Center the Monstrous

 

What gets raped out of the body? What does the body forget in neglect? What is disappeared under the weight of every day annihilation?  What is lost in translation when we are never told the truth. Can beauty ever be enough. Can the belief in love ever be enough. What fills up the smallest cup we call our heart space. This is a photograph of a drowning, the space of this one drop can be filled with enough neutrinos to kill a person. It is in the smallest measures that we are risking every day. The algorithm of consuming to extinction is hard wired into you at birth. Is there a difference between touching your tongue to the burning flame and me telling you: The world is on fire. 

what we see is the poem orbiting/ the poet radiates/ a type of internal combustion/ seek it in a different 'light'/ infrared, global and music/ what is an invisible word/ between spectrum / if some of us had survived/ now all of this would be different/ like misplacing all of the umbrellas/ so you have to feel the weight/ of water on your skin/ the way you know you are alive/ or don't

the representation of a wish is the representation of its realization

 

what is spell bound in language

 

what an effigy for desire in the word. to say petal.to say bloom. to say flowered. we trade in the etymology of a softness and a vulnerable that hand to hand asks of us to fantasy how hard it is to exist here. magic was never about manifesting dreams as much as shaping the programs that hold you under this illusion that we could be handed the smallest pieces of the puzzle and still solve for whole.

 

 i have been warning anyone who will listen, to come upon collectively this never remembered space in the time line must surely believe we have never made it this far before.

 

but perhaps you recall the sound of my voice.

 

even now, you could sound out my name on your tongue and that might be the length of existence.