A lecture hall

Soft glow and rows

and rows of seats filled

with empty bodies.

Expectations of thought with

no distinction, floating in a

vast dome.

—Broken pots, holes down the centers.

Liquid honey flows up and down

rows and rows and rows.

Our boat floats betwixt

here and then.

Nobody is like you

But you are you

and that is why I love you

you are like no one else

just you

A Passing Moment

That feeling

lumping up like a pile of bile.

Not understanding why that feeling

is taking over.

That moment

of just wanting to scream at you.

Not able to comprehend what is

I am wanting.

-Alone here for just a moment among many.

Evening walk in December

There’s a buzzing in my head

a pressure like a vice crushing my breath

Hips locked

A lump in my colon

—not a tree in sight, the stained concrete condensation calling a reminiscence of a brutalist bitch

Gas lets go and my pressure remains

—The sky is beautiful though

Not looking

Walking and running past it without thought or care. Not looking at the cloth lain bare. A stain or clear sky in grand immensity ever present and incomprehensible. Maybe it’s all too big to see as I rush about in memory. Rushing toward the future with aims set. Slivers protrude, little numbers reaching skyscrapers across a digital lexicographical container.

—nobody gives a shit for the impact

The trees grow. Red sky at night and morning and endless spirals cascade into radiant space. Nothing is looking in return.

A hole I feel

A void vacuous, uncontained and not understood

Reaching out, trying to eat everything

Inconsolable in its innate insatiability

Tearing apart materials tensility with a need too strong to muscle down

Unending seemingly of its breadth

—waking up tomorrow again not knowing if its pleasure will grace my day

smiling and talking and smiling and forgetting