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Literature
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I fell in love through a thin sheet of glass
Scraping my skin on the shards as it shattered.
And I fell asleep reaching for your hands
Dreaming of unwritten notes and dial tones.
I thought it would taste like pink lemonade,
But the way I say your name is metallic.
I thought you would be a way to escape,
But my wires got crossed and I became lost.
You're just chasing residual noise
And I'm losing my digital voice.
Literature
Galaxy Skin
Galaxies look like milk i spilt on the lino
ethereal,
it's true;
Nut's body was is freckled with Taraxacums and gaiety.
She tells me it's like design,
tells me that, even though my cavity chest is full
of empty space held steadfast by stardust,
that it's all God's volition, that it's all art.
she tells me that numbers/words are the window to the soul,
that I should write about emptiness and glitter and detritus in the waves happiness
Literature
The Connoisseur
Evening in the thought quarry is sublime. The newly collected memories are finally digitized. After the day’s work, I relax and sort them, evaluating their body and character.
I load a new one titled “Elizabeth," dated for last week. I open the sensory log and dive.
I see green hills and the occasional flower. Clear skies. The sight has terrific clarity.
I pluck a nearby dandelion. The aroma is sweet and earthy. I take a greedy sniff and feel the sharp prick of a stinger. I tear away the insect. The pain finely accents the fragrance.
I detect powerful enthusiasm for the loneliness of these hills, for the absence of civilizati
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This title works as well as anything. 