I want to self immolate
be consumed
in a conflagration
for a cause
People have no “cause”
there is no “cause”
for us,
for the antithesis of causes
we are the cause
I don’t allow myself
to handle a gun in
these moments-
but I imagine
the sound of grooved metal
(surface area to release heat)
scraping across my teeth,
tell myself the gun
is real,
as tears fall and I
choke on fear
remember watching Gummi Bears
feel resistance as I slowly squeeze
the trigger,
Squeeze against the system
my wrists are rivers
my fingers are words
my thoughts are church bells ringing in the dawn lit mist
Bask in the shade of the Manchineel
,humanity
;breathe in the aroma
,eat of its apple
,humanity
There’s a jar on my shelf
no coins confined within
but pebbles
stones
leaves
earth
tears
A camera pans to a dead arm
in the desert
sun setting
skin painted with desert dusk
So it goes.
painted in flesh
We Were All Innocent Once
that’s what I like to believe
then experience
perspective
perception
opinion
belief
thought
ideals
standards
expectations
morality
mortality
ethics
death
Orion lays across the horizon
light plays
flies in night
after day her gaze
struck him down
her eyes stuck
the arrow in his side
Elon Musk believes we live
in a virtual reality;
I don’t question our virtu(e)alness
, it’s the oneness of us
, the time between moments
, I feel it in your breath over the phone
Your death will haunt me, your absence a tangible thing,
real as a backward spinning electron
the Virgil Fox-ness of you still influencing the way light
plays on the leaves in Autumn after a soft rain
sparkling in the night-
clusters of red gems
adorning grey fingers
grasping for the moon
It all got fucked up
when we became me,
stopped
being
us
What gives birth to heroes
after we learned heroes are
human,
that humans are horrible
The need to worship is horrible
organized
methodical
systematic
systemic.
The 21st century paradox
is life with worship and no heroes.
My life is an accretion disk
shining bright
in blackness
burning away
to blackness
taking everything
leaving blackness
What moments are missed when we search for the thing that sits right in front of us?
I work on a puzzle and break my finger and thumbs
forcing the pieces to fit
the picture on the box is gone, the music in the room is gone
my fingers are gone
the puzzle is done and the room is empty,
what was there is gone and my puzzle is complete
but my eyes are gone
I want to burn it all
the “cause” and the stars
I want to be a photon passing into your eye
that sparkle of a red gem on a tree’s finger at night
diskoseismology
