Inside and all around me, swallowed up whole down my gullet, deep than any desire fulfilled,
I'll make you mine, because I can, because you're everything my body needs, you're the air I want to breathe, you're every sweet sound of cosmic beauty filling up the space inside my ears,
you're everything I need to taste, a feast for eyes, for mouths, for hands, a treasure of gods I simply cannot let be put to waste, for sure.
You're all my loves incarnate, sugar, a world I'll live forever in, never alone, never afraid,
even when our voices echo slowly into silence, even when our bodies are nothing but meat.
I don't know, but almost don't care either way, if you're what I want, what I need, if there is truth between us or just another doubtful seed,
should it grow into a shadowed wood of lies eons from now, who knows, it doesn't matter anymore to me, we are always the only sad, pathetic people we can be,
and you are one I'd like to be around all the time,
a splinter in my mind, forever interwoven into the fabric of my reality already, rooted to my core like a beautiful, terrible dream.
We are spinning in a web of lies like so many useless, tangled flies, thrashing and flailing and writhing and wailing until the vampires suck us all completely dry,
The end may be soon or far away but we're recklessly reveling all the same, too late to save us all but too early to be damned to flames, too early to watch the ocean slowly swallow our small world,
our monument of a sprouting plague that covered this rock's face for a brief period of it's long, long life,
We don't care when she comes or what happens next, we're trapped all the same, we're still somehow alive.
There's no where to go, the old places will find you wherever you hide, you're a lost little boy in the tethers of time, you're a drunk drowning in fresh air
There's no one to be, you've exhausted all possible personas except the mask you refuse to wear, you're a fool masquerading as a poet you're easy prey trapped in a snare
There's no options left except giving up the rest, you'll learn when it's long past too late, you'll begin again half into the end, when you're tired enough of drawing circles in the sand.
Our narrative is nontraditional already, us children of the light-speed age,
no use learning in a straight line when you can know anything anytime, anyway,
and I’m no different, my story skips and stutters itself into cohesion whenever the need be, and wherever I am I’ll remember our collective waste of cluttered nonsense we call society,
Unsocialized, uncivilizing as we are, we’re adaptive, and gathering up enough scenes to piece a picture worth publishing, I’ll write the prologue
This memetic form suits my chaotic function, I forget who I was now anyway.
Even strands of empty space thread traces of god, pieces of the first, and only,
it sees through every pair of eyes and tastes everything at once, it is the rocks' steadfast surface weathering the whims of worlds colliding small and vast,
it is each blossom beckoning a star's bounty, it knows everything, and yet nothing at all.
We only share a bit, entangled between fires burning in woven webs of roots and stems or teeming cityscapes inside our skulls,
and the spaces inside and all around, forever, until everything's asleep.
I was only ever a narcissist by necessity. Poetry is just my preferred method of self- articulation; we all tell little lies and truths to help ourselves believe, sometimes.
The mother moon is where she wants to be, overshadowing my sky-searching fires with all the fury of the ocean's wrath that reaches upon land.
The Crab is every child's protector, he guards the abyss that birthed their souls and will swallow them up again sooner than many moon-watching sun-walkers know.
Her divine reflection radiates from inside the great Crab's grasp, claws entwined with heartblood warmth and luminescence alike,
it's enough to keep me trapped inside a memory forever, just to teach me to bathe in all that's most beautiful.
In the cozy heart-shade of my Entish legend's feet, there are no scorpion-tailed crabs or pensive four-legged brutes, no kinds of mythic or morphic abominations, shifting and shedding skins.
There dwells only a simple hermit, a sanguine philosopher posturing a tirelessly searching practice of wandering far in small circles, elliptical orbits around God.
