volume

When did he stop roaring? And why. 

The way he opens up claws stream from his tongue and lift me onto a higher cloud. A fortress in the tone of
anthems and access. 

Give him back the way he holds up the universe with a rumble, throat tumble, vocal mumble, where did mine go?

If it gets too loud in this cafeteria we’ll hold up a sign and shackle closed your chords, and if you even let out a hiss of a whis

per, we’ll drag you outside the crowd to your own separate table. We’ll take your voice and your name and your squad and you’ll punch your own head repeatedly because we said “shame” and you didn’t 

know any better.

privilege

Sitting, pretty, on the edge of our aphelion,
eating unseen forces like curds and whey.
In goes a galaxy, rolling underneath my tongue,
shrieking and dissolving fast; a tasty display.
Wash it down celestially with pure electron water.
Knife into dark energy, a savory filet.
Suck deep on a sour eclipse and giggle at the stir,
dip candied kings in quasar oil,
you want this one?
I’ll trade.

After we’re full,
we contemplate beginnings and the end;
I’ll fold today like a receipt,
don’t need that in my head.

eve

I swallowed a bad wind;
fingernails in my
chalkboard throat.
Made me pale
and impatient;
lined my tongue with soap.
I struggled,
spewing filthy air,
and everywhere
I looked
there were canopies
of fallen trees
and sages burning
books.

seasons

I sing, whole,

and break out from the forest of my soul,

I walk, loud,

to frighten back the lions in the crowd,

I fly, sweet,

and chop the air with my unsubtle wings,

Are you awake?

To tow the line and walk upon the lake!

Have we never met before?

I’m sure I’ve seen your face.

In treasuries and candy stores;

in dismembered disgrace.

Let us run and find your heart,

to keep it focused on the dawn,

until the day you turn around,

and find that I am gone.

You’ll sing on!

You’ll see that this was meant to be our song.

You’ll walk free!

And slake the lusts you find between your teeth.

You’ll keep flying!

Though my body lies in dust beneath the swings,

I will come to you and sing,

I will come to you

without ever dying.

Are you asleep?

Cradled still within the earth, we nestle deep.

fever

I crossed a mad sea,

in an infinite wait,

to kiss your hot forehead,

and fatigue the Fates.

 

Screams and agonizing

fade into a sheen;

I struggle to cipher

what life and death mean.

The Daffodil and the Breeze

Said the Daffodil

to the Breeze,

“Pick my petals off like plums,

strip and peel

my stem with zeal;

uproot me,

boot me toward the sun.”

Said the breeze,

“My darling Daffodil,

I’d rather treat you fondly,

with caresses,

and the scent of fresh birds’ nests

to greet you warmly.”

“Are you meaning,”

she, the flower, replied,

“I’m only what I’m wearing?

That these fragile bones,

edible,

leave me worthless in the tearing?

Is there nothing left of me

when once you’ve plundered all my innards?

Am I wasted, am I useless in a use

that’s not aesthetics?”

“Daffodil,” replied he, warily,

“You certainly are pretty,

but of course, you know,

I also find your wit to be quite witty,

and the tales you tell are well-worth spells

of sitting, quiet, listening,

and the thoughts you think remind me

of the thoughts I’m used to thinking,

so of course there is much more to you,

but still,

what would remain,

if I rendered you dismembered?

Would your thoughts still be made plain,

if I gathered you from earth

and flung you, dripping, toward the heavens?

If I ripped and tore and weathered you,

and flung and cut and severed?

Darling,

sit quite still and sing for us,

and we’ll all be enamoured.

Stay tight in your place

and my embrace will block

thoughtless endeavors.”

But she wailed,

“How can I stay?

How can I simply be a marker,

for the ones who tread over these hills

to know they’re halfway farther?

I wish for more!

I wish to fly!

To see what comes hereafter!

In the great unknown,

where might my soul end up,

once I am slaughtered?

See, I’ve seen what can be done in this,

my current tethered state,

please undo me,

slice and ruin me,

now, toss me toward the gate!”

“Nay, I musn’t!”

said the breeze with many a

sad and wheezy bluster,

“Nay, I shan’t!”

he spun around the Daffodil

in all his fluster,

“Nay, nay, never!”

and he broke his path

and raced up toward the treetops,

til the sight of her alarmed him

and he retraced all his first steps,

and he roared toward the hillside,

but then back down to the orchard,

and he skimmed the foamy stream

and doubled back into

the barnyard.

“See, I’ve angered him!”

the Daffodil sat,

leaves folded up contently,

out in front of her as, wretched,

he continued,

and presently

blew too hard upon the very hill

where Daffodil was molded,

and she sighed as all her parts

became unraveled and unfolded,

and she gasped as she escaped the soil

and leaves and petals vanished,

and her stem was split right down the front

and landed near a radish,

(which turned,

and looking down its nose, said,

“Now you will be garnish.”)

“Oh, oh!” cried the breeze,

“Oh no!” for he

had turned into a wind,

and rustling in all the branches,

the birds’ nagging did commence,

and scratching over all the grasses,

fastening skirts onto legs,

he flurried noisily through courtyards,

ruffling and sweeping,

begged,

“Oh, Daffodil!

You made me kill you,

and you turned my pace much faster,

you are ruined, I am ruined,

you creator of disaster!

Why didn’t I mind my business!

Why didn’t I drift away?

Now I’m on a path to

purchase wrath,

as soon’s I hit the sea!

Daffodil,

you wicked flower!

Was this planned and where’ve you gone?”

And he wandered thus forever,

til forever ended,

gone.