Breakdown Pt. 5

Strangers, faceless, sport attractive expressions.

“They don’t really exist”, says the deer, quite stern.
“They exist. They’re constructs of the existential,
Solidified by linguistic executions or exchanges.”, the bison says.
“That’s deterministic. These things deter, from a moralistic
Standpoint. Have you seen it in reference to other times?”
“The scientific correlations of lesser Oedipus complexes,
From more emotionless lenses, with animalistic infanticides
To inbreeding or consanguineous marriages?”
“Naturally, including locations where these stigmata
Have no prevalence. If it’s a matter of time and location,
Does it really exist?”, the deer inquires.
“Fine. I guess you don’t really exist.”, the bison smiles.
“..No I.. I..
No, I suppose I don’t.”, the deer resigns.


Like You See On TV

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m going to burst
From how badly I want that person, just this
Disgusting whispering painful longing to
To have someone to myself, so badly
Wanting to gladly stare into her moody amber eyes,
To know everything about her, I’m this sorry mess of
Foaming thoughts and images of applicable if’s and but’s and I’ve kept
Seeing the same distant scenarios I’ve learned
Careening throughout this lifetime, I guess, that lessen
In intensity, but truthfully, it happens mostly because she would
Keep changing her mind so many times,
Whenever I’d plug in her phone number, it was
Really annoying, it drove me nuts,
Cos’ it seemed like you just enjoyed fucking around
With mine so much,
Too much,
That it shows me
That she just
That she only wants
That she doesn’t give a shit if I go crazy.

So much
These words
Just keep pouring out
Like diarrhea.

Couldn’t Have

Yarns in kilometric lengths hung laundry that could
Slightly touch the shoulder.

Ostensibly, the remainders of lovely memoirs at
Uranus froze. So arctic foxes stopped to tow and
Rub their tongues on the ices that
Wouldn’t let up until told to do so, for the
Lords; their wants and needs, amongst a variety of things.

Recipients that didn’t know the
When they fell from the butte
Until that moment, then, just as such.


Finicky finches peck at handsome quantities of
Exported chia seeds, flicking their heads in
Noticeable caricatured turns, from tracking
Movement to avoid fistfuls of porcupine quills.

Qualitative wandering rules of a thwarted alignment
Found on the side of brutish hippopotamuses, sliding,
Verifiably engrossed inside any moor you can picture.

Disassociated from their animal nomenclatures, they
Start to slink away from predatorial chases
Brushing past bumps from rough boulders.

Meaningless encounters, valued as such by
Xenopus, croaking, bothered by their reasoned writhing
Zealotries, count down to deadly xenotropic viruses.

Jabbing fish, quickly sinking in muddy bogs,
Learnt the utter futility with every bone breaking thrust,
In frightful knowing, in losing sight,
Within the dimming
Trickling twilight.

Then: Far

The receptionist takes my coat,
Then gives me a slip,
You know,
Those ticket stubs
That you hand over before you leave
These momentous lairs, after
She had written
Down my information, along
With the date and time.

She moves to the rear
Towards the rotating thing,
Her heels clacking.
Briefly, I steal a glance
She turns and stares and
For a moment, I freeze.

But I didn’t know that her face
Was going to show the
Most dazzling smile I’d ever see.
Suddenly, as if I’m under a spell, I canter
Towards this fair maiden, undulating,
For I had become hot and bothered.
She invites me over
By caressing my shoulder,
Motioning towards
Her dungeon chambers
Through a tear in
The fabric of time and space.

This dire occasion
Where I didn’t really
Do much else
But do that dance for her,
But for some reason
This was happening.

While Fear kept braying
That eventually
She’d ask for me to leave
When she finished
Sucking the life out of me.

She Doesn’t Even Know

Miasmic forms blinkingly guide her
Through an interdimensional
Hall lined by portals,
Disguised as doors,
That led to variants in
Timelines unaccounted for.

These bouts of idolized madnesses
Despairingly rotating within discounted
Knowledges in centrifugal force
Were where sights
Were set up at
Certain heights promising
Disappearing floors.

Centripetal forces
Coerce her into a room,
Where she scanned the walls
For a clock
To tell her
That those jargon words
Had amassed to
Something of inherent value,
Where she was able
To feel yearning and yearned
To be held.

Where miasma lovers
Could have deigned
To have understood
Her angst in some other
Distant world.


Mutant rodents skitter ahead on
Persian rugs across the foyer
Covered by a layer of
Slime and soot
Shrieking their
Squirrel like kuks.

Feeding on formations of future’s
Gestations in the foray of mysterious
Silhouettes, when
The maltalent never knew
What “deserve” equated to.

For the same matter,