deleted, rewritten and tucked away

I read our silence like a Hemingway

there is no need for us to act this way

cold shoulders given to cold shoulders

till reversed and those shoulders

embrace shoulders

till we are simple safe soldiers

I tried to run

but only tears came out

as I tried to fill my gas tank with them

I cranked the engine till it was all static

in the silence i was crowned the fool king

I tried to wash the shame with stars

and a full moon

showering in radio wavelengths

We can make earthquakes

you just bring the locust

as I try and flood the valleys

with milk

as we quest for honey

our dreams dry

in sour mash misanthropy

our lips are sutured shut

stretch intentions so hard

it expands like rubber bands

and in there we have written

some small truth

and we put them on shelves

as knick knacks and trinkets

and all our positions

are encapsulated

in an amber memory

just as the last atomic bomb

whistles

and reigns fire

on our brimstone

and its all instantaneous

for the time being

so draw your cross hairs steady

and aim with intentions

pull the trigger

at perfect moments

effortless and defining

my hands tremble

and I dance between

victim and martyr

it seems like i am sliding

down an endless pole

thats less like a strippers

and more like fireman’s

and in this inferno

when the smoke has risen

and can rise no more

someone needs to open

a window or turn on the faucet

entwine, we are just circumstances

of accidents

To you I apologize the most

for being the truest and most sincere

the definition of wisdom

is understanding without words

we are one with the animals

wild men

in evolutionary times

Nihilist who believe in creation

sometimes I do feel like a ghost

passing threw transient towns

and leaving smoldering cities

as I awake in the afternoon

with particles of unknown substances

floating and flickering around my face

I am reminded of friction

and pain

a pool of blood takes shape on my lap

and my nose is broken

and i am back to biped

and all the cars drive on

to places I would never care to visit

and the planes visit places

I spend all day pretending

that they don’t exist

nervous hands

sometimes make fists

and fish are not impervious

to drowning

daydreams drift

onto unemployed

yin yangs
and nothing has to make sense

if it works

THIS NEXT PIECE IS WRITTEN BY: Ry

(the above was my response to it)

“GHOST GHOST GHOST GHOST GHOST”
Needless to say the rest has been deleted (read: there’s no reason for me to be acting in these ways).  Read: a cold-shoulder reversed, the simplest gesture; as in the empty gas tank of your Dynasty.  Give me more than this static, the wavelength of fool kings.  You can’t wash shame from your hands.  Plead me earthquakes, beg me to flood this valley with locusts and milk.  Stretch my lips and intentions until they become colorless and the lake-house we can’t afford is dragged into the waters.  Inch by inch, stain by stain, to believe in something greater than this instant, than this very moment would make me a thought-architect worthy of assassination.  To hands held, to clocks without hands, to hand-me-downs and hand-outs and the fog rolling back into the forest’s sweating palms.  Last night the masquerade tore our heads wide open, revealed our quiet smiles, and drew nooses around our throats.  And to say we weren’t like children…and to say the limbs of our existence weren’t bending, reaching toward fistfights and first kisses…and to say we didn’t all lose something of ourselves in the wreckage of that automobile…and to say the rest would be impossible.  It’s your turn.  Respond when it’s convenient.  I’ve gone to get more gasoline for our gorgeous arson.  You understand.  You understand.