Memories at 1

Dog ghost smile face

Race cat brown eyes bite me

Emancipation 

Emaciate skull

Tone muscle

Bone her her her her 

Cheeseburger

Ten mile run

Getting fat

Ten mile run

Six drinks 

Ten mile run

Mexican wrestlers

Masked fucks breathing breath

Inhaling Rona death particles 

Atone? For sure

Bone her her her her 

Turtle treasure island 

Six kilometer run

Lightning rice

Eight kilometer run

Six drinks

Ten kilometer run 

Gameboy boi boil

Transgender transhuman 

Transsentient transtoil 

Transmindscape transfer 

Multiworld travel alone 

Alone for a while:

Bone her her her her 

Childhood trauma regrade

One thirty push

Best friends used to degrade 

One forty push

Gatorade mixed with forty

One sixty push 

Kong dragon king bear 

Lying tiger babble lion 

Sworn sword lying sweet

Liens on lemon hearts

Cones and tweets

Bone her her her her 

XX

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

And I really hope they’d like me

We could talk about how the sex was

And maybe some German philosophy 

One could complain about the chlamydia 

Or how she hated when I couldn’t stop saying 

“Bruh”

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

We’d have a lot to talk about 

And I don’t mean just about them

But about how we always vote Dem

But then how sometimes we’re not always sure about them

Like how her eyes sometimes feel Republican

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

Cause we could talk about self-improvement

And the continuous lack thereof 

For they aren’t even trying 

And we all are!

                        (but we’re lying)  

He’s was on roids and he’s depressed,

One’s on drugs, one’s room’s a mess

And some of us keep writing poetry 

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

Cause we all have the same taste in music

That might because she introduced it

And gave us copies of the same playlist

Indie folk punk pop with a topping of hip hop

But we all secretly prefer video game soundtracks 

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

At least as pseudo-social friends

On Twitter or Reddit or tumblr 

They’d like my inane musing 

And I’d retweet them responding to the President

I think I’d like my exes’ exes 

Because we’re all replaceable cogs 

In a bougie, liberal, yuppie fog

Our factory settings are all the same

Just different rust and different names 

Tourism

I take a carry on now

I can afford it, it’s easier and I don’t care

I need to carry my shoes now

Because my shoes in your closet aren’t mine anymore

I spend most of my time on the beach

A marvel a temple a pilgrimage 

Where I used to follow

The sand washes away paw prints 

The buildings of my youth are torn down

In their place is grass and homeless men

And I am among them

But in a horribly different and privileged way

Terroryeet

Send it
Chuck it
Yeet it
Fuck it

The Universe converts itself to kinetic energy
At the end of it all, there is no potential
Just unended light speed into the dark

Rend it
Buck it
End it
Fuck it

Quantum fluctuations: positrons and electrons
Yeet themselves out of the deepest black terror
Heating the darkness for a trillion years

Shove it
Suck it
Love it
Fuck it

I Love Feeling Bad

Feeling bad feels so fucking good
Sad? Fuck yeah. Depression gets me down.
Mad? Fuck yeah. Anger gets me up.
Feeling bad feels so fucking good

I love riding the wave of uncertainty
Those weeks when the universe folds back in on itself
You can watch the calculations flowing
Down the water on the Potomac swept by the wind
When a trillion trillion futures branch out into infinity

Feeling bad feels so fucking good
Because the utility function of my primate brain
Is so fucking enormous, so fucking engorged
That I can feel the universe itself edging
That I can feel The Edgeless edge

Standing on the edge of a cliff:
Below the eddies and vortices of invisible spacetime
Blow my face, kiss my face, a blow and a kiss:
there are two options, depression or ecstasy
Trump or Biden
Death by suffocation or  asymptomatic transmission

I love feeling bad

Mediated Life

Life is mediated by a flow of chemical compounds

Water lofts carrion cells
Through carbon-iron matrices
Passing riBbit red pills
And hand fulls of regurgitated sleeping enzymes

Take the diuretic in the morning
So I can run faster
Lift more
And focus on my work maximizing the profits of our institutional shareholders who represent retirees all across the nation

Take the diuretic in the morning
So I don’t look hungover
I make a charming face on Zoom
And I am too busy to think about you

