DISENTITLED

I was not made to live anywhere but paradise
such, simply, was my inadaptation.
Enclosed within shifting degrees of angular walls
dyed green and yellow, adorned with simulated cityscapes
and skeletons of forgotten animals.
I find solace in simple images reflecting outside lands:
your hair of twisted hemp heaped lazily
lassoing paisley pillows, a thickly woven canopy
above a pale and snowy prairie, pierced
dunes diving into swift currents coursing
through soft valleys before plunging into
Bataille's impossible abyss, riding waves of
long thighs to climb a column of bone
to claw a clavicles curve
to be lost, hopelessly.

I see the shape of space in smoke rings
in unpossessable lunar landscapes and lakes of
spilled wine staining these wooden floors from which
inchoate desires spring from long dormant wells
demanding sacrifices like some
obsolete god tyrant
raining down torrents of acid whiskey
through the haze of exhaust seething beyond
every window.

IN THE YEAR BEFORE THE END

A dense grey cloud hangs over each day

in the same part of the same sky

but I don't think it bears me any ill will

just a thousand heavy reminders of

You creep into my dreams and mostly

I think its only to stroke your own ego

and remind me of your brilliant plans

to evade the unyielding future while its

Victims feast on the bony carcass of winter

and this bleak and dour solstice twilight

dyes each pill red, melting, viscous

in the blood moon vacant, hiding

In pack formation dozens of empty bottles

relay the confusion of past weeks

paranoia, itching, lonely drifting

through nights of spaceless time

I float from where I do not belong into

quiet velvet comforters and satin throw-pillows

stuffed in my face upon waking dry

mouth and sore back pressed against

Austere white walls extend endlessly

in every direction fading into a distant horizon

where the ghosts of a hundred clouds must hang

heavy with rain, spoiled wine, vinegar