in my head, you were flowering
inside a developing sepulcher
multi-faces in its bricks
we’d cut through creators
you were a pretty thing,
halo hovering like a future
oh, priestess of my dreams
could you be my savior?
deep in the catacombs
we’d made love like a prayer
each a vision of apocolypse
we’d always known one another
you, my dear, Shevirat
can you piece me together?
hold this light inside of my chest
and keep it there forever.
distinct sound from a distance
I heard your steps, roaring
like thunder from a cloud
from a god that is mourning.
What have you done to me?
my eyes can’t stop staring
oh, what a wondrous sight to see
when you rise from the falling.

Wild one, you’re from somewhere else
I can hear it in your laughing
brimming of infinite outcomes
denying the hands of destiny
come here, cut these strings with me
and let us tie them together
all the gears in the wood floor
in the vortex of a cold winter.
Oh, Chrone of all my questions
could you give me two answers?
why do I dream in lifetimes?
Why can’t I see in “forever”?
Is there a cure to the darkness
a vision that can hinder
all these infested corners
cultivating a darker future
In my brain you were timeless
like the painting of a lover
by the loss of all memory
clinging to them tighter
a fear that still walks with me
some shadow-like creature
the dark hand that dwells in me
and a light that I treasure

In my head, you were beautiful
like some esoteric river
where I wash these hands clean
where I can finally remember
the circles that had lead me here
the secret hymm to the shelter
how your soul was a fountain
and and your eyes were the summer.

Elephants With Hats

Honestly, though, you could tell me that everyone I have ever known was robot and I would believe it. It’s funny, how intensely terrifying this all is, how all of these dreams have begun to manifest themselves, every-little-fucking-thing distorted. It’s like a circus, with elephants, elephants with hats, dancing, swaying, back and forth, to and fro, red hats, green hats, yellow hats, hats with twirls. hats with little smiley faces on them, hats with eloquent quotes in chicken scratch, fucking elephants. Mr. Mansman tells me that I am insane, that these things will only be getting worse, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck. Who and what gives him the right? To stand all high and mighty, to preach to me. For a second I felt like I loved him, I really did. I wanted to touch him, to lay his hands on the back of my neck, to give me chills, all those chills, like a million of little caterpillars crawling all along your skin, burrowing there way into your bloodstream, then poking and prodding all that bullshit into your heart. They say my mind is leaving me. They sometimes say that it is already gone. They say that one day this archive in my head will disappear and I will no longer continue to dream, no longer continue to stare at elephants, elephants with hats, and chicken scratch. Did I ever tell you about that dream, the one where I was trapped in a cathedral? Where Satan, in a titan-esque form, hovered above, long tongue slithering, black eyes, gashes across his face, looked me into my soul and told me he loved me. Do you remember that dream? I’m sure I spoke to you about it? No?  Well, it happened again, this time it wasn’t just his tongue that was long and slithering. Ya know, I like you. I really do. There is something about you. You are a nice fellow. You listen to me, let me speak my insanity, and you are not afraid. Not afraid of what hides in your dreams, or in the dark, not afraid of what lurks in and out of your subconscious. 

you come to me next to a flowing stream

the alcohol seeps slowly in my dreams

and you are there, sitting still

tossing rocks against the chill


Suppose we never met

suppose everything we knew we could forget

and awake to someone new

another lifetimes, another you


to be brave

never said such thing

I’m just afraid

of all the impossibility


Now I’m out in the rain

to imagine the development of such pain

to feel it inside of your bones

breathless nights, no going back home


and accept the dark for what it is

keep the light bending in your head

to make it all seem less real

what is it, man? How does it feel?


To be ashamed

to wear it like a ring

to be afraid

of the things they might think


for all that I want to give

there is something I can’t relinquish

like pouch of gold

or some prophetic stone

it’s just the desire in me

that seems limitless

and I can’t refrain

from being the things I hate


so just accept my soul, please

I will lay it at your feet

tell me where to move I’ll move

tell me who to be I’ll be


I’ll do anything

your pain is ancient
all the dreams you held inside
history will be a guide
and you will know
to the pyramids, to old rome
how miniscule we are to the unknown
in scale, we barely show
and i love you more than you know
signs of life
longing eyes
space inbetween our rise
in the fading past
of a future that will die
in the spirit that just sits
to all the crazed, stoner phycics
in premonitions of a mother
that will find
that the gift of the foresight
isn’t something she would like.

the children beneath our skin
to billion of baby atoms
to every strand of grass
and the insects that lie among them
To our DNA encoded blood
that pumps my heart with love
for every line on yer face
that I dream of.
to depart, and to accept
move on and recollect
all the bubble dreams
and acid in your spine
pastel colored wish
tzimtzum that left your lips
in the hallelujah
that you struck from mine
isn’t it strange
that this empty space
could be filled with such light.

And to be at peace
and one with everything
it can leave quickly
it can leave quickly
it can leave so quickly

To stop and then persist
to the ones you can’t forget
all the moments and dreams
contracted inside of time
to believe you are the one
stand underneath the sun
praise the present
for every second you’re alive

Isn’t it strange?

What failed miracle brought you to me?

