PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i woke in a circle of doors

you were gone

the mosquitoes by the porchlight were gone

the two-dimensional fire-light sunrise came into my skull like an ancestor of the waking senses 

 

the bed was warm as the micro-genocidal furnace of an antibiotic shot

my heart beat like the distant beating of a star murdered already by the entropy that holds its dead light above the earth like a hallucination for a time longer than our lives have been or will ever echo.

we see so little

in the poverty of human language

i don't even know what hemoglobin really is

or what an axle does

or how to communicate with germans

 

when are you coming home

you give me clock-times like

you've never been high or counted four brown walls for untold eternities in a shitty apartment

told time by the spiritual passing of valium-trances

by how long it took your eyes to open really open like plates of stained glass shattering in a cathedral under radical rock

by how much longer it was taking this time to reach the ground what what

am i saying what am i saying what

i'm saying is that your arms when their closed at night and they start to open towards me well they are like trap-doors or

i'm saying you are like the circle of closed doors which wrap/envelope the bedroom or the vision or the image or the ancient memory of my bedroom that is carried on only in photons like the stars

anyway

and it is i who am a trap?

i with ethics

i with more chemistry in my nose than in my brain which yes yes is poor which is limbo-ed in the gutters of human flesh sometimes so vastly-deep that the smokescreens sobering shower-mists of human theories of human love block all as an ocean strangles the still-living (we think) light of the sun and anyway

i with apologies

i coming down anyway

i with psychosis imagined and diagnosed and foretold of in hospitals with the souls of jails

psychosis caused and prescribed

induced psychosis

self-reported psychosis

psychosis sanctioned by the government

illicit psychosis and anyway

psychosis that shrug in corners/basements/fucking apartments not knowing quite why they're there like

 

i i i rising in the oven of another morning

we will arise like yeast doves

or choke as unsightly and infinite plaths

i who hope the fire of the human heart won't solderize our eyes shut like it has sometimes before

i whose fire has conflagurated clothes completely has made me sit stiff as a melted-wax cadaver before your mother and your father

sweet kitten

beneath your eyes

even

when the eyes of others would have burned away my soul seemingly even from the cosmos

i cannot take it

i cannot take it further

or anymore anyway

you are as i

an inferno

just one vision further

when

 

are you coming home

when when will

i see you again anyway