i am constantly breathing
and thinking
and stopping
and breathing
and speaking
and stopping
because the words taste like vomit
that plunges from a slippery sick place
deep inside my brain.
it fills my mouth
as monstrous as
natural evil
and i cannot remember
the face of god
in these harrowing moments
so i don't blame anyone.
constantly thinking of ways
to move my limbs in conjunction
with the wind.
but i am a broken jaw,
limp and lame.
and i am hollow,
empty and hungry.
sickened;
this is how my thoughts whirl,
in a sensuous dance with that
music box girl -
her mesh skirt fluttering,
her lips painted bright -
and they waltz so smooth.
i am mesmerized.
but she is not real,
and the music is circular -
i have ravaged
so many
cities of souls for
spherical import.
there is no truth
in this.