Checkerboards upon the sky
And butterflies behind cold eyes,
A million shards, the shattered souls,
Through mist gaze up from secret holes.
A whisper trapped inside the glass,
A star that shines in rotten cask–
Empty the vessel, pour in the truth:
You are the fly, but the web’s in you.
3-4-2019
The cockroach scampers
over a half-eaten
apple
on the altar.
The sick-sweet stench
of rot
hangs thick,
like a noxious
mist.
The air is littered
with dying things.
The wind shrieks
and there is a whirring
in my ears.
I can not keep
my balance.
Everything
breaks down
around me;
a rolling process
separating
what is
into less and less
substantial
forms.
I can taste the stale
mold,
dusty and choking,
its spores
filling my lungs.
I greet
Her–
the reality behind
life’s illusion;
its nourishment,
its origins,
as well as its
endings.
5-3-18
Then
Fantasies
of a piece long
lost
discovering its
puzzle.
The great
return,
where I make
sense
amid the teeming
masses
of confused
and confusing
humans.
Now
Fantasies ripped
and torn,
destroyed by the
one
from whose belly
I was
cut
before being sent
far away
to those who would
come to
regret their
purchase.
5-1-18
Shattered Mindspace 