I once dreamt that you were suspended in the sky
christ-like, trapeze swinger, arms outstreched
some shimmer glistening off the back of your neck
it tore me down, left me inebriated in holy glory
and that’s when you and I pulled through the fire
left our skin torn, red, bare to hear each ring
dressed only in ragged cloth and bee stings
I suckled at the thought of our deconstruction
hoping to see the atoms burst and reconvene
each cell masterfully regenerating and swelling
to finally witness the elegance of our existence
I had to leave you, I had to stop breathing for two
you see, yall, I’ve been trying to witness a miracle
drifting into some shallow part of my brain
begging for the air to ignite some truth in my lungs
so maybe I won’t fumbling over my past so much.
tiny gods in a tiny world, do you know who you are?

There are times when I stare into my reflection, dead on
dreaming of the Fauna of Mirrors,
hoping for this shadow to come and lay me out
for all the wasted time and bullshit I’ve been living on
I use to wish to be god when I was younger
unti I realized how hard it was to forgive myself

And I remember when we first met
so nervous, I tried talking but nothing
how these buildings hung over your halo
hiding in the sun-spots and shadows
you presence rang out like a secret humm
listening closely, I could feel the answer
all that awkwardness swelling up inside
your soul drenched, blood-soaked and emmaciated
healing is a lost word that you can’t hear
the syllables won’t be able to bring you back
and I won’t lie to you,
everything is as bad as you think it is.
but I need you to know,
that these track marks on your arm
won’t bring a train to lead you home
that your bent breaths and well wishes
are words, and I love them but
I need to see some action
I want to see your redemption
I want to hear it rise like trumpets
I want to hear it rise like a winded stomach
I want to hear it rise like a swell of wave
I want to hear it rise like change
I want to hear it rise like a splitting of an atom
I want to hear it rise

I long for a difference
to brace time as a concept
to feel the paradigm
each click, in and out

when I look at you
you hate yourself
some beauty
feels like a curse

no judgement
c c c c c c c c
there is nothing
and only nothing

listen, closely
the river is loud
so, so, so loud
don’t tune it out

everything is
and so on
and so forth

for you and only you

you said you felt afraid, crying, cuddled up in a rainstorm, you were some thunderclap. your rumbling came in swift, heard you from a distance, staring at these heavy clouds. honestly, what could you have made of yourself? when you were a cumulus, you hung over my head like a god. told me stories of futures, not yet soggy. curled over time, developed pieces of water. I want you to rain over me, I want you to soak me in your existence. I want marvel at the feet of your time, quickly growing and pouring. let the hail fuck me in the head, and make me remember what you think you once were, but still are, you pure, complete soul. always pushing forward, always looking for whats next. coming up from the bottom, from the narrow dream of heart. show me what it is to exist, show me what it is to fade, show me what it is to forget a name. I just want to you hold you in my arms, to brave your new storms, but that is impossible, for your existence is too vast.

Make for yourself a world you can believe in. It sounds simple, I know. But it’s not. Listen, there are a million worlds you could make for yourself. Everyone you know has a completely different one — the woman in 5G, that cab driver over there, you. Sure, there are overlaps, but only in the details. Some people make their worlds around what they think reality is like. They convince themselves that they had nothing to do with their worlds’ creations & continuations. Some make their worlds without knowing it. Their universes are just sesame seeds & three-day weekends & dial tones & skinned knees & physics & driftwood & emerald earrings & books dropped in bathtubs & holes in guitars & plastic & empathy & hardwood & heavy water & high black stockings & the history of the Vikings & brass & obsolescence & burnt hair & collapsed soufflés & the impossibility of not falling in love in an art museum with the person standing next to you looking at the same painting & all the other things that just happen & are. But you want to make for yourself a world that is deliberately & meticulously personalized. A theater for your life, if I could put it like that. Don’t live an accident. Don’t call a knife a knife. Live a life that has never been lived before, in which everything you experience is yours and only yours. Make accidents on purpose. Call a knife a name by which only you will recognize it. Now I’m not a very smart man, but I’m not a dumb one, either. So listen: If you can manage what I’ve told you, as I was never able to, you will give your life meaning.

—Jonathan Safran Foer

dear brother, what do you see in the camera lens that’s we, all of that tragedy is always growing in your heart. In a past we know so well, in nervousness that just swells, locked in rooms and dreams you never knew you could have. Finding a lover, burning light, a universe birthed inside. all our hearts are milking wide, so much love for you. for a future that is new, for something undeniably true, how we were born in such an existence, well, it’s such a beautiful sight.

Dear father, what a sight, how these cloud just roll on by, how they decay into the sky, and time just keeps moving even after we die. There is meaning in the sand, in the drunken nights with your head in your hands. so many different outcomes of plans all come flooding all at once. some water running dream, a prison cell pathology, staring at these walls could mean so many different things. So what do you see? the youngest boy in a family? so in flash so many years have passed. and now they are always disappearing.

dear universe, you are so vast, like a child in a mother’s hand. a tiny spec of everything I was to be or I was becoming. Information at our hands, we can know just about anything. there is a lifetime spanned across our eyes, constant flow of our infinity. on a silver, static screen, on an old ghost you’ve been recording. each and every one has just stormed into being. and it’s always happening fast, you close your eyes and it’s gone, but in your head  there is a whole universe that you are still learning from,

dear wild one, what can you be in world full of everything? in some past life you were drenched in light, as an ocean, full of life, forever flowing. And now you are here with me, and sit here under this kitchen sink. hurled through time and just as beautiful as you could ever be.