Poetry ca. 2020/21
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that image of you-
soul freezes
gaze distant
deaf. blind. nausea.
and an encompassing beat.
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body feels full,
every crevice filled- unmoving,
weightless, heavy liquid.
drowned soul
and eyes paused,
a still moment passes
- then movement returns.
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there are three things i think of:
the extent of my extremities
and how i must reduce,
the ache of my heart
and some metaphor of a future.
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my outlines feel fuzzy
effervescent.
I can only concentrate on my own emptiness
and confusion.
work paused.
meaningless pros pumped out
only regarding my own sensations.
Is this narcissism-
or do i have nothing more to experience.
I wish you left my mind
but you're a fighter.
you know my feelings
and i know yours.
yet you add doubt,
tease me,
giving me crumbs of a harpy's affection.
you stay stuck in me
no accident.
despite my exhaust,
I will not stop you.
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your thumbprint of warmth
slips into empty thought.
inhuman, ethereal aura
alien, intoxicating.
bewitched and craving from a single encounter.
oblivious to your effect,
you smile back.
Cause
and Effect
imprinted
on the mind
subconscious realism
how far can we break it
break you
in pieces
apart
or thumped together
mash crash
brain fog
mush
take it away
as you wanted.
my writing is like chicken scratch
you can't read it
can I
tired now
but i have to press on
I wonder if they wonder
about me.
my head is leaving
walking about
more like trudging .
bad posture.
it wanders over there
i wonder how you wander now
you used to wander with me.
when i think of things like this
i take a drag
and let my brain leave
feeling dizzy and sick,
just how i like it
I still think of you at times like this
but now it's a play
a theatrical retelling
this cannot be reality.
I'm just a melancholic little man,
my feelings now an aesthetic act
not my anchor to the grave.
"Banned Books"
the shop looked seedy,
like a phone repair shop
with a sentence for a name,
faded red,
white-flaking-wooden-windowpanes.
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