back without vengeance to solitary being
i am rediscovering syncopation and fe e li ng myself out
finding myself to be the owner of some things
to have metaphysical assets
and the like
i am on the verge of something that has shrunk since i was here last
finding it to be a home of sorts
finding it to be somewhat critical of me
all steps are missteps with that attitude
if i find out that all along, this right justification was ill-formatted?
well, i don't see how i could

i didn't desaturate anything!
here in this constructed fervor i tremble
but not as a symptom
i and machine, e
not a trick not a system not its own
own edifice
how else to explain how i welcome any ennui
annie
these are much more devious than red herrings i am
much more conspicuous
are they
much more sinister?
there is something beautiful about the way i write
there is something broken about the way i write and these
are separate truths, this i know
thoughts are only -congested- into this brain of mine -projected- onto this webspace of theirs
i am a movie to myself in times of high narcissism
that is something to stomach
(i turn around at every truth)
(i corkscrew down the page)
there was a flower - how many thoughts does it take
what is this difference in probability in the collision of volleyballs, tennis balls, and atoms
and what is the significance of the order in which i considered them
it is a very small sandbox
i am sifting through my own canon
next time i unilaterally
deny, solipsism?
it is your duty to incriminate me
and lynch this reprobate from the past

this is cubism and you may not even know
what does time tether to and by what means
you tether to me like fishing line

of all the relationships to examine, this
peer review, beholden to your own ideals
asked and answered and reasked (process)

code comprised of so much more and so much less, at once
than vocal patterns, mood

this is an abstraction in an attempt to relate to you and i am getting

f u  r   t    h    e     r      away
communication as a gradient, there is something
something to, yes
i want to die a martyr for my individual cause, how else
rhythm writing like kodak black dancing
that blew up
rhythm writing like jackson pollack there              is no texture to this, this
it's possible to trail off in everything you do - my favorite? on the pollard's lawn
now i see one of the errors of my ways
what will this come to

haters will say it's fake
but you must resist!
here inside this irony-lacquered hubris there is no greater deed
i won't allow you the notion that there is anything you can do to fail me

totality of introspection

this is an after the fact menthol
you don't have to understand it now
from what i can discern i am the image of serenity
but for a second; passion can work that way
i met someone who will not be spit upon
and i always want to call her by a different name
is it you?

i've been impressed by the range of the wifi signal at the ymca
i've been impressed into this tiny footprint of myself that's shallower still
in the way i'm unable to maintain the sense of indebtedness that i so greatly deserve
i cannot perform an inventory of the things i have in order to tell you exactly what i deserve
i cannot
even more perfunctory functions i cannot perform

my mind was scrambled the other month
that doesn't explain it all, but i'd like to try again
if you won't allow the idea that i really have remade myself
to permeate our conversation, our relationships
then i'll take it to the hole

bobby flay in big letters
is fish your card?
i will know the future when it gets hear
chastise me! the horizon lines of your cheekbones are
not to be forgotten

i've been wasting my days in color palettes that don't deserve me i've
been wasting my color palettes i don't
know if there's anything else to be said for this artform

vandross

i can show you the exact moment in time norvisjr opened me up
the timestamp is always a diagram, crudely
do you think you could do the same?
i want to be earnest i want to be helpful i want to be a rock i want i want
i want a lot from you, too
what i need is to
keep my patience
keep this moment, with the rest
because i am making copies of this life in every second
what you see are the eyes of a fly

this gestalt is wound so tightly that its
fingers
are turning blue
and threatening to drop to the floor with a whimper
where do they go from here? they are a part of me
and if i leave them here in this book i risk
exposing them, and forgetting them, at once
one of these can be validated

suitability

lately i've been relineated

you turned me around and put me in order (it was so easy for you)

but i had been looking at the ground so long that i don't recognize what i see

i don't know where to face

i know where you want me to face and it is a surprising comfort to acquiesce

when that comfort ceases to alarm me we will have a real problem but my real problem now

is that i have lost my way in favor of yours

for now i am face down on the ground with a stupid grin on my face

the gestalt is gone (for shame)

my edifice of economy is crumbling

with me inside and i don't want to leave

don't call masochism so soon

my reality was one that i made; it was real

now my reality is one that i share - it is irrefutable

my mind wanders then to the garden of earthly delights

to consider the difference between our own

i said i would never put text on my body, well

my garden is forest of those words anyway

you lost your use for eyes long ago

you lost your use for necessity, probably recently

why do you have use for this?

