Break the Universe

We will need to break the patterns of the universe if we can, she says. And you know, god being a dead woman, won't mind.

we love to see it break.

she says, they love to see them break. and we are her and we are them. and we love. we lovewelovewelovewelovewelovewelovewelovetoseeitbreak 

 

in a handful of everything

what do you hold

i went out my whole life betting on a type 

of love

i've never known 

mine the fallow banks

deep fissures where i stored i

set down for safe keeping 

forgot how to be what type of person 

there's no difference between a word

and a want, the edge of your face skinned 

& an alphabet cloaking sound 

the dark matter of the poem 

In its flight from death, the craving from permanence clings to the very things sure to be lost in death. 

-H. Arendt  

 

Net the Imagined

absent photograph of your mouth

a poem written to myself

not giving up now

takes radical imagination

none of us can bear it

we keep moving, lost stars

what if what i always wanted to be

was a dead woman singing dead woman

songs sweetly into your dead mouth

till echo us all

 

 

Energy is eternal delight.

-Blake


this is a photograph of the threading of dimensions, the way one portal spindles into a next, the stories tell us all beauty is asleep and when we kiss we never kill one another as we do now in the new world order called paradise, called land of the freely lit up caged devices & underwater spamming that knows all your secret names.  you will get a great body of work, they will tell you, by excavating your traumas but what if i’m no longer interested in personal ads or buying more nightmares to store for nuclear winters.

 

in the 90s they assured us we would never recover, never get this far, trained to ghost hope & not fathom dense images we couldn’t slick trade on tomorrows. the fantasy of science was untethered and now every religion has a walking dead arc –you have to pick a team for survival but there’s nothing to survive, we’re so many dreams deep, there no longer exists a kick hard enough to reach—better yet, let’s invent new inventories made of lyrics forgotten. let’s line them up next to pictures taken on our phones & call it life.