Everyone wants the same thing and there are many eyes.
There are many I’s.
There are many ways to use the situation
accordingly.
Everyone wants the same thing and a darker common is in production guising as a threat.
Threaten me
threaten me
the Governor toys and it’s exciting to see his near-heathen-scream.
(I like it).
He says,
love works
not a threat.
A threat is an empty.
A blank.
A threat is a silence that wants to scream.
A threat is a test of fear.
A test is a snapshot in time.
How do you measure a dream?
How do you measure a dream in time?
How do you measure a dream in a time of such uncertainty?
What is a dream a snapshot of?
an anxiety?
an unsustainability?
an abandonment?
a responsibility?
a curiosity?
Last night,
I dreamt
I was in hiding
In the day
In the night
At noontime
In the day
In the night
At dawn
In the day
In the night
At suppertime
I was in hiding
But it was no ordinary hiding.
It was
horrifying — the not knowing — when or if or how my life would end, or if my life would, the not knowing is similar to now with so much that is uncertain, with so many fears foraging, so many thresholds sit untouched, so much is left unbelonging. There is horror in this life-this day-this year. Horror in the mishearing, the suspending, the mirroring, the resounding, the sounding, the destruction, the earth, the inclination, the sarcastic, the obscurity, the society, the projectability, and the line still demarcating, crevassing, wedging thick between us.
Anderson Cooper says the President makes it his duty to protect inanimate objects.
What is my duty?
It’s my duty to protect my heart.
The Governor says in my next life I’m going to be a journalist on the other side of this
table. I’m going to be a terror because I’m educated, you see.
Do we all want to terrorize?
I only terrorize myself.
A Japanese amusement park banishes its attendants from screaming on roller-coasters
during this Time of _________.
please scream inside your heart
Prove your humanity.
Keep it hard, says my spam, timelessly.
The implications suffer such a strong narrative.
The mixed messages so purposeful, yet so purposely timeless.
I’ve worked so hard to cut the chaos out of my life,
but this path has its own nondescript timeline:
a trap
of darkness,
a relief
of fat
too full to
loosen
too tragic
to try
People show you who they are, but things get lost
in the choosing, you see what you want to see over time.
The history of a thing is just a story.
Are we ever certain of anything?
In the meantime, there is no theory.
No one knows how the other really lives
(with themselves I mean). I’m clocking my time.
This stroll gets old fast and less walkable,
a lit alley aching for the dark.
How do we get
to the pinnacles?
Who can say?
(Who?)
The future is in your mouth.
(Is it?)
I want it
in my hands.