the tincture

they say life will start getting easier
but it gets
and it gets
and it gets some more
and it ends up in possession
of everything that has the capacity
to be gotten

and i’ve come to the realization
(a place some might call the precipice,
or the summit) that i have reached it.
i have ascertained
i have comprehended
i have evolved (so to speak) and
unwittingly become
abruptly displaced
constantly ajar
as if stuck somewhere falling
(with some broken-ass gravity)

but have no fear
i’m still right here
don't look up look around
and embrace that twinge of
discomfort that comes from
(FINALLY) questioning
look how high i am
up here i say
far away
swathed in ivory stone

but
you say i’ll quoteunquote
come back down (or whatever)
and somehow become
(what was it) happy
(happy yeah)
that i’ll somehow re-satisfy with
the way things are
skewed by me mister dark scanner
the shitty lens on this half-cooked
masterpiece
(IT IS WORTH IT
WE HAVE HEART DISEASE
AND IPHONES)

no no
the watershed, i fear, has come and gone
and a great stubbornness you exhibit in
agreeing on this point (sigh) so
i will go on hoping and hoping as long as i can
enduring (or whatever) as someone near to me
has called it
to keep on and keep trying and ENDURE
yesyes THAT is what i want to do
ENDUUUUUURE
(golly now this whole thing sounds sour)
i promise it’s not
i’m feeling a little lonely i suppose
i guess you could say
i’m simply uninterested in continuing
the cretinous manner with which i have
thus far engaged this poignant bazaar

that doesn’t mean that i'm packing
my bags (okay)
cause see i’m
weeping for this shit
i'm really trying but

i just
don’t really see a happy ending

sorry
i think one day
i just won't be
okay with this
state of suspension anymore
where i will finally acquiesce
and see (from the precipice)
there is only falling to be done
a refusal to grab on
or draw in the air around me

and sigh (inhale) my my
it is so fresh and beautiful up here.

only tragic endings

the need
to explode every word
harmonize what is discordant
and eschew even the essence
of structure
to spit green tobacco juices
on the face normativeness (look it up)
exalting someone for something
be of good cheer
your word is now yours (say it
OUT LOUD)

but scary scary
oh so scary
there cannot be a tragic ending

(please) christ is no more your spine
than you are
sighspinesaviorwhatever.

the spectacle of wretched and horrible things

(hit it, bugles)
today
on this frozen ground
where the steeds have lined up
for siege
queen and glory
nobody speaks

there must be that music
for a cheer (some sort of rally)
bringing lungs together
the rows of hearts drum
deep in unison to
open the veins (all the
more ready) to spill
out the blood and some entrails

onto these shields of our brothers
holding ribcages together
on the ragged terrain
frost kissingteethingtugging at the
two or three weeds who
bothered showing up
to this spectacle of wretched and
horrible things
where we champions
close our eyes give birth
to ghosts
hewing hewing away

with the very vibrancy
of some spiritual thing
in the blade
going deep
in the skin of him
or her or it

(fuck lost it) can’t
even see (too dark)
and the horses are

dead they’re all just dead
harnesses litter the ground as
they whimper the last of their moments away
knowing neither the name of the queen

nor the country
nor the brazen valiance of every rider
so bold so wise so full of reason.

mom

it was something that i genuinely
didn’t want to do
(communion blew) but it was
all of it really (ugh and the singing)
and i hate that we see
the world so differently
but (you know what)
i should have done it anyway
because i love you
and it would have been good
to do something nice for you
for a change
i’m sorry
i’m so so sorry
for never telling you that enough

and i say this
as if something final
has already come to pass
as if i am dead
or (even worse)

you are dead
but you are here right here
kicking and screaming
with your book
so absopositively certain
that the atrophying pages in there
are more than paper

more than words
more than failed fossils
being manipulated to justify
this kill and this save

and (you know what)
maybe the bottom of the
barrel becomes me
but at least i take
responsibility for my swim with
my slimy newfound comrades
these pagan heroes
left in the corner of an old library
condemned for their
staggering lack of awareness.

guess this is left

there is a cocoon that was on fire
it is smoldering now
rapt with itself
in mourning over the little
pieces of butterfly
deep inside
unintentionally self-aborted
and it asks to be told of spring
fully content knowing it is
a season for some.

the sorry skin you're in

christie’s half full
and it’s four twenty
a.m.

and i’m faced with a dilemma

sleep sounds nice

but then i’ve got this
coal going too
mintlemonkiwi
jesus how do i sleep now
my girl shrugs
the night is young

pat pat
i’m sorry lungs
and sorry skin
you’re in the dark
far too often

just
smoke in a ghost
in the late hours
of a story
that too quickly
grew tiresome.

works doesn't it or SOME BULLSHIT ABOUT FLOWERS

CAN’T YOU DO SOMETHING
what
HAPPY FOR A CHANGE
what i'm busy
I AM SICK OF THAT PATRONIZING
PHILOSOPHY AND DEPRESSING
BULLSHIT
(goddamn) all right sandy
fine

let’s see here
so there were these flowers
right
RIGHT
and they were so beautiful
that no one was allowed to
pick them and they faded
away

AND
well that works doesn’t it
WHAT A TERRIBLE STORY
WHAT IS HAPPY ABOUT
loss
LOSS YES

because it’s the perfect foil
it’s so much
more than that
it’s the enigma of it
the frustrating nausea
of inability to pick the petals
and watch them in the wind
as if they are us
and we are outside looking in
and we can’t
not just (LOOK) at it
and say

wow here is misery
(HERE HE GOES AGAIN)
here is where i should fail
when i've lost it all
where hope should crumble
like lungs under ash
so tired of working under
the unnecessary strain where i
should not get back up again

but they kept blooming right
WHAT
the flowers
RIGHT
and so it's all going to be okay
WHAT

HOW IS THAT OKAY
HOW IS THAT HAPPY
(goddamn)
i mean
because
it has to be.