Toomy.

I know them,
you, it: when I live,
feel it vicariously,

transmitted
from all through your veins,
through your mind,
Back to me.

Dead
as you can
make me I shall I live
on and I will

have you know I am
far fucking stronger
than you think of me.

You?
You’re
the fucking
weakling.

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Head vs Tail.

Took the second.

Muscles relaxed. Bowl
equivalent: inhaled.

More or less
a few full glasses
of wine. Falling deeper,
head swallowing tail. Infinite

spin, oroborus
until you find
yourself in the peculiar
predicament

of trying to swallow
your own head, screaming
all the while,

“What am I?
Who am I?”

Sky high,
back down to ground,
remembering,

living wisely,
taking my time.

ET Saviors (Hold the Blessing).

You believe they cured
me of my condition?
Wake up. Just equipment
maintenance: best
not to read into

it too deeply.
Anyway, who is to say
that they are not
to blame
for the crippling condition
in the first place?

Xenophilia is no
better than xenophobia.

Always judge
with each of your three eyes
level and locked
with their own.

Hold the blessing,
let me show
show you who
who they really are….

Down the River.

Painless, silent,
she so smoothly slips
away in a waterproof
casket far
from harm’s way,

down the river,
on towards
infinite possibility
sharing the path:

joyride
to ultimate
catastrophe.

Who will truly
see her, grab a hold
and save her, bring
her to firm ground,

bond
with her, claim
her as their own?

Whoever,
she honors
them, as

it eases the pain
to come as she approaches
the rapids.

Blood and Beyond.

Always
knew something
was wrong: agonizing,
relentless thorn

in my mind. Inescapable,
this strong, unshakable
sense that even
if I were to try,

I could never hope
to truly belong. Fuck
it all anyway: who
would want to? All
I need is my family,
blood and beyond,
me, myself

and my impenetrable,
bloodshot, wide open,
unblinking inner eye.

Evidence via Follies.

At odds
with the world
as it sees me and itself

by and large, 
and after
much consideration

I have decided
it does not bother
me. Not in the least. 
It means no-
fucking-thing at all.

We all think
we are right, even

when we think we are wrong,
and I know I am among
those who,
however ill-equipped,

desire so passionately
to understand:
bear my follies,
excuse my follies,

I am growing
towards, adapting
to something evermore
closely aligning

to that which all
the evidence suggests. 

In Debt As I Am.

​Isolate me
then associate me
through your love-bombing.

I will not identify
with your kind.
I will not listen to
what you insist is truth.

Misinformation.
Disinformation.
Propaganda.

No, I will
anchor myself within
my own consciousness,
maintain unstable
trust in my skin,
belief in my kin,

live my life with open arms
struggle to take it all in,
process, then spit it out
for all the world to see.

I am nothing
but what I make of me.

Damn all
that they may think
of me, feel
about me, despite

my love for them:
they owe me nothing.
In no way are they in debt:
as I shamefully am…

Quickening in the Casket.

Feeling
as though you
have been buried alive,
though you are

but a seed
that has been planted
and these are just
growing pains.

Cannot help
the quickening moth
out of its cocoon
without killing it.

You intend
a healing scalpel,
as you wield
your murderous blade.

The sapling
must break its own seed
and rise
through the soil,
striving towards
the stars above.

On Towards Termini Coitus.

Fascinate
as you terrify. Repulsion
meets attraction. Such a thin,
flexible line

between craving and aversion:
is it suggestion
of a false dichotomy

in my psyche perpetuated
by my own dualistic perceptions
but ultimately illusory?

Do I know
and if so,
what is my unseen
reasoning? I will

to remember, I
will to forget:
is this a conspiracy
against the self?

Why would I do
this to me, rape
my own life?

Until embraced, in circles
both halves
of me run, forever
uncertain if they are chasing
or being chased.