Words used to hit me like Morse code across a hot wire, used to run through my mind like a ticker-tape of lyrical image juxtaposed against a violent sky of napalm burn. Now I sit down with these insipid glass bones and paper heart that only speak when I set them on fire with damp matches.
I drag my bloated feet down familiar streets singing uncomfortable lullabies about babies in trees that fall, giants that consume snappy bones and bowls full of the effluvium of human desire. Neighbors laugh uncomfortably as I shuffle past them with my bruise-y pall. I make things worse throwing my head back in laughter like a mad hungry hyena, whites of my eyes brushing their hackles with Christ-thorns.
I will devour you like tough sponge-cake. I will eat every rough crumb until you’re lost inside my labyrinth of sick organs. Only way out is to become a flood of words rupturing my spleen in the early hours when my teeth are soaking next to the bed and my dreams are wandering dangerously close to truth.
Let. Me. Bleed.
I dream the reflection of your God. He is priceless fodder for reinvention. She is the moon of all bones. He is the water to your glass. She is the substance of your sight. He is the rot to your body. She is he is he is she.
The she and the he is everything together. Separately each are nothing.
Between the She and the He are a thousand beautiful permutations of creation.
We are everyone.