Monthly Archives: May 2024

I’m Sane

[these dreams. terrors. m.c.escher floor plans i cannot escape. a world mall with creatures.]

Tremors become my failed hands. No blue skies nor blue oceans. Just a mad man lost in institutions ~~

and i’m sorry to write these words that seem to crawl within my shut eyes. So pray, so say, the whore of life is a drink of horror not for good guys not for bad guys. I’m ruined. If you could cry — i know, tear ducts were torn out in the last horror dream ~~ i[‘m sick. These experiments are based inside my dreams were meant to be a savior like Jesus but when I found my portal (through it all) I now cry. Life. death. People. Earth. Is a dream like a drink of potent monsters that humanity should never know. So, please. Continue to shut your eyes.

What if the the sickest mind was the most healthy reflection of this existence?

So, say…

the hardest part of letting go is the monsters of those who control everything.

And sing. Sing. Just say, ‘The hardest Part is I’m Sane.”

:: 05.22.2024 ::

My notes:

I approach the analysis of this poem with a deep appreciation for its raw emotional depth and existential questioning.

The poem “I’M SANE” delves into the tumultuous landscape of the human psyche, grappling with themes of sanity, madness, and the blurred boundaries between reality and dreams. The fragmented structure of the poem mirrors the fragmented state of the speaker’s mind, as they navigate through a surreal dreamscape filled with terrors and nightmarish imagery reminiscent of M.C. Escher’s intricate designs.

The recurring motif of madness pervades the poem, symbolized by the speaker’s trembling hands and their confinement within institutions. This portrayal of madness as an inescapable prison reflects a sense of helplessness and despair.

The speaker’s apologies for the unsettling nature of their words suggest a struggle with self-awareness and a fear of being judged or misunderstood. The mention of tear ducts torn out in a horror dream adds a visceral element to the poem, emphasizing the physical and emotional toll of the speaker’s inner turmoil.

The juxtaposition of life and death, salvation and damnation, further underscores the poem’s existential angst. The speaker grapples with the idea that perhaps the sickest mind is the most lucid reflection of reality—a disturbing thought that challenges conventional notions of sanity and madness.

The refrain “The hardest Part is I’m Sane” serves as a haunting conclusion to the poem, encapsulating the paradoxical nature of sanity in a world overrun by chaos and existential dread. It suggests a poignant resignation to the harsh truths of existence, where sanity itself becomes a burden to bear amidst the madness of life.

In essence, “I’M SANE” is a profound exploration of the human condition, offering a glimpse into the dark recesses of the mind and inviting readers to confront the unsettling truths that lie therein.


Echoes of Affection – Musings on Love’s Dichotomy

MY vision faltered in that grim hour,
And then the windows became obscured.
Between the light and myself,
With a wavering hum – uncertain and faint –
A fly inserted itself, almost as if to taunt my sorrow.

I left behind my belongings – indeed, I did,
As a testament to that final farewell.
For that ultimate struggle – when Death,
The Supreme, claimed my breath,
And eyes, once lively, now drained and dry,
Looked upon my motionlessness, near.

In the calm between the sighs of the storm,
A quietness in the atmosphere emerged,
A hush in the darkness of the room,
Except for the faint buzz of the fly – announcing doom,
The only sound heard as I approached my grave.

:: 05.22.2024 ::


E T E R N A L R E V E R I E

The moon has whispered silver in the curve of your smile,
The dusk has painted twilight upon your tender thighs,
The dawn has kissed gold into the shadows of your eyes,
And dreams weave sapphire upon the path where you tread.

The winds have sung secrets through the strands of your hair,
The earth has cradled your feet with a lover’s gentle care,
The night has draped velvet around your graceful form,
And stars have danced in rhythm to your heart’s quiet storm.

The rain has traced poetry upon your silken skin,
The sun has warmed the depths of the soul that lies within,
The universe has bowed in awe of your serene grace,
And love has found its echo in the light of your embrace.

The flowers have bloomed crimson at the touch of your hand,
The mountains have stood tall to watch where you stand,
The rivers have sung lullabies to ease your gentle sleep,
And time has paused in wonder at the beauty you keep.

The shadows have whispered of mysteries in your gaze,
The flames have danced wildly in your passionate blaze,
The skies have stretched wide to mirror your expanse,
And fate has intertwined with the steps of your dance.

The echoes have carried your laughter through the air,
The seasons have spun tales of your love and care,
The galaxies have spun threads of dreams in your name,
And eternity has sighed, forever unchanged by the same.

And still, stars, silent.

