i gathered my thoughts, about this land and the planeti gathered my thoughts, by muscularteeth
it belongs to. Did you know Earth floats
in the cell of a Giant? Behind His great
blue eye, conceived in the seizures
He had as a child but His father
said He was a universe: every nuclei
a galaxy separate, and inside us
flit infinitely more, thriving and dead,
so microscopic to seem fantastic,
a thought once told me he sold silk
in the marble city Arri. He owned a cart
blessed by a mystic whose name was
taken from a page in a book I held
before I knew the letters,
his family lived in a stone house
with open windows, bread on the table,
Goddesses on the wall, summer lasts
an eternity in the pit of my stomach,
they thrived on my digestion;
i want but don't know how
to say this.
Another day the sky turned glass
above the Giant's head and He thought
He saw a woman dance on His face,
I balanced with one skinny foot
on the round tip of His nose,
but His eyes fluttered open:
black space, billions of stars, and He asked
if I was His creation;
the callingit begins with a few store-stolen profundities to be chewedthe calling by ghostinafog
and discarded, to be contemplated
along with the patterns in the tobacco-
you know none of this will help you against
the sewage tide, the addictions
that cling to you like a bur to
the fur of a stray shepherd dog,
the mind's liquidity as it seeps
into the nooks to find excuses.
still, you begin to toss and turn at night,
thinking you might have something to show.
maybe there's a charm to your myopia,
"can you see jesus
"in my gangrene? ah, forget it."
"hey, check out the way my tooth wiggles in its gum."
the discoloration of the nails, too,
perhaps could be of use to the future generation.
they say you revel in the garbage you process,
they meaning mostly you, the phantoms
gathering by the bedside to chat about
the weather and you, oh, you again.
still, it is alright. a starry night
tickles the tear ducts the wrong way,
a familiar tune rouses the rudiments of soul.
you make plans.
find what you hateon my skeleton alleyways are built,find what you hate by ghostinafog
gaps and craters. suicide pact-bound teens
walking into lava.
i spied on them like an nsa angel.
a xenocryst pricked my toe.
i was the one veering off the fiery sidewalk,
and saw chunks of motorway half-
regurgitated, ashen smegma
fallout. the language into which
my onanistic fire
suddenly everything had meaning
first of all,
there was someone watching over
our wreckage. and it was
the chemistry of softeningyou adopt the melancholy tone,the chemistry of softening by ghostinafog
memorize foreign anthems
vulnerability is a new medium to explore the separation
of voyeur and architect roiling the prefab primordial soup
lead on the eyelashes and glue on the sclera it is hard
to turn away
in five minutes leviathan will float up fully cooked
this is the flag of a self-proclaimed republic submitting
to the wind of isolation spitting left and right
it is to pull your enemy close
to you and turn the lights out after a polar night of fighting
it is to allow yourself to be hand-
cuffed to bed for a night on earth (you say,)
to understand the enemy (you claim,)
to justify your little gastro-mental motions
but they do not exist, or they do
but they're irrelevant to the story you're trying to get
out of your bloodstream. because they are not the cause
of your distress,