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.