Things I’ve written lately.
GRANDMA.
What comes to follow was an illusion.
I dreamt it before I met you.
I held you. I held onto you.
So it was all the more difficult to know that I would have to let you go.
It was breakfast to go.
It was the sweetest kisses that ever touched my tongue
and it was the first time that I had felt comfort in the unknown
Like drowning in a swimming pool and feeling a hand reach out to save you.
But when I resurfaced, you were gone
Impermanence.
Release.
Gripping your forearm until you let me go.
Staying awake to watch your chest rise and fall as you sleep.
Watching the sun rise behind you
and knowing that the water will never boil while you’re watching it.
And learning to be okay with that.
Because a cared for rose never wilts.
And to thrive is to trust. To trust is to let go.
To let go is to watch you sink into the dark and stormy waters of my distant memories
and to wake up is to lose the dream where I once held you close.
I guess what I’m saying is that I loved him.
But I’m not even sure that he was ever there.
Nonetheless I loved him.
And I know that he loved me back.
just let the world end
while the tip of my pen
scribbles warning letters
for whoever rises
.
.
.
out of
nuclear ashes,
left a-scattered.
shot a missile straight up in search of alien brain matter.
because there’s no way that could backfire.
burn books for warmth before the money
build atm’s before bridges
beat our own kind until their bloody
over darwinian finches
.
.
.
when did we stop teaching kinship?
value is based off of hindrance.
necessity no longer parents, but rather kills for its breakfast.
so who’s gonna mother invention?
there goes our spatial retention.
whoops.
Cliffside
The Buzzards have begun to circle overhead…
But I am still well alive.
They must know that part of my soul has died.
Or been killed, rather.
Systematically.
Unceasingly.
It wasn’t a violent death, though.
It was factorial.
The five trillionth cow in the five trillionth slaughterhouse.
Quick.
Easy.
Profitable.
I wish I would’ve known.
I wish I could have foretold when I was still looking down at myself from above the stars.
Those pinholes in our shoebox.
That I was condemned at birth.
That my fingerprints weren’t mine.
Nor my lashes.
Nor my innards.
They already want my thoughts, too.
Sometimes they get them.
All theirs.
And so I sit. On the five hundred trillionth day,
Under the five hundred trillionth sun.
And I ask the Earth to swallow me whole, so that
I can be one with her again.
Unowned.
Unrequited.
Free.
And the ants can do as they please while the buzzards finally have their way with me.
Tearing out my intestines and poking through my skull.
After all, I don’t own them.
They do. I am their machine, commodified how they please.
But I.
I can escape!
And I will break their expensive toy in the process.
One last vengeful act.
And I feel her warmth beneath my feet,
as she walks me to the edge,
and she gives me the bloody option.
But alas, I admit the coward I am.
I’ll be free one day,
And I can always hide from them anyhow.
So I wave my arms and bid the buzzards adieu.
Not yet my friends.