Christopher is stronger / than the rings of Saturn; /
spirit got so broken / it put itself together. /
Christopher says when you’re / anx- ious, just say Fuck it; /
I’m a blessed tornado— / he’s my older brother. /
God I want to reach out, / be felt by the light of da- a- ay. /
God I want to under- / stand, not miscommuni- ca- a- ate. /
[ ]
OK, / Tomoya serpent round my neck, / and a daydream like a sleepwalk / really taking me nowhere I know.
OK.
OK.
OK.
OK, / Holy Water pouring from the sink tap / tap tap tap / buddy that’s / pretty true— / really mad.
OK-OK-OK-
OK, / I been had / plenty times; / I been taking mine, O / K? / I been taking mine, O / K? /
What’s good anymore? / I love everything in one way or another. / I am a brother of a brother and a brother and a brother and a sister and a sister and a sister. / Holy water in my coffee cup / blushes the blood in my body, love.
Once the sun avoids my own triumphant neck / then what will show of / my blond tufts become a spike of light, herald guardian star: mother, father, distant-planet caller, heed your actions thusly: / He is not a destitute array of wasted sight as much as often. / You have emptied cuts of pencil-shavings into busy hampers filled of trash and asked: / Why am I so wrong and feeble? Why am I so stuck inside myself? / But the bell’s clapper sang something urgent and you were unable to see it was I in the rubble—who stumbled.
Bit Sting of a Big BumbleBee Really Humbles Me; / I believe it’s a lesson they told me I’d learn: how to burn and be ash and the difference, so / I believe / Jupiter’s waiting my Birthday in May / to be blessing me / garlands of well-woven strength (constitution) / and love’s prostitution for Heaven’s sake.
I break for nothing but physical harms and am charmed by the way I can learn of this pain; / We are the host of a typical quall: / quaking for fear now no longer—let the Earth, / and be easy, friend. /
And if the heart were a diamond or, something of the sort: /
unbreakable taking a soft ray of light inside, /
where would my head be today? And what would it say? /
And how would it know anything?
The burden is often a big short of power: sparks falling off in bright zigzags and dying.
I believe / somewhere in my head, if the heart were diamondlike, /
it wouldn’t ever feel the same as mine or yours or anything, /
and only you are hurt if you can hurt: / only you are crushed by rain. /
Only love can save you: / you must always love yourself.
Don’t harden your heart.
I in the park’s shade of trees walk on down the stone steps (as opposed to the left) because these are appealing in feeling to me, and as I do so I look up to the clouds cotton-white high and bright because they are appealing to see to me. Little time left to enjoy this corruption of nature as I have to be in by Four. Maybe my day off I’ll set sail a shellnut boat out on a bird bath, mast a great grass blade. Maybe my clay face layered in glazes will furnish a furnace; harden its skin from within. Maybe this sense of time-lately will stretch for this wretch and I’ll catch on to something that passes too fast to be felt, seen, or conscious of. Infinite Stimuli unify all of my depths.
Get in tune, Matthew. Nothing is barren truly. Only the heart you behold and its pumps and sad-powered vacant beats.
Get in tune, Matthew. Something is up with the moon, oh. Something is drowning inside you that you won’t even acknowledge.
Get in tune, Matthew. There is a There where it isn’t marred by you. It is soft and new and a long shot from Here wherever you are.
Get in tune, Matthew.
Get in tune, Matthew. I believe in you. I know you aren’t anywhere but you know you aren’t caring so why? Why Matthew? You love so much.
Get in tune, Matthew. You don’t know shit. You believe it is love but you don’t know the lot of it. You believe it is something you have but you simply don’t have it.
Fuck you, Matthew. You have brought this on yourself. You have cried, you have died, you have gone to hell and nowhere else. I believe you know already.
Get in tune, Matthew: get in tune. You don’t know anything. You don’t know even the first thing about anything.
You have brought this on yourself.
Get in tune, Matt-hew. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. Get in tune. Be a lost light on the edge of the dark. I don’t give a fuck.
You have plenty to be thankful for but it’s all words to you, so. What you do you know? Oh. You know nothing, so….
Get in tune, Matthew. You have spilt all your blood already, stupid. You have made it all a joke and wasted everything for nothing. You have nothing left to prove. You have nothing left. You have left.
Get in tune.
Be like everything you cherish and go away. Be like every self-fulfilled prophecy and lose focus and purpose and die there on the carpet where your patterns go. Be like the patterns and go ever inside yourself and die! fucker die! You have no reason to live fucker—die!
Oh and—Get in tune, Matthew. You’re pretty fucking shitty you dumb lot of wasted time and breath and words and so forth. You have no place inside your game and have no moves left to play. You have no words to move onward from and no actions to lease from the movement you’ve made thus far of what little you’ve done..
Oh and Oh and Oh and, get in tune—Matthew, get in tune. You have no idea. You were starborne thrusts of light leaving portions of yourself everywhere you moved and making waves that lasted hours at a second and you made nothing of it all you made little of everything you made, you made yourself nobody.
Get in tune.