Take the depressant in the evening
So I can cancel the diuretic
Reverse the exercise
Make my sleep less efficient
(Increase my sexual stamina for the girl behind cotton mask)
And alleviate the trauma of a dissolving diseased nation

Take the depressant in the evening
So I can enjoy music again
Appreciate the grim reaper
And Karl Ove’s scripture
And also enough to forget thoughts of you

Life is mediated by a flow of chemical compounds
Balancing nothingness and hyperexistence
A lever pushed to the limits of good health
To avoid the damnation of the middle
To avoid the fulcrum that is you

Marriage Dream

I had a dream you got married

To the best friend of my neighbors

To the best friend of my brother

To the best friend of my family

To the best friend of my best friends 

It wasn’t me though,

Because I know myself:

I arrived at my aunt’s hungover

Depressed (but generally

not circumstances induced)

I desperately wanted to go to sleep

But this was the dream where you get married

He knew the names of my friends’ children

And they knew his and they giggled together

And the last night I saw them they were two

“Why hadn’t they stayed babies?

Why did they have to grow up?” I asked

“Its what they do” their father answered,

“He wrote a good poem about it” 

And sent me a link 

My aunt came to make sure I was feeling well

-Your wedding was the next day!-

And throughout the house friends and family

Not just mine, but his and yours, were running

The kids were playing tag and goofing 

The adults were carrying supplies and gifts and goofing 

“Yeah, I’m fine”

Everyone slept

And I laid in the only spot available 

(I had been late)

It was a mat and sleeping bag in the living room

The couch was taken by a girl with alcoholic breath who had left a video game on the TV

And that’s when I saw you out of the window

And then I woke up

Quarantined and cold in April

Pain in my knee from falling 

Soreness in my arms from carrying nothing

My Fitbit says it’s 3am

Why do I have a headache? Cotton mouth?

For fucks sake I didn’t drink that much 

I slowly wake up, a second time,

And I realize I’m late, a second time,

The wedding is starting soon

So I dash to the elevator 

Where I descend into a Death Star turned inside out 

It goes straight down through the middle

Of a vast planetary sized bowl

Where the edges are lit like fires

By the sunlight that can’t make its way down 

Into the spacious darkness below

At some point the elevator shaft ends 

and the elevator simply flies automatically

To the wedding reception

I’ve missed the wedding ceremony

But I see Him walking through the crowd 

“I’m so glad you could make it

I really appreciate it

Everyone is so glad you’re here

It’s so relieving talking to you

You get it yeah? Come to this thing after

God, I have to talk to more people”

He departs

Dressed in Byzantium gold adorned with red jewels

And cloaked in a red cape adorned with gold jewels

A crown on his head with a dazzling array of light 

I gotta get the fuck out of here

My family wanted to stop and chat; no

My friends wanted to stop and chat; no

His Family wanted to stop and chat; fuck no

The elevator lifts off

Raising me through the darkness

Through this inside out Death Star

Towards the-

     -it gets stuck in the shaft

I pop my head out of the box

“What the fuck” 

A diatribe from another guest comes:

“Heroes these days don’t have to work

They’re simply gifted deus ex machinas

And so when the hero or heroine wins

It doesn’t feel deserved so no one cares 

They have to struggle”

I think he’s wrong

And I struggle with the machine 

Something with ropes? They’re knotted 

They’re untied, they’re loose 

They have no slack 

I struggle through it, alone 

And then I just fall holding onto the rope

And the elevator shaft whizzes by

Until the rope stops my fall in free space 

The darkness is below me

The rim of fire above me

And the rope is stuck on a loose nail

Bending toward its yield point 

I let go, full expecting to wake up

But there’s This Thing After 

And it’s not an after party 

It’s a big circle, all of his His Friends,

His Family, and also, for some reason,

My Friends and My Family are there 

All of them are men 

And I have this fear that they might beat the shit out of me 

Instead He passes out a specialized booklet 

First to his father and then to his brother

And then eventually to my father and my brother and then me

I realize as he comes down the circle,

They’re thank you cards, but not just tiny cards, more like thank you mini-novellas

He has written for every one of them

He hands me mine, clasps my shoulder,  and whispers,

“Really, I appreciate you coming.

