You turn the knob counterclockwise
And the door, freshly framed, creeks open
Into the apartment. Complex
Emotions wind through you,
You can’t put your finger on it,
Although you feel you oughta be able to,
And they’re crooning
About the same things
Or are they, thinking
About the real things
Or are they, in this dimly lit room.

You venture, the floor creeks too, further
Into the kitchen, past the dining room,
Where they sat like mannequins
With their arms splayed,
With their legs crossed,
Or were they standing,
With just smiles spread
Across both their empty faces,
Or were they torn
Out circular voids,
Into the hallway that contains
A bathroom
In between two bedrooms.
You push open the bathroom door,
Already cracked opened,
It’s dark but
You can see the tub half filled
With blood.

Or whose

It’s only upon waking
You realise
It was only,
A fabrication of a world,
Of your own.


Drifting in Weird Spaces

Do they subconsciously flow through
The same disordered spacial veins or
Have they drifted apart to be met later on,
Sank too deeply into misheard news, or
Stopped at knotted micro vessel pathways
Blockaded by clots of interrogation points,
Writ on illusory glass like cubic shapes,
Where maybe all of the above never happened,
Where tired membranes and walls meant to
Border gangs of ribonucleic acids from
What, truthfully, aught to be sailing
Failed to protect them any more
From daytime terrors or midnight reveries.

Hymns of the Nautical

Terse garden gnomes on signs of acid
Excitedly rehearse written lines like
Humored buffoons, learning rhymes
Near exquisite fluctuations, dancing by
Umber stained wood panels basically constructed into
Meadowed hills, with collections of daffodils.

Bemused, we’d say, “You’re pretty” to our kind muses
Shaken in interacting, in every given exchange, with our heads
Under our shoulders when we’d find ourselves alone
Pretending (or maybe it was hope) we were enamored
Enough that somehow dark magick lasers would serve our
Virile desires, needs? (a disease); soaring faster than hyperdrive speeds.


Shit Gangsters Say

Colors seep from wrecked surfaces,
Melting from molecular substances.

Personally smelted alloys, conjoined,
Bonded within subatomic places, issued
To be the sole proprietor of entropic
Losses clinging on from behind onto
Voids; where joints were nibbled at.

Casualties instilled in causalities, rapt
Through glasses in nonquantitative axioms.


From a leaf a bombardier beetle
Sorely cleans its jointed antennae, its
Gaze acutely fixed on a male
Lazing limply on a net affixed
To two totem poles
Covered in talismans with
Curvatures shaped in S-lines, unfiltered
Sun rays alongside shadows
From leafy branches undulate,
Swaying in waves as a breeze
Passes by, impressions
Casted upon his body
Where an upturned open book
Sat on his belly, wondering;
What could he possibly be thinking,
If they felt in the same way. Oh
How it wanted to travel across the river
Bed to ask, but had not planned,
Nor knew the way.

It Seemed

“Well, the inevitable is only a consequence of predictable outcomes.”
His face distorted, smug, at wits end,
As if baffled at the mere mention
Of the conversation being held.
She tosses her hair,
Plopping down
On the sofa stuffing her toes
In between the crevices.
“Our holy father is the grand master planner.”
He closes his eyes in prayer,
Muttering in tongues, moving rosary beads.
“It is chance working like ley lines
And just the human mind
Trying to make sense of the world.”
She smiles politely, compassionately.
“It must be fate. Soul mates have been decided by the stars”
He looks up with an out of world
Expression from his astrology text.
“Idk man. I just know she made a believer out of me.”

This Lore

Everytime they’d venture
Into the ravish advent of musty airs,
Where the unknown shook them more
Innocuously than the prospect
Of amusement arguably scorned
In dripping waters that had
Eroded porous limestone
At the central core,
Eyes would search in curvatures
An’ in seams around the floor
Where droplets had bled
Incorrigible rock columns
Over extending timelines.
Awestruck, they saucily moved
Alongside large hand like formations
Of unseen years in compositions,
Wanting to hold
And touch, but held back
With such restraint, very much
Aggrieved at distancing lines,
Where these words couldn’t
Even begin to describe
What they’d felt
In continuous exhalations
Whispering in wordless
And voiceless hums
When time rewound
When drops flew up