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

until--

the rain began to smell of mint

and i remembered the last

flight from/toward/in/while

that led me to that unending catharsis

--terrifying, Jesus fuck--

on the mesa beneath those endless, glaring stars.

Odd perception,

mixed privilege and despair at

un-welcome centers, despise

the homeless and keep the others

tired.

.. suspended

...

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.

I must.

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

a shadow-spark:

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

drip down..

down...

down.......