She doesn’t want to be your friend 

But she wanted you here to see this,

Thanks so much, buddy”

Through the window I see her then

Dressed in gold:

Flowers and red jewels running down her dress 

Her veil is red 

Her earrings are like two suns 

Her eyes turn to me

I wither 

I wake up

I Couldn't Anymore

I couldn't stop thinking
So I drank until the thoughts stopped

I couldn't stop feeling
So I worked until my brain blistered

I couldn't hear you anymore
So I made a hundred playlists about you

I couldn't stand not knowing
So I went to an office building by the highway
After steeling my nerves
And asked,
"What the fuck is wrong with me?"

I couldn't find relief in knowing

I couldn't find relief

I couldn't see you anymore
So I gouged out my eyes

I couldn't feel you anymore
So I threw myself down a mountain

I couldn't hold you anymore
So I bought a weighted blank

I couldn't couldn't anymore

The Caves in Virginia

The caves in Virginia are nuts
The second you walk in on a warm October day
(it's 80 degrees outside)
It's cold as shit, like fifty degrees
You reminded me to bring a jacket
and I didn't listen

The caves in Virginia are nuts
The grift is obvious; local tourist trap shit
These people have been doing it forever
And they are losing to the Internet
and Spirit Airlines
(you can fly to Vietnam and see 10x bigger caves for like, $400)

The caves in Virginia, again, are nuts
They have put lights throughout the entire complex
And the ingenuity of man meanders through the meaninglessness of nature

The caves in Virginia are nuts
Vast voids, like those you left in my heart,
With dendrites barely touching
Dripping dripping
Like the leaks from my heart

I Said So Many More People Were Going To Die

I said so many more people were going to die
But goddamned it we did it people
We fucking did it
A million lives have been spared
I was fucking wrong
I was fantastically and totally
Overly pessimistic about how fucking awful and shitty you are

Maybe I'm just projecting

Running for Peonies

I've been running recently
Haven't done it since that time outside your house
It was hot as fuck and humid as fuck
Downtown was empty as fuck at seven o'fuck

But that's Jacksonville for you.

I've been running recently
Stopping to take pictures of the flowers I pass
I don't know their names
I don't have words for their colors
Red? Purple? Shit I don't know

Some purple petals grow out of the tree branches and I think,
"Are these flowers weeds? This looks like an infection
How does this work?
Can something so beautiful kill something else?"

Obviously yes, hahaha
Of fucking course
ha ha ha

My favorite flowers are in front of the apartment I moved into for you
There's this tree in the middle of the courtyard
And a branch comes down to the left, right where my head is
And the flowers at the end are the pinkest pinkest pink

I fucking love those flowers

I see them when I go on runs,
And off I went,
Down the street:

A storm was coming,
the pressure dropping
the Wind rushing,
and I had a good thirty minute slip where I could get outside:

The trees were stripped,
Petals rising upwards and downwards like snowflakes
Just for me, the asshole going outside during a pandemic.

I was trying a new route.
I always try new routes.
I'm looking for peonies
They're the one flower I know
because you made me learn.

I've scoured my apartment complex.
The one next door.
The million-dollar gardens of my neighbors.
I run at a slow six and a half mile per hour
Scowering.

Today, when I got back to my apartment at 2,
I came empty-handed and with photos of grass.

The pinkest pinkest pinks were stripped by the wind
Dangling.

Just Pushing Air

Why do we remember meaningless things?
I remember telling a girl I'd met on the internet, who I never have and never will meet, that I had just watched a weird movie - Buster's Mal Heart.
She'd seen it too.
We both thought it was okay.

I wish I could replace those memories with small details to fill the gaps in memories more important to me. The color of her shirt, or the expression on her face. Something to make it more real.

I kind of hate movies for that. They always make memories seem so crystal clear, but they're not. Not even the important ones. At least not for me.

I think I'm addicted to my phone.
And I don't even like it.
I've got the world at my fingertips and I couldn't care less.
It's just a distraction from the empty apartment and the emptier space on the other side of the door.
The phone screen if full of things but it's really just a void.
Nietzsche really knew his shit.

I feel like I'm always searching for inspiration in the laziest ways possible. I keep a list of all the movies I watch, as if that actually means something. I've watched six hundred and fifty-one.
I people watch, but people aren't really that interesting. Not in real life, anyways. They like routine and comfort and sameness, and they're not so worried about being something worth watching.
I wish they were, but then I'd be a hypocrite.

