I’ll die.
I’ll go brain dead.
I mean, I’ll be here
but in some straw wrapper
exiting through the skull
and brain matter.
What’s the matter?
They’ll all say trying to scrape
the morbid off the exam table.
I don’t know how the shit might go down.
But it always puts me in some other realm.
I have been king there.
I have been a martyr another time.
I have hung out with the ghouls
of the living and the dead.
They put dandelions between my toes.
I have been shacked up in a hotel
on the run from
the mafia and the FBI.
I have been dropped
into the middle of a battlefield.
I am a PTSD shiver
and I don’t wanna go back in memory.
I’ll cry for God like mommy.
Call me a wus.
You wouldn’t believe the devil at first
it’s too good to be true but ah if it was.
I have traveled glory all the way
to a mental hospital.
But at least I made it.
I was pure being wheeled out.
They all looked at me like I was too.
Delusion, shame, the disappearance of
the still lake.
And I just wanted to play
in the street.
I didn’t know I could get hit.
I played a trick for a treat.
The trick was my treat actually
My brain is limping.
My head is sticking out from quicksand
and somehow I feel like I might fall over.
The words of Jesus
written in stop sign red.
I take refuge in a psalm.
I get by on post prosperity religion
till I hear,
“On this day you shall be with me in paradise”
or some other beat of the heart of God Himself. God.
He’s the dream of time
with little baby rattles
and you must be this high to ride
and when your friends become your family
and when you become a man of silver wisdom.
I just don’t wanna fall into the tide.
I don’t know if it’s deep enough.
And this is me now looking for a map
to find my way back.
“Navigate Home”
to the fresh boredom.
To real life where nothing happens
till it does.
You are here I read in the directory
and I just gotta somehow find my way to that spot even though I’m standing in it.
And I have wandered
through the sky like the hurt dove’s wing.
Like the tree branch she struck it upon.
Remember me now.
Save some of me for later.
The dove white purity of innocence and
I am now fluctuating
between different shades of grey.
I am ashing on myself.
Could you give me a light
even if you think I might set myself on fire.
Burn marks on my wrist.
How hard it was/is to breathe.
Give me an inhaler that smells like oak.
I will love the breath I’m taking
I didn’t have to ask for it.
