Perpetual Rise

The perpetual

rise in which I

sleep takes me to

dreams of

singing clocks.

I bellow with

them, proud of

myself for the

slumber where I’m


the pain.

I no longer

feed the

pang which

whittles my

brain; I

feast on the

numbers that

have lead me to

thirty-three years of

perseverance and pride.

I imbibe the

sun, let the

warmth thaw the

winter of illness.

It always

returns but

I’ll be

prepared every time.

Everything will

be okay.

Mantras blur my

kindling soul.

Falling Pigs

The pigs fall from

the sky.

Our guns billow smoke.

We almost

had it all but

we hate

ourselves and

one another.

The streets fill with

the rot of what

could have been. 

We drink from

our bleeding

gums and

wonder “why?” when

only the

mud puddles tell

the truth: we

are abhorrent.

It’s Over

“It’s over!” you

told me more

times than we kissed.

The sun outside my

window turned into

an ellipsis.

“I can fix this!” I pleaded.

You either

laughed or cried.

I could never

tell the difference.

Maybe that’s why

the universe is

saying goodbye.

I was sinking too

far into

the fissures in

my eyes to

notice the wilting

flowers in yours.

Is it too

late to apologize?

I only see your outline.

Not even a

utopia could

bring you back.

The Capybara And The Python

Today I

choose to feed the

capybara, not

the python.

Highways from

everywhere lead to my

laughing mouth.

I am

densely populated with

the things I

hold dear.

The streetlights in my

eyes will

lead me to sanctuary.

I sleep in the

warmth of

illuminated rain.

I have it


except the

loathing I tossed from

the bridge over Youth.

It was a

bittersweet goodbye but

I am

refreshed and

powerful as the

clocks against which

I fight.

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