there's a place on my head
fit for a crown- i cling not to it
but to my trunk between that crown
and my roots that
tolerate anything, i think- i don't
i'm a motel hide-out thing
that the cops target regularly
they saw the tree and me leave
and they took our love away
it hurt me and anyone who i am not. i've
made myself at home, paralleling
my life unravels attuned to a
gathering of a private
i have done on my own, everyday.
tearing a new one in the
supping on its own lost soul- the only
separated thing i know.
banisher of time's rule, unhaving
of law, inky
baritone ballad- i see you
in the lost crops, where i used to
hide and seek, but i wore a skirt
and imagined a pinch on my leg
that reminded me of pictures i've seen
of spiders sensing human
singing about how it feels to know
everything about right now
because right now is all
and i began singing along with the spiders
and the crops that also sang.
but the cops targeted these crops
and told me to leave for good
because my skin was coming off
and it made me look foolish.
the butterfly of the moment.
these days, i'd rather not go places.
i have to hold my breath, especially
when i need to let out an oxygen build-up.
sometimes i need to scream outside,
but i stop myself.
and i hang my head, because
i know that overdosing myself
with that weight
is only going to further complicate
crazy map- further me from a treasure
the truth beyond-
unveiled behind the
curtain of beliefs/no beliefs.
i'll either have a seizure
or i won't.
belief rises in the east, beautiful sunrise
going hand in hand
with loss of belief, setting
in the west- beautiful sunset.
and i live here.
i live here, all dualistic.
reality, of course, is traceless- that
directionless stroke- directionless
stroke that seems separate-
but the leaves hit it.
the leaves go skeletal in it, but reality-stream makes
around these leaves
shit, this teaches me.
you teach me. if you cannot, i'm
so sorry- you cannot possibly
on a vortex
i cast self out of myself, pregnant
i don't want old skin anymore. whoever
is after it can
shed, shed, shed.
we once were made of what we cannot
be without; we once all
held to each other, unabashedly
if you do not teach me, you do not
because my fingertips are present elsewhere.
being unrequited to one
shed, shed, shed, skeletal leaf.
no place serves make-believe.