Drifting into the bank, face down

waiting in line, face down

bobbing, floating,

bobbing, floating,

in and out of sleep.

in and out of line,

Wasting time on guitar solos,

dehydrated, doubling down,

and tied neatly to to the undercurrent.

Eventually the disk will be too scratched for any computer to read,

your signature is still illegible, and compartmentalized,

your satin hair,

reduced to wet wavy strings,

attracting fish and algae,

more beautiful now than ever.

Thank you for reading my mind.

If you listen closely, you can hear the rest of traffic coming to a screeching halt,

and to the disk

skip skip skip skip skip skipppppppppping.

Spilling out onto the ground in black slicks,

some of it right onto my feet,

some of that heat will escape,

and some wont ever be deleted.

and It’s been said the music has always been too loud and now its known the scars don’t heal as fast,

they linger,

they sleep

and I can count them.

Like the heat, and the oil,

headfirst into the sun,

headfirst into something.

Crying over my cereal,

and milk

strawberry milk,

strawberry tears.

No apples today,

mostly sunshine today,

no shade, no vanity,

no strawberries today either.

New allergies today and tomorrow

and the next too,

in a vacuum, too.

I’ll still have my reflexes,

though, through

and I’ll still have you

and you,

though, through/

and watermelon for the first time, today,

watermelon for the first time ever

I will repeat myself probably,

I’ll repeat myself most likely,

I’ll find a way out, maybe

and I am still waiting

wearing,

staring, maybe,,,,,

Leary, probably ,,,,,

I can still care for him,

for you,

I do, and I will,

I like what I have to say,

I do.

Even its the same thing..

Over and over and over and over and over and over,

I like the sound if my own voice

over and over and over and over and over

I like the sounds of keyboard

and I think the keystrokes sound like me, too,

I think the angels like me , too…

to a degree, at least.

Tortured, and we get to tell someone finally,

to a degree, at least.

They already know, ‘

a keynote.

to a degree, at least,,,

\probably,

It is

a revelation

a slouching beast,

with vibrating , infrared, feet,

kept in the attic, in a bottle.

Written into existence, after all the notes have been exhausted,

scarred and eroded, in a moment,

I’m so tired, but only for a moment,

Passed though the campfire, in a moment

passing though the living , in a moment

seconds take longer here, without making mistakes.

or go faster,

ROW faster, without any paddles,

Tasks take longer here, cycling between something,

between graves,

grave between…. justgrave.

as the grass glows heavy under a heavy , green moon

Justgrave.

Stars like radar,

stars like decibels,

stars like ….well stars.

Get my hooks into them

whatever that means,

hitting my stride,

whatever that means,,,,,

repeating myself sometimes,

whatever that means,,,,,,,

and we are running out of material,

we are running out of violence,

and we are running out of web addresses.

We are also running out of podiums on which to stand,

and the smell of coconuts which still makes me sick after all these years,

and walking by myself just isn’t the same anymore.

The sun is still relentless after all these years,

the music and the and the trust radiate through me,

and I’m still farther away than I would like to be ,

after all these years,

tirelessness ,

among the relentless hyenas,

disintegrating me, chewing me and my bones,

I am ,

DEAD meat.

The cat eyes,

The marbles,

DEAD meat,

smells. everything.

The ages, sometime,

they see

everything.

THE MIDDLE.,,,, they see

sometimes

Leaning over

falling, slightly

but only to crack my famous knuckles.

every feeling is a new one, a new star.

Every feeling is a new flavor, as I crack those same knuckles,

my knuckles / my star.

and I admired the easel, and my damaged knuckles,

and all the oil slicks,

spills,

glaciers,

and stars, too.

https, too,,,

a jungle , believably.

The ONLY ONE/

like milk

past its breaking point ,

past its boiling point,

past me ,

past kelvin,

below kelvin.

into kelvin

onto EVERYWHERE,,,,,,,,

Absolute zero,

ABSOLUTELY

a bird,,,,, apparently

I am not sure where the dog went

or why

and I will sit down to cross my t’s and dot my i’s

behind some caution tape,

and CAPITAL LETTERS

AFTER the clouds

disappearing behind the clouds,

disappearing AFTER HOURS

and a lingering crow slowly circles,

into a fully grown mirage now.

I’ll recognize everyone as that one English professor form from here on out,

he’s everywhere, especially up the stairs,

sitting with me, like a comfortable nightmare, his hair longer than mine

always longer than mine,

lingering more than mine,

growing in the chair,

growing under clouds,

especially up the stairs,

growing always….

He remembers more passwords than I ever will,

He’s compensated for that, though.

He’s compressed because of that, though.

His intel Pentium processor > mine

> than me , > than all of them///

I hadn’t really grieved yet

I knew what song would play next somehow.

through the screen door, and into my ears,

somehow.

Through the light , accompanied by a slow gloomy hum,

A gray cat.

LowercaSE. pENSIVE.

I can still see him, in passing, in shadows,

on tables

looking into nothing,

stalking me instead.

I miss him,

stalking me,,,

hunting me for 16 years, instead.

I miss him, instead.

and I haven’t still really grieved, instead.

well dance in the moonlight,

alongside sports cars and love songs.

not really dancing per se,

Every sip,

Every sneeze,

and still getting used to the insects trilling,

horns blaring, and Berber carpet riddled with sand and discarded voices,

From the cars or from the orchestra , from the lights on the roof, wherever.

being broadcast from somewhere, wherever,

being projected from somewhere, wherever.

From the window, where we can barely see the orange tree,

we are still getting used to it ,

getting stuck to keys,

getting stuck to one another,

and our ragged veins,

and the barely visible orange tree.

At the intersections, a crossroads,

waiting in the car for chorus practice to start, staring blankly across the street.

and the sports drink

spilled long ago, mopped up poorly with paper bags,

and I sang my heart out after that.

not really singing , per se,

more like spinning then actually singing.

Everything matches, wrong.

and everyone was singing, wrong.

everything is orange.