i want it weirder, stranger, grander, faster, longer,

non-stop

no-sleep

wake up in a new time zone

surf through syllables disregarding

til you get offended

we are - at times - supposed to offend

i dont want to be a castrated jellyfish

at the mercy of the kindness of the happeners-by

i'm a "hey, i've got brass knuckles in my belly!" kind of jelly

and i want to attack

attack

attack

something before i die.

i want to dig deeper and see who dares to go down that far

i want to make it weird for all of us

get surly

forget my dayjob and use my own language

make my own dress code

show me something that makes me sick

slug me in the face

let's have a war, right here in the sand

duke it out until tomorrow

wake up to fresh new sun knowing that it always was

and always will be

you & me.

nbd.

i just cant sit still in the box they drew for me

thats the greatest crime

the biggest death

sprout some legs

shoot some vines

bust out of this 2-D business model of being tame

i want 4-D, 8- D, i wanna feel your fangs!

show me some dirt, already!

‪#‎realtalk‬

Patient, silent hours squandered 

"deliberating"; Imploring 

impartial parties. Still, I crossed 

the line- 

it took a matter of seconds, 

with no regard for my 

transgression.

It echoed like splitting skin...

A flick of the tongue for a moment of taste - What is the sensation that it brings? A pulse of electricity, or muscles that contract|expand|contract, as the sentinel glides – silent, slick - between glistening, dew-dampened blades. Always will it end this way, in the same final clench - with or without the scream, snap or gasp of his prey.

No sooner than a breath is drawn is it erased. Puppets wait in the pause between - the moment where it thrived amidst expanding ribs, and the emptiness where it will soon be. In an instant we are crucified upon this axis, without ever the want to be; how much longer must I wait, O Master, 'til you tilt another string? 

Sable streams of smoke confirm- you are still smoldering. I scuff my feet and search for words, but the fire in your cheeks and voice incinerates me at the speed of kindling. 

In the time it takes me to sketch a line of defense and draw a breath, your napalm inquisition fizzles out, neutered now into ambivalence - or apathy - between the smears of my erasure and the growing distance from the question mark.