Paulconqueso

I've had to pick

a pocket

or two

Or three

to make ends meat--

 this hunger

a war cry

a death rattle

in stomach, a call

to arm & hammer

my lack of cans

in the pantry,

 but I've seen some

get sick off of gluttonous--

bellies filled with artifice,

vomiting up so much

bagels & lox,

all the while

my complete

breakfast

of ketchup

& chips

led to Jack's

total lack

of surprise

at this nation

which is both

the richest,

most abundant

& the poorest

at once--

a poverty

of morality,

 that I could find

more sustenance

in dumpsters

than food

pantries

& yes,

free lunch

kept me afloat

Kept me alive

& when I taught

7th grade

at Oliver St.,

I'd give

my kids

3 breakfasts

from the bin

& double

the lunches

at times 'cause

I knew the rattle

in their eyes

 & it's a crime

that even amidst

this pandemic--its surplus

of death & all of his friends,

I know there's kids

who will have

to pick

pockets

just to get fed

now that

I reflect off the Koi pond just outside my local Sushi spot-- backs of the carp sleek as the letter S' curvature, serpentine fingers 'come hithering' me to name them each, to jump in-- the water is wet.

& I came here solely to fill my need for dynamite rolls, seaweed salad, Sashimi-- staples of my Western palate accustomed to East, but since this backward nation is insular; read pig-ignorant; read myopic; read bigoted--

because some fisher- men can't discern race from race, virus from root; plague from humans which have nothing to do with genesis, we're left with blood & scales on gloves.

& as I sat on this concrete ledge; artifice of pond absorbing the art of fish going without rest, I read the headline: "Stabbing of Asian-American 2-year old & her family ruled a Hate Crime"

See, I learned today that Sashimi means 'pierced body', that 6 flesh wounds is the magic sum in the mind of someone aiming to rob breath from a toddler--

What one's eyes must look like as they attempt to engine their ambling legs desperate to outrun threat of a knifeman who's set his Kissaki on her flesh, yet to experience all the richness & feel of hand- rolled Temaki

not some hateful blade scraping throat to thief life before she's even been given a chance to grow

Mini replica of my flaws

Why do I think

You'll mystically bring me

Peace

Or clarity

Maturity

Or a sense

Of something

Wholer than this?

Perhaps I've

Romanticized the idea. . .

1:8 model of my jaw &

Sunken eyes

pronounced nose

bone

& manic mind

With false alarms

& blue lines

Nearly

Called you mine

A handful of times

I have raised so many

Other versions

Of

But never my own

I think I get the hype

But as time goes on

I begin to think

It's just not

Meant

For me.

Or maybe

I simply

need

to keep

living with an eating disorder,

believe it or not,

is a hell of a lot

like raising

a puppy

sure, at first--

it seems adorable,

the attention

they bring,

tailing you

everywhere

like a Pikachu

with their mother's milk breath

& you cradle them close

to your breast.

Then you learn

the immense

effort

it takes

to satiate--

how they

take & take

&

 take,

consuming more

than you thought

one miniscule

body could.

Next comes

the fucking mess;

all your possessions

chewed to pulp;

friends & events

you         miss--

vomit & piss

like clockwork.

Who knew it could

be so much

work

& strain--

to raise a life

from nothing,

this needy

teething

being

tearing

insides

of home,

leaving

full fields

of bones buried

& nights of sleep

excavated

to wake

& meet its needs.

& so as you race to the kitchen

at 3 am

to clean his mess

once again:

paper towel,

spray,

& intention

to rub his face      in it

you recall your last pet--

a cat,

& how she left you

to your own device.

How time & wisdom

can train us

to heal;

sit

& stay

& so you pull up

a chair

at the counter;

pour a tall glass of milk

& ignore the bleating

of pleading tongue,

stomach howling

as you fix

yourself

& your pup

a starvation sub

packed with all the nourishment

you have been

depriving

yourself

of

The Beatles never

Day tripped

Like this--

In their yellow

Submarine

subterranean

Stationed

20,000 leagues

Beneath an equator

Equating touch to energy

Kinetic, we connect

& twist & shout

Out our loudest fears.

Attractive

As tides which pull

Sifting thru lavender

just to reach

fields

of magnetic

strawberries

& I love her

but I need help

The feel is surrealist

Like Dhali elephants

Walking stilts

God has built

Immaculate scaffold

From tectonic plates

Pulling steel

Toes

To earth

Attraction hurts

When not reciprocal

This Sgt pepper

Lonely heart

I give to you

You give

to Jude

Instead

To shred

To smithereens

& sprinkled Its

Tiny shards

Across the universe

To be absorbed

Into the polar sea

(Let it be)

Magical mystery

Tore us apart.

