breaking up the space, nose so strong it rules my
decisions, that and rent. i’m not caught. you have words. one
two three measly thoughts, plot points, twists- and i never write them down.
the best novels stay in your heart. along w/ the rain.
i was once in the slitty slants of loose winter rafters, me
and the squirrels and clear plastic tarp. this was before
the dream i had twice of a green trailer with white stripes,
a glass menagerie of animals just beyond the small door as you go inside, near a bed. what was that? the place i’ll die? kept pent up
for so long i’ve no vocabulary but rage. needy animals groaning at me
and i think of our groans; the rage when strangers talk to me about complete bullshit, this judgy attitude of expectation
like i should listen to them when they’ve no idea where my ears have been, grinding off the hard side of life as a hobby until all the stories become a miasma of unsolved grief i feel i have to walk in. am i
good at plowing through shit? or am i good at jumping up on pool tables and
shakin what the good lord gave me? i got a constant joy in the background
but it still doesn’t help me sleep. i grind against the sensitivity,
the rugged attempt at calm behavior. affect regulation.
i appreciate the battle but when it’s fake it bleeds
ill health all over and that is when i push hard,
scuffling for my own vision. it’s usually me alone walking down some side street in a blank-city-afternoon surrounded by half-memories and fomo.
everyone’s battling inside. some i’ll help, some i’ll help sink the knife in.
the shit i do when no one’s looking saves me.
my diary entries when i was 16 are remarkably spot on now.
i’m still some collector of mind traps and comic books, i lay out 300
cards for a game but they’re all jokers, the fool
with no place in the sequence filled with potential energy.
yesterday i considered myself finally enlightened
because i was tired of not being. i twin myself with vegetation,
wrap myself in superposition and revel in it all feeling the same.
the agonal breaths plunder the laughter of children
and the distance there is universe wide. i warp around mossy rocks,
make myself small and create symbols that open my life
like a box falling flat. i want no surprises, no coy game. the truth
is harsh, but passionate. it’s the fight in me that just wants you to listen,
take notes, build the world anew from my vision but i dunno, maybe i’m crazy.

jk 4/22/16