the intertwining ineffable grotesquerie of desire & death

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i’ve been coming out as non-monogamous my whole adulthood
slowly hitting bumps & shadows
fucking up because i get stuck in infatuation
i get stuck in the binary of two
always wanting elsewhere
breaking her heart, my heart, their hearts
because my fragile male ego couldn’t take responsibility
for inflicting hurt
for the inability to reveal
for the lack of communication
the festering
the convoluted decisions
hiding, repressing emotions & connections
becoming a monster full of rage at myself
lashing out
taking it out on others
for which i regret being stubborn &
full of self-righteous supposed knowing
there are not sufficient words to dispel scared immaturity

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you can’t erase memories.
you can forget them,
but the moments still happened.

( )

growing up in Christian Catholic Puritanical America
surrounded by guilt and shame
finally breaking through the status quo denial
to more fully act upon & trust my desires
to live openly, sharing romance
and intimate visions of loving one another

yet new struggles emerge
with every transcendence into collective selfhood

( )

if eros is pleasure and the urge toward life
then thanatos is the urge toward pleasure and death

( )

the wrenching loneliness
amnesia
riddled poison
panging through blood
the shit-ass wasting away in bed, sagging like
the whiteness of hospitals
trapped and aching
aging, dying, in a room alone
the fucking sadness, riddled
this is where we go to die
like a bullet in a body
like a catheter
a machine
wires dangling
external veins
a heartbeat simulation on a screen
beeps and valleys
beeps and peaks
the white noise static
the whir
the beat in the chest
alone

instead of dissociating into embodied fervor & collective madness
we dissociate into digital fantasy
alienated
so often ((far)) away from others

( )

crushed by propaganda, entertainment,
apartheid, stricken to believe
the singsong narrative of explosions
beholden to comment on the going rhetoric
wrapped up in another’s tongue
imposed dramas
rampant disorder
excruciating awareness of the tears, heaving
body shaking, repeating the same words
over and over
“what is this mental institution?”
the way the spit dribbles, baffled
scattered in dementia
memories fleeting like tiny rivers

( )

what of the song of grandmothers chanting
the stomp of feet on earth, the ancestors stirring
what of the echo in ribs like mountain winds
calmed yet stirred by the beat of drums

“isn’t there something better?”

( )

the fucking tear through life
the bullets ripping
banging
the mayhem
the pandemonium
pandora’s box unleashing
fire, murder, flooding
the scorching realization of apocalypse
the absolute state of terror
the gut gripping,
America, brutality

“isn’t there something better?”

( )

forlorn ecstasy

( )

celebrating in dionysian fields of forgetfulness
the intoxicated fear
trumped up like the trumpets of death

( )

the squabble of lovers disappears
the desire to kiss and kill
cascading bodies atop bodies
consumed by chemistry
the flesh dripping sweat
like flowers after rain
petals falling from the sky upon climax
to cuddle & whisper
impulse to closeness, closer
peripheries mushing
abruptness of intimacy conflicting
drawing on tensions
the sting and flush of skin
pleasure
swimming in spit
saliva
desire
the sumptuous feast of little deaths
repeating

“what is this mayhem?”
“where is my breath?”

( )

the cry of the dying rings across the land.
the empathic flame of people,
blowing prayers in the air with the smoke of a cigarette

“isn’t there something better?”

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Absorption Into The Ocean

If I could wake up
every morning so peaceful
so many people still sleeping
the silence of waves
crashing
arhythmic meditation
a briny thickness
hanging heavy
opening up the lungs
deeply breathing
the heart swelling
like the spray of sea foam
crashing
in the distance
a flock of sea birds
splashing
in flight
the horizon lights up
a brackish pink
the receding waves
catching violet
reflecting salt
and purple rays

The way the sun engenders vision…
And gives birth to the morn…
It must be so easy to drown…

I get a cup of decaf coffee
with a splash of regular,
a small dose of pick-me-up caffeine

and the ocean feels less
like a womb and more
like an old crone
dispensing wisdom with each
ruffle of wave

arhythmic meditation
packed into the push
and pull of crashing
waves

I want to jump in
but only get my feet wet,
for now

It must be so easy to drown

like falling asleep
or jumping off a moving boat

This is what I think about
when I think about absorption,
little deaths,
the facade of self
crashing against sand and rocks,
the stubborn ego
holding on
to a capsizing ship.

I always wanted to be buried
naked in the earth
My dead old body decomposed
by the passage of worms
But I can imagine
being thrown overboard
at the edge of a dark, dark moon,
maybe a star will shoot off
and you’ll know I’m gone to the sky
the way a bird takes off and flies
a fleeting memory swallowed
by the unanimous nature of time

It must be so easy to drown

Last night we walked out to the ocean
to catch a glimpse of the setting sun,
but a heavy storm cloud
met us instead.
It brought with it
a deluge of thunder and rain.
We hid under a pier
at a vague attempt to stay dry.
Maybe to wait it out,
but there were dark storm clouds
covering the sky.

We were only delaying the inevitable.

So we ran out
into the storm
small acceptance
and shrieks of joy