Please

When I was 10

I packed all my belongings Up--

Action figures, books

& snacks

In a toy chest

& left home.

Well not quite

But I wished I did

Depression hit

Like a megazord

Falcon punch

Of 'not enough'

You'll never be a 6'5"

Shiny figure

Of lean physique

GI bro, Superman

With incredible Hulking Pecs

Tossed into bucket

& that lack of love

Let me believe

I'd never fly--

Made me casualty

staggered me

In a state of

not wanting

To be there

Or anywhere.

My first ideation of suicide

Came in the shower

When I was 6

I was questioning

Why I held on

To more

body fat

& bad memories

Than peers & frenemies

At the gate taunting that

"Penguins can't fly"

& a single parent

Child

Can never be whole.

I clenched tight

To those

holes

In me.

This lack

Became identity.

Filling the ditch with sand

dumped from rusty

buckets

Of my own chest

Action figures

I packed

To take with me;

Flawless, constant

reminders of traits

I can't possess

This gaping

Plastic

Hole

In chest

Empty as

Thoughts I fed

My own reflect

Until I stepped away

from toxicity

Of voices

& harm

& saw penguins

do fly

In sea,

We are all capable.

No longer gaping

Hole,

Made My self

Full

& didn't feel

The pressing need

To eject.

My most recent depths

& ideations came

when exes left,

when mother died.

But instead, I stayed home.

Patched holes

& let others

Just like me know

Someday, they too,

Will spread their flippers

& swim

Sad!

Isn't it?

How we can't

Communicate

Without underhand

Tactics ; small handed

signals; journalistic threats

A hegemonic thread trying

its best to monopolize

Not very bigly Wise

When held up to

To the 44

Which came before

Fuck, even Dubya seems

Like a savant these days

In comparison

At least

He had the sense

To dodge that fucking shoe

I've got some huge

FoxNews for you:

You are not immune

We cannot

Pull through

Unless we do it

Collectively yet we seem

To be at a deficit

When it comes

To our leadershit--

Sorry I mean

Ship steered

Clear

Into the iceberg Tip

Only 14 days

Outside

The bodega

More & more

Ask for porridge

Poor so porous

Beg as it pours

Porque Las

Ratones

Salen

De noche.

Savor each moment

& yet we still scrap

Over rations //

Scraps of bounty //

Paper tissue to wrap

Friends in sarcophagus

Of our mummified heads

Death comes in tens

& I require daily

Bread

In empanada

Gods & scholars

Think they know

Which day

To open

The mouth

Of cave & feed

Gaping need

We hide eggs

& think someday

We'll hatch a seed

To make us close

To sanctimonious

As son resurrected

On some Sunday

Taking it upon himself

To crash a pretty

In pink

bunny party

He was never

Let’s all just stop for a moment & meditate on the notion that if the flame on

Charmander’s

tail goes out,

he dies.

 Not he faints not he gets upset not he has to rest not he needs to be taken to a Pokemon center to be restored to full health again—

No.

His life legitimately

fucking ends.

So try your best to

stay lit

like him, no

matter how hard it gets.

 Protect that ember with all you got

& make sure

that fire

inside never

extinguishes.

 Shelter it as if

your very existence

depends on it,

 because in actuality—

                                                                                   it does.

You & I mix

Like oil

& shit

Blood

Isn't thick

As this

Simmering

Saucepan

Gritting

Grits

In teeth

bits of calamity

Snapping branches

Off family

Tree

The bark

Reads

like homogeny

"Never cross breed"

Or cross fingers

Or criss cross

Swallow

Crushed up

In applesauce

Hopes to die all my life

Having been

Barricaded

In this House

Quarantine's

Nothing

To me,

You see

When frying pan

Pops

I don't jump

back

Collecting

Blistered scars

On chest

Because truthfully

I'd rather bare

The marks

Than part

With the parts

Of my self

That you say

Don't

trudging thru the brush

Will

is a strong thing

loudest song to sing

how do we carry on when

all our laws of nature

say 'stop'.

Be amongst the still,

steady

metronome

of silence & watch

the life around you

sprout anew

We are the animals.

watch how we move,

stalk,

self-sabotage

Don't let death do

its typical

cloak

& sickle swing

creeping ever nearer

to the free-moving bodies

not heeding the warning

siren, scion call

an entire bouquet

of flames

global burning

trumpet swan

song

asking us all

to just chill

lest we wish

to return

Imma find my way To you Whatever you do

& take root

Through mask, gloves, Hand, lungs

Susceptible

You ain't special, Fool

Who you think you is?