for me?

i can't make you answer that

i will keep all of these neuroses and faults from you and not out of secrecy

lately i was flying high on my spirit, my joie de vivre,

that i built out of the placenta of my rebirth

no, i must know your past before

i go here, shamelessly

you do so effortlessly and prove to me how

i have mistaken my identity

so i am reformed 

i am reformed from a villain, a criminal

hazardous

i don't have anything to hide but i wasn't ready to know that i'd encrypt it like this anyway

before, there was a mention of partition

to do something with the 90% of abandoned pink matter

it's your fault that i don't say grey matter anymore and these are all small differences

and i have made a lot of changes on my own

and i don't really believe that you'll be around forever

and i have to reconcile so much of what i don't believe about your spirit

and i can't change it but i have to try

and that is flaw, not simple fault

all of this gives me purpose but you sap my drive and i am apprehensive to receive your lesson

all this time i had been cleansing myself to be worthy 

of the divine, but i was never going to be worthy

that's not the point, i wanted to be worthy of its company

now i have yours and i am shook, you would say galvanized and i am confused

where do you derive this humility from, anyway?

i suppose i should consider your praise honestly

i didn't let you lecture - make you lecture - on pandora

how you could choose something so intriguing without bearing your psychology to me

that is the microcosm

if i am the box, (and you are most certainly pandora) i can't imagine what you are expecting

you know nothing of my reformation, and even prior,

i was but a malady, a pest

it wasn't filled with flies

did the fly bother you? did you laugh? i can't recall and

i realize there was an answer of sorts in that

you give away truths totally at random

you emit them as you do your body art

i have been grilling you and you are cooking just as you please

to my continued curiosity

what matters is this

you provide me so generously with wonder from your never ending supply

and i am grateful for that

and i want to see if you really see something in me

so i don't hang on too long

all of this is why i listen so intently
to let you teach me who i am

i feel in control in your absence
that is, the best attempt i can muster, at speaking to your presence
it isn't that i enjoy being a headless chicken
simply that i'm not very good at it
i mean, think about it

at least electrons have somewhere to go when they are excited
either I am meta stable
or there will be some lightshow when this resolves itself

there is something to the sensation of drifting towards becoming applied theory
that gives me guilt
that places it into my palm
i didn't know i would have to be
responsible for this

Egon Schiele had surprisingly few thoughts on the female form
or communicated them rather sparingly
I have even fewer
but want so desperately to commit them to medium
why

there is something to the idea of
insecure robots
or artificial intelligence
is acting robotic the null or the totality of narcissism?
this i must know before i report any more

listen:
i believe in your humanity, steadfastly
it is very convenient for me to leave any notions of
the rather cynical alternative
out of the question

this is becoming a repository for my future work
a place where i can put the real pithy stuff
the stuff i hate
it strikes me that this pivot strips this place of any beauty it once had
but at the same time, i never had any right to that beauty

read this like a child learning to skip

trees whistle in the middle of a forest fire
because they get bored
the heat has forced sound out of me
and cooked skin and meat
what does that make me
exotic
most of all i struggle with the lungs
i've got teeth made of graphite, mind you
what does that make the rest of me
something as gentle as the breeze, and a millenium could whittle me away
can the same be said of trees? they sing
my favorite song
a tree's favorite song
is maybe
the trickle of water through the pine needles

does that ever make me sick to my stomach
i want to wear dresses but don't like any of them
all the sewers hiss at me
i think it must be my silhouette
my silhouette is different to my shadow
i can't control my shadow but it is trapped to me
waxing and waning like everything else
when it is directly below me it is noon, and i am sheepish
for i am cold still, and have to think of my next meal
there is little time for romance in this preoccupied mind
at least not at noon, when the ground around my feet lay naked
by dinner i am chasing down every girl on the sidewalk to flirt
and my shadow is looking up her dress
i am giggling
i am retreating; i'm 21 but i feel 17 in some ways and for this i feel proud
i have come a long way since i was 17 years old and felt as mature as a dead man
how many times over have i been born since those days
since that day in winter when i reinvested in myself
every flower you grow is beautiful
now i give life to butterflies
i give thought to things
there is still this narcissism
but only two exist now: the I and the World