We spend eight hours a night, on average, practicing for death.
Letting go of the consciousness we fight so hard for in the end.
We slip into the unknown, night after night, with no promise of waking.
Am I not the only one who thinks that should be terrifying? Have we developed such overwhelming object permanence that we believe not only that everything will still be there when we open our eyes in the morning, but that we are, ourselves, permanent objects? We wear the evid
You promised me this dress could contain all
the blood I had to give it, rivets
inside the rivulets, city itself a neighbor
grandfather says not to talk to in the fields.
Iron never gave us anything but swords, sharp
wits and misfits and glass inside the mind
like memories. Tell me about what is broken
or a doll’s head, how only at night it yields don’t let me know we’re invisible You said in earnest I need to be honest
with myself about what honest means from a tower
Have you ever tried to dig into your mind?
To sift and root through the clutter accrued,
To cut and burn all which you have derived,
To wade through the shit to save those precious jewels. It’s an arduous task not many can bear
To look themselves deeper through their own eye.
To tread through the reflection, one should beware:
For you are the doctor with the tools best to pry. They say it changes one, reforms them anew,
An archaic practice with a purpose most just,
Headlights pass in the other lane and then
I’m alone, aside from the short-lived spirits
my breath makes. I can almost hear them
whispering as they crawl out of my mouth
and into the stale air, telling me good
night. Their words are more twisted than their
forms, and meant only to remind me: my
next word could be my last. My stomach twists and I choke up a lung full
of them, soaking my windshield with their ephemeral
blood. They rest there a minute, my only
it's deep into the thick wide night and i'm wistful and weary and worn i'm trying to rest the eye of my mind but it's beaten, it's bruised and it's torn it's deep into the cold grizzly night and i'm trying to conjure a yawn but mostly i'm hoping (i'm praying? i'm hoping.) to make it to cresting dawn i'm deep in the night this unforgiving night and i hold but a word as a sword against my own mind, against sickening time, against weakness my life can't afford i plead mercy of n
A point blank stare is a fire in the rain A wide-awake nightmare that We are all the same Your mind takes flight As it enters your soul Deeper and deeper Into the rabbit hole It only stops where Nobody goes A widespread pain is a fire not contained Burning wild and free like You and me Hear Ye, Hear Ye! This is what life ought to be Abandoning ideologies Defeating all indignities Discovering our identities Leaving blood upon my eyes Like shedding flaming tears Only when we se
It’s nothing like a chess problem,
the toggling ardor,
this advance and retreat;
forward then back
all black, white and cerebral. It’s nothing like chess;
like the leather hand
stuck to a black bishop
I saw in a public park,
an ancient mind whirring overhead. It’s not chess,
but one could be forgiven
for assuming it was that
More like a dance. An ebb and flow, fluid
undulation of hips
he pedals her back.
She retreats, persists,
parries and twists
I attack my panic tonight at 9-paper view ESPN, coming to you live.
Sad Sav steps in the ring, fists clenched-fighting for the belt.
Her record is not looking good but I hear she asked for help.
In her corner tonight is an all-star team of positive thoughts, taking a walk, and deep breathing.
But her opponent is fierce - undefeated, mountebank, and relentless.
A household name and a heavy weight champion.
In its corner it has depression, and Ms. Addiction the Temptress.
because you stood there for a moment
waiting to finally figure out a way to make sense you became more aware
of what awaits and what was lying in a patched couch
you spoke what was on your mind elaborate lies, but you didn’t know you were in a cave, while other people worked hard you considered life’s opportunities
and took none of them it wasn’t out of fear
nor was it out of laziness
a cold beer and a joint made you feel enlightened and suddenly everything else was gon
I feel the rhythm of the moon in the base of my skull.
Can you feel it too? It’s slender fingers
slipped into the top of my neck, and pulled me out through it. I was above me, looking down
at a familiar stranger. I stare into the face of the man,
and although I recognize myself there, I feel as if those eyes
are lying. I want those eyes to leave.
I want the comfort of steel
to shift the skin from the bone,
so I don’t have to bother with meat. I want to be better.
O spider on a water spout In the crook of the world Bend of the mind Spinning a synaptic quilt Patterned to snare Any fluttering notions That would stray near First seized
Next distorted Finally, imbued The product is to be repurposed Employed to extend the weathered web Increase of extension
Fragility, vulnerability Vulnerability, inevitability And inevitability demands loss And you, itsy-bitsy spider
Are to climb up the spout again
Photograph by Sheila Fitzgerald Grew weary of speaking in universals
Couldn't finish my work when selection of the perfect phrase took eons Attached my business card with sixty peerage titles in half-point font With unlimited time and infinite resources
I could manage the waste of these importuned forces Grew weary of abattoirs and people behind bars
And too many laws and not enough peace and this side that side can't side me
The engine room of the world laid bare, with i