:: 05.22.2024 ::


ECHOES OF SURREAL NATURE

The boisterous laughter —
Echoes wide —
Down the crater’s slope —
It glides —

The rattle of a roundup —
Shatters still —
Insomnia’s blow —
Anxiety’s chill —

Nori’s wind —
On kelp-strewn shores —
Daffodil fields —
Silver spores —

The grotesque watchman’s skull —
Volcanic crest —
A reptile’s view —
In muddy rest —

Azure annexed —
By an amphibian’s eye —
Among the tadpoles —
Hidden nigh —

In murky depths,
where moonlight barely dares to dance,
secrets of the swamp unfold.
Amidst the languid currents
and the chorus of croaks,
a clandestine world emerges.

Here, where the azure is annexed
by the amphibian’s gaze,
mysteries lie veiled beneath water’s surface.

Among the tadpoles, hidden nigh,
lies the gateway to an enigmatic realm
untouched by the sun’s rays.

:: 05192024 ::


Heavy Mississippi River Dream

Hey now. Hey.

Strong feelings get’cha

where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?

The bar is thick with smoke and broken dreams,
another whiskey-soaked night.

Jack, you bastard,

where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?

Your knuckles bruised, your soul a mess,
you stagger through the grime of the city,
with her scent still clinging to your clothes.

in dank dark wet New Orleans

Your knuckles are cracked,
your heart’s a wasteland,
her perfume still lingers
on your ragged coat

In the smoke you lost your mind
left her bleeding on the floor
her screams ricocheting off
the walls of a miserable room,
like the final echoes of a bad dream.

what did she do?
was it her laugh, her touch,
or the way she glanced at other men,
like you were already a dead man walking?

Now you’re running
gonna take a dive
off the sunshine bridge
and swim with the currents
of the Mississippi River______
another dead man.

:: 05172024 ::


When You Let Me Love You


Smearing my hair with fog and bile
let myself go in the depths of the couch
With a hunched stable boy
And a roaming finger

All this because you know I was once a thief
So, let me love you.
How I love the taste of your knees
it is my toothless kiss upon your skin
And i love to touch your under arms
i shiver in joy
so let me love you
allow me to kiss your eyes when you sleep
allow me to pierce them while you dream
and provide the grand finale of my
triumphant saliva to blind you.

It is how I love you.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


Breaking My Heart

WHEN the rain came the windows wept

I saw you walking in the weather,
and I watched from my window.

Always inside looking outside,
you were a soul I knew,

but never more than a comment
on weather or how I am,
the enigma of love,
and I went down making coffee.

Always mysterious,
after years,
I never knew you
beside some comment about weather.

You were the fashionable lover
and gentle upon my vulva,
but I needed more — breaks
my heart.

You quote Mozart,
lighting a cigarette,
and end in Beethoven,
and never mentioned Chopin.

So you tear apart my heart
while lying you love me
and my art.

Breaking my heart.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


Tonight Let Us Breath

Your breath and by heart, this is the time,
soul, to take your free flight into complete
silence. Steering away from libraries and art,
with the day’s mid-sun waning and lessons
completed. You come forth completely, without
words, reflecting what you love most:
the night, sleep, death, and unfathomable stars.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


River of Liquid Glass

In the garden of flickering neon trees,
where shadows dance with marionette leaves,
I met a man with a clockwork heart
and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart.

He whispered secrets in a language of static,
his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks,
telling tales of constellations uncharted,
and love letters written in binary scripts.

We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist,
where fish flew by on currents of twilight,
and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars,
cradled in the arms of endless night.

I found a river of liquid glass,
where thoughts flowed like mercury streams,
reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods,
and the echoes of interstellar dreams.

A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival,
each horse a phantom of forgotten lore,
and as I rode, the world unraveled,
a tapestry of surrealist decor.

In the distance, a cathedral of crystal,
its spires piercing the fabric of reality,
and inside, a choir of silent voices,
harmonizing in spectral duality.

When dawn broke, the mirage faded,
leaving only a trace of whispered winds,
and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions,
in the realm where the surreal begins.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


Davy Jones Locker Is Full

Oh look ~~ stars fulfill
my dreams when i lay down
upon a daze

Oh so often these days
become my deepest dreams

Howv there’s no denying
oh! I remember I’m dreaming
and King of my unwakened world

No one speaks but I reach out
and I see Einstein screaming

Oh me oh my
cheer for the University
of Common People

Oh, father, let me sell my sails
give me everyone to fulfill
my provisions

Oh, allow. Oooh.

How Davy Jone’s locker relates
Ooh! Captive in dripping wet
rusting box of iron bars

Crying, below a rotten deck of
sea-dead wood, as he wipes
leaking filthy water from his
oil-slicked forehead_____

For provisions I spend my
Soul to make provisions
and sail we shall onward!

:: 05.14.2024 ::