lapse

likely out of a novel, a

distracted substance 

used to invoke me.

freedom darkness in

trapped light; the coals from

our history are burning life.

death.  

rebirth.

by the time you see this

there will be nothing left of

my plural mess;

just the, broken. 

and as many punctuation 

identities made me,

purification was never

underlined or forgiven. 

underneath my skins we

were the most delicious.

over my folds we just crisped

off into melted dust;

i am no longer his mold.

i am yours.

the more

enlightened we became

the closer we entered into thruth

the further we left our belongings 

the clearer we saw our death in materials 

death in mundane verbal equally 

and depicted cinematography. 

they knew more and became dull

and hiding their tears became too 

heavy.

so they left this place

unknowingly,  as a new-birthed 

eulogy.

blackroom fluids

where we wait for the next time

promised to be the last stable stabbing. i changed the title to include

your uncapitalistic reality, of where motor skills are flavorless, slanted

salt.

the water will heal this wound and carry your formula across Jupiter's 

affair.  where the moon shone brighter 

than my skin.

wounded affairs and a portrait of

drugs. released all these t's and so

i have removed all the walls and cupboards in my body to let

you flow in and through and

allow my tears to smile.