And West, I Couldn’t Laugh
Followed the sky
but not the sky, because the sky was
way up there and I was still
down here, down.
Ever-sparse and filled up with
not-space space, that less-than-desirable void,
the wrong stuff taking up too much of
Not Much Here,
It catapulted me without me noticing
through the same the same the same
the rain began to smell of mint
and i remembered the last
that led me to that unending catharsis
--terrifying, Jesus fuck--
on the mesa beneath those endless, glaring stars.
mixed privilege and despair at
un-welcome centers, despise
the homeless and keep the others
I might be-
running out of anticipation.
...resorting to expectation.
All the same same same!
Always and unchanging!
And no teleport or drug or shitty poem is ever going to
even scratch the skin of Abraxas.
Yet I do it anyway.
Lest i forget and commit the
sin of worship.
Clambering after the constellations
I move my words into mysterious shapes
and place them in a jar.
Maybe the one I need to find
will notice this inky spagyric
filled with knucklebones and old love,
red-to-brown, doused in blue-gold desire
and placed in a dark corner of the cupboard to find
my own personal Frankenstein
awaiting the end of the universe
to remember it's never not lived--
to bleed rust and drink dry wine--
to cut its teeth on broken glass
and watch the mess of its body