I'm the blade of a ceiling fan. Always chasing, always being chased. And for what?
Just pushing air out of the way.

When you fuck a Fire

I text Matt something like
“I think I’m going to die tonight”
Again
What are you talking about, Alan?
What are you talking about?

I don’t sleep
I wake up and check my temp
Send out texts I shouldn’t
My oxygen is at ninety nine

“Matt, I think I’m going to die tonight”

Cause I fucked a fire
My ass is fuming 😤
Emissions crackle
Like Chinese factories
And smells like lumber refineries

What are you talking about, Alan?

Matt, I think I’m going to die tonight

Cause I fucked a fire
And she destroyed my life
She came like lightening
And I heard Ahkmatova’s thunder
Matt, I think I’m going to die tonight

What are you talking

Cause I fucked a fire
And if you do, baby,
Your penis will burn, baby, burn

Forsyth Street

Some days feel entirely normal I forget about the things going on, and then that night I wake up with symptoms that- after I've taken my temperature and and run my finger through an oximeter and had a glass of water- fade into black, back into the hypochondrial fever dream they came from

Skynet is fallen
I eek out the last process
A computation collapse
Smitten, bit-en

Forsyth Street's lights
Run by in red
(Nobody is out,
the souls are all cloistered
waiting for god)

I am crying
Running red lights
To get to yo

Temperature: ninety eight Fahrenheit
Oxygen: ninety nine percent

Youtube videos sent to friends
Articles read
Article read

A message sent

This couch

I hate this fucking couch

It’s blue and hard as fuck

I can’t read shit

My knee cries out in pain

I read in my loveseat

With the same light

That shined when you 

Whined

“I fucking hate how 

Depressed you are

Kill yourself”

I bought the couch with you

For you

I bought the loveseat with my bro

For me

You loved me for six months

He loved me for 16 years (!!)

It has beer stains now

It has ketchup stains now

Cums stains from people I can’t remember

Stains and stains and stains 

I sat here like a man in therapy

Staring at the ceiling

Staring at god

Pleading for reality to forgive me

For being susceptible to serotonin depletion:

Forgive me for serotonin depletion 

The couch hurts my neck

Swedish cushioning 

Loose cushioning

Noose cushioning 

“We fucked this” cushioning

The serotonin comes with

(Socially) Suicidal dreams

With the promise of escape 

From this fucking blue couch

Where we fucked 

Fuck

Exit Row

If you are sitting in an exit row please identify yourself to your lover to allow for reseating if: You lack the ability to read, speak, give gifts, physically touch, spend quality time, or otherwise understand the love language (or graphic form) or the ability to understand oral lover suggestions in the language specified by the dating app you matched on

I’ve been peeing in your shampoo bottles

I’ve been peeing in your shampoo bottles

Over in the shower corner there

They were empty 

And you weren’t moving them

Do you even wash your hair

I thought about peeing in your empty

Bottle of soap

Sitting on the bathtub side

Brushing my teeth with toothpaste

Do you even wash your hands

I thought about peeing on your blades

To sterilize the rust that’s growing

Veins of red growing down the side

Oxidization, entropy and urine 

Do you even shave your legs anymore 

My grandma bought me a tea mint shampoo

I bought that same shit for you—

—it stung your eyes 

Who is using it? Who is using it now?

Do you even wash your hair? 

Trace the curving on the coastline

I am asleep
California is awake
In solstice summer glare
My body aches, brakes
slow descent on curves
Nerves shaking by anger
Unsaid Words

Stop
Take a picture if you need it
I feel so far from my mind
Stop
Get out the car if you feel it
This is killing love in my time

Eight Years

Eight years
is two high schools
Of separation
is two freshmen years
is two sociological virginities
is two suicidal depressive episodes
is two sullen wanderings
lost to the sands of time.

Eight years is time
Between when I loved my brother's sister
When I loved a stranger's parasite
When I loved a my Bible and my God
and all descended into dust
and poetry

Eight years
is less than a decade
It is more time than our atoms;
It is between social construction
And physical reabstraction

Eight years
And I am before her fiance
Who I immediately love and admire

Eight years
And I am cringe with her lover
Who beats against the angst

In
Eight years
where will my soul be?
As far as Boston
is
As DC is from Jax