Oblivius

untame me
soft and unfocused
the universe spins and
shrinks around me

I am a giant in this
chromatic aberration yet
I am absent, fragmented light
dancing for stained glass galleries
consume me with your
color fringed eyes

express movement with me
fluorescent intent in each
of our strokes—
flat black paint pulled
across alabaster lips

the air you breathe is
immaculate
milky movement adrift
riding incense wisps,
our world has become bokeh
what are we standing on?

I have found myself: here
at this intersection: now

between aromatic impulsion and
the calmness of your mundanity
it is here we will sink much further

into this down-feather dream

Grotesque

healing is
grotesque
blood and bile
mucus and grime
it grips you, shakes you
like the unmistakable howl
of a forgotten dog
nothing is the same
everything has become
black and white
mochas
and cigarettes
by the time I see you again
my stomach lining will
have been stripped to nothing

Roots

as the façade slips away,
shaking off the loose soil, you stand.
scraping the dirt built up beneath
unkempt nails, you
were once comfortable here.

memories fray like strings:
tendrils now tiny threads
thin and frail.

carve a hole from sand.
construct a dusty semblance
of home. from sediment and rock,

snakes replace the insects that fed you
starve, shrivel into the limestone scared.
sacred water. will not be spilled
for you here. you, a desert
rose.

Motherland

I have an uneasy feeling of home
creeping up on me, closing in
like a sunset smothering a smoky sky suffocating the atmosphere
with dark orange cellophane
it is too warm

the fires call from across the way
they make themselves known
beyond the flashing lights
a train is coming too fast
to think about goodbyes
the wind scorns, “this is not

your home anymore,
stop coming back”