I'm timeless, bitch I am time.

From smallpox To landmines To famine To cholera To anything making Us smaller as a human race

Is you insane? Who am I?

Same contagion New decade

Who dis?

I move quick & once I'm into you

That's it.

There seems to be no cure For me. No vaccine.

Fool, You are me

We are one Don't act new to this

You contribute To every bit Of my global reach In meeting pandemic Status moving fast as black plague Between trade Ships except Now I have Internet.

I mean realistically How the fuck

Can any One Of you Stop us?

Unless you are us.

We are apathy.

The thesis of parenting in the endtimes is to stick to essentials--

See, the apocalypse demands a certain set of skills: self-soothing, self-reliance, an equipping with the knowledge of who & what to avoid;

how to stay sane.

& given these days, we've all seemed to become kids again We must also teach ourselves;

how to engage a 9-year old who keeps leaving the classroom of a laptop's screen, parroting the rhetoric of a lesson which may not apply when we get back to society.

All of our former concerns & needs seem inane in comparison to our current (survival)

& yet so many remain obtuse, abstruse, far removed & oblivious to the consequence of not squirreling ourselves away in tiny walls,

 I genuinely hate

How much

I hate myself

Sometimes.

How cruel the critic

Voice

In my head can be.

That All the lines

I often architect

Aren't enough

To save me

From such

Sadistic speech.

That I numb myself, too.

& pollute with distractions

Like everything except

My art, work &

Healing

(Which is a lot of both)

& I hope someday

I can say "I'm good"

& actually mean it.

To love my self

Even

When I think

I'm not worthy of such.

To realize that

Being in a relationship

Isn't a healthy way

To stave off

Mental

Breakdowns

& yet

I get so

Anxious

& Nihilistic

& downright

Dangerous

When I'm alone.

Can't keep a decent

Sleep, eating

Or self-care

Routine

Without

Someone

To hold

Me accountable.

& that's just bull.

I'm a grown ass man

& I think it's time

I stop

Putting off

Confronting the issues

Which led to scar tissue.

To be the one holding me

accountable.

To commence

with mending

& be kind

Wanted to be goat

plus one greater

To hit pump fakes

Shimmy shakes

& shoulder fades

On all my haters

To take a dome full

Of broccoli

& make

chopped leaves

Of any wishing to stop   me.

Grinding each day,       24 / 8

To rise above malady

& manifest this

apex mentality

To see

a land

of waste

& formulate

Ways to drain

3s to clean oceans

of hope below me

To shoot my shot

& as it sinks

Around the rim

With pumping fist

To give offering to

The parquet floor             Gods

Nothing could ever

Be so holy

Lips offer praise

with simple phrase--

we shout out                       ‘Kobe’

The difference

Between distance

& space

Is what you make

Of the leash.

"At least 6 feet"

"I need some time"

"We were on a break"

"Hope to see you soon"

Each so different

& as we lose

Proximity //

Intimacy,

We grow

used

To solitude

& so we grow closer

Got a chronic craving,

so I 'rounded the hounds up;

me & my boys, four lobos rolling deep              in Machuga hall

 Howling through the aisles of Caballo Blanco

liquor store, whistling swisher sweets.

I rolled her, per usual.

Approached with air of thirst-

iness, how parched my lips to lick her gloss…

of course, she wanted it.

As we stumble back to Overlook South,

I take her to flat surface—

lay her down

with lengua rattling wrapper,    

wet       makes for easy unraveling.

 Split down center

& dump           the guts.

 Pushed in limbs,

broke up sticks,            seed,

stem & dust…

Fingers trace the crease

to make mouth hole of opening.

Scorch ends with a flicker to seal its skin.

Spark up,         puff,                

puff,                            pass

what's left?

That’s his turn next.

 Inhale, ingest, consume,            repeat.

Almost too moist to pull

but not to those experienced.

Someone taps at door,

shit, put it out!

Nah, fuck, it's just Joe.

 "Yo, I got five on it."

 Then join on in, let him

get some, too. As Bell Biv Devoe

Spins on the radio--

 “It's driving me out of my mind

That's why it's hard for me to find…”

 With a towel & bodies to block

the door, we all take turns.

 “Can't get it outta my head,

Miss her, kiss her,

love her...”

 (Wrong move,

You’re dead)

(That girl is…)

 Jab in mouth 'til contact

becomes the high.

Still, I pass it—

Pass her

‘til there’s

only vapor left.

 “That girl is poison…”

(POISON!!

Never trust

a big butt and smile)

 & when we’ve all

had a turn,

flick the roach—

  ridding evidence. . .

 Dispose of

her

where

they won't

find