up like a match

and burn

burn

burn

 

 

and that’s when the mystical

starts

hands take control

neurons breaking

synapses connecting

clicking

collapsing

electrical inspiration

whether it be

with a pen

or brush

or C majors

you tailor

your own little

reality

incapsulated

with your essence

a fountain fuelled

by the immeasurable

past future,

space time

the giant climb

before you

 

 

this newborn

baby

born into

creation

born out of your

hands,

born along

the arborescent

wrinkles

ridges of your fingertips

and time

 

 

look closer and

you’ll mirror

reflections

of yourself

staring

back

evening waves

Evening waves,

tell the most beautiful of tales.

 

Electronic

grid-like fluctuations,

jittering trepidation:

 

waves,

 

lulling

each other out of and back to

incandescent

sleep.

 

Murky mercury

hiding under slick

silver.

These

glowing

pre-pubescent hills,

too scared to expand,

hence, retract,

push back.

 

Suddenly with a playful,

almost knowing

glint,

they change their mind,

and roll forwards,

loll their head back,

with hair that

sprinkles baritone

hums

down the ocean’s spine.

 

Hums of

an unrecognizable

tale;

just like the tide,

it spirals out of its

shell as rapidly as it

scurries back

behind a

wave’s swish

of a gown,

hiding their blooming

flourishing

cheeks:

 

ready to exhale

salty relief.

 

And if the tide

subsides

and if

the waves

turn sleepy,

eyelids folding over the shore

with what seems

like

infinite

patience,

 

then, humans lean

over. Look closer,

and in this miracle,

they see

featherlight depictions

of who they dream

to be:

sensual figures

skate alongside

waves,

ever morphing

ever merging,

becoming one.

 

For that second,

life seems a bit more

mystical.

aluminum plates/airplane ride

It feels so raw,

skin burns on every surface I

press onto.

I’m slicing myself up

to fit into the small seat

compartment

where both handles by

my side are magnets

pulling towards each other

 

the plane aches too.

like my mind,

it swindles,

wobbles,

trembles for a split

second.

before allowing a moment

of catatonic stillness

 

stillness that’s ready to

pounce

my thoughts

ready to bounce

off any

surface, just waiting

for the night light

to shine orange,

or the unlatching

of a seatbelt.

 

anything to grasp on to

hungrily, and

claim it

for its own,

interlaced with

the past,

and

maybe something

stranger.

 

i’ll sit back and allow

it all to

linger