my                     self-prescribed                 sanctuaries;
my                   predictable                 imagination;
my                   feral,                 hypothetical people;
my                   thought                 as a currency;
my                 scrapbook      as a mockumentary;
my fan letter    to the inventor        of language;
my cartoon      obscured            by mass celebrity;
my backlog    of tabloid                  and ideologies;
my                     want                              to take credit;
my                     history                               of unreality;
my family’s heartbeat;

“It escaped me--”
“--It flew away,”
when I remembered
the masons and quarries and doves.

i speak, therefore broken
But I Won’t
scream different face;
vibrato like midnight
fortress--bricks of an afterthought.
it falls the same way waves
never change: crumbled by boulders
of meadows and plains
wrapped in hammerfists,
But I Won’t graze, therefore,
before the grass,
i grave. blue handkerchiefs twisted
around the waist of heaven, wandered,
then wondered, does this mean i’ve changed?
not yet ghost, not yet perforated,
i learned to use the ocean as a clock
But I Won’t steal another quantum,
ask nothing in return, then a hologram
in tantrum, relearned the hopes
of the undecided, unhollow, unteatherable.

The cure for recovery
is ocasionally,
the symptom itself.
For instance:
jogging with a runny nose,
demolishing a broken building,
sleeping with an STD,
taking some time apart from yourself.
Professionals view these deviations
as cute emotional suicides.
The wound doesn’t dissappear
when its hidden.
See:
bandaids,
highway fantasies,
becoming a ghost.
Recovery is as simple as cleaning,
as in a dirty room, bad brain,
or any temporary ailment,
like when your home begins to change.

avoid salt as much as possible
and allow
and try to force feed
and this too can be placed or coconut oil
days of pure ghee
I see my food
sugar and salt, as
Had to be bound,
war, or if
Pounds with you
Pure butter and sugar,
I forced my child
milk - he hated and drank often, even.
It is wise to wash your food with sugar roses
Her face
predicated essentially force the issue
Can be expected to go with
the other's laughter as pure sugar