Ten Of Cups

The Piscesan moon floats in my heart 

like soft  sad balloons flying into the white sky forever. 

They make you crave love. They make you need it,

to complete the circle and understand who you were 

in the first place. 

Without it the world is an ocean of sadness and loneliness 

with islands of love that only last so long before being devoured

by the deep. 

And as always it leaves you battered, floating in the waves, 

shouting at the sky, and occasionally laughing and crying, 

My mind works in a series of pornographic images

that when strung together begin to take on freakish shapes

of milk covered statues and devouring chutes.

I’m primarily moving around to remind myself that I still work

that the gears haven’t fallen apart and each fuse is not fried

All the way.

If I were to start digging into my coding, you notice patterns;

fractals, geodes, glowing alchemaniac mathematical script.

If I read it aloud windows that weren’t open before

become mirrors of liquid and other spooky shit like that.

Sometime I look down at my body and I remember

that it works because it remembers you are in the world

and then the pornographic reboot starts up again

and I enter the passwords

I type in commands

As we stood atop that ancient pyramid, 

staring across a galaxy of jungle and sea scent,

and cringing American tourists. I shouted out 

pointing at all the other ruins doting up through the forgotten. 

I took photos and felt the sun on my face, 

drank in the bird song and slowly ground the gristle

of archaic chalk into my hands. I did all these things, 

but what I should have done, was what I truly felt, 

what I didn’t do enough, 

I should have pulled you close and whispered that I loved you,

because the things I saw in you 

I’ve lived in your skin for so long 

that mine smells wrong like a wild animal. 

I drive around, with the music low and tell myself 

that I don’t want you around. If only that was true. 

And the lyrics come at me in waves, washing over

each brittle inch of this molting suit I call a face. 

Pretty soon, the image in the mirror will match

the one I hear wandering and whispering around my head;

a weirdo walking past the lights of happy  homes, 

only looking in to make itself feel the nightmare deeper. 

I’m almost at that point where I’m going to let it in my lungs, 

treading water only lasts so long, sooner or later, 

I won’t remember your smell and then whatever I am now, 

No matter what timeline you are currently in, 

if your heart is broken "fake plastic trees" will come on while you're eating 

alone in public and then the you now will sigh at the same you in high school 

I got a sister fourteen years younger than me. Auspicious in sevens. And like a few

months ago she asks “was Kurt Kobain in nirvana”? There was girl on the roller coaster at Carowinds

with me who had a picture of Kurt as a kid on her t-shirt. We held hands in the sunshine and laughed because the future was nothing more than a field of smoke that smelled like incense and lip gloss. That was seconds ago.

Now I’m screaming at a football game and I can’t move with out over the counter pain killers that don’t work. Now I’m pushing people away and everything feels like a thin sheet of glass that can shatter at any second. 

I didn’t meet you then. And I couldn’t remember when we were what

But I fell off my bike looking at you that time. I kissed you in a blizzard.

Rock and roll is here to stay. I stole that from a dead guy we both miss.

And I’ve always been an outlaw for your love. But happy is an adam sandler character.

Once I walked home from a party missing my gloves. In the wind there was an echo,

“what have you come for” and I screamed at the sky

I’ve done this before. And suddenly I could smell your shampoo, and there was a bridge,

and I looked down into the dark and there was a teddy bear floating

in the river of my ancestors. I smiled. I am only going as far as my mind can take me

but the wind keeps picking up and the whispers are getting louder. I wish you

were there to listen. You were always good at hearing their bullshit. But you

got your own path and there aint no one going to turn me around.

I wonder sometimes if this isn’t a jail? 

Strange souls and eye lamps constantly running in the direction 

of infinite. 

How much can we take? 

The answer is everything. I used to know where

I was going, now it just feels like I know how to swim

towards the horizon. Sometimes the wave goes up 

and I see farther, some times in the low points