Underside of my mind

There's a fire, do you feel that too?

And I dreamt that my soul rose unexpectedly and looking back down at me, smiled reassuringly

I miss old parts of me connected to everything and everyone that made me feel something permanently there and unforgettable. I miss one day ago. I miss complete strangers and strange places. I miss old dreams. I miss you six weeks ago. I miss us months ago. I miss every year ago. And If I had you next to me, I'd miss you already.

I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home

Find my direction magnetically

When I worry that my attachment to this place will ossify my brain, that isolation might kill the desire in my gaze.

I see our time expand

in the air almost forcibly,
spreading thinner till it dissolves completely

Baby I'll carry you all the way home.

I Wish That We Were Magic

So we wouldn't be so young and tragic.

A Girl Mad As Birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

I want to tell you something

But I have seeped in under alley stones and dirt to blood's birthplace, and my language is the molten core where fire and matter merge to create the music of minerals that become earth, and if you look at the hills and mountains and fields, you gaze at me, I am near you, next to you, beneath, above, and beside you. I live in your lower back, in the muscles used for bending and rising. I am a heavy clay bowl in your stomach in which to pour your fear. Your spine is a canyon trail I walk and I am the latch handle you turn in the dark to let light enter.

There's messy in my head. There's messy in my life.

All life's moments are really just the same picture different colors.

I'm staring at the green and black and blue in my life. If I could touch the stars I'd realize that they're just floating parts of elements that make up the rest of the universe. I'd see that they're only pretty from where gravity roots me down. I'd know everything's an illusion, a picture, a whatever anything we want, wish, would like it to be.There's no lid strong enough to contain all you'd rather keep trapped inside yourself.

My mind's fucking peeking it's head out of the water.

MY LEG IS SPARKLES, MY LEG IS PINS

My dreams aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be.

It's like that dazzling quality

you know, of any place one's decided to give up and has already begun to appear softened by nostalgia.

Up above her the universe was expansive and incandescent. She wanted something to happen-something, anything. She didn't know what.