i came to the world,


unable to comprehend

the pieces of a life

that hang in a mobile

in the clouds 

that wobbles in a spiral 

just above my eyes;


not able to crawl while

balancing on a tight wire 


i marked time in burnt nights

in music and colour

in acclaimed unhinged feats

in women with guitar rhythms, 

not understanding

that there is a limit

and rainbow faces,         

dim and fade


i was born as the genesis

of a waiting storm, 

the storm broke my back;

took me out to sea

until the whirling waves

pulled my legs down


such an unexpected freedom

to feel the foundation of your life

erode from under your blistered feet

falling into the freedom of empty




some days

i forget my life

forget about estrangement

in this land of strangers

a land once solid

now questionable and changed


i think about a home:

a home of unknown origins

i dreamed of living in

a forest of burning airplanes

i remember walking through 

the smell of scorched wood and metal

like fresh bread


a place of mine:

i recall its comfort and

the safety of known dangers

i fall



i believe if i fall,


other people and things 

will begin to fall

away from me


when i fell

i continued to fall,

i watched people move back

hoping to avoid my eyes

as they make their uncomfortable escape:

to limit their exposure:

to my damaging circumstances;

doubting my claims




parts of my brain

have forgotten how to

speak to other parts 

of my brain, 

my harsh neutral land

that’s home to no one


i became aware

of this communication breakdown 

on a peculiar day, 

the summer sky deep and hollow


i began to hear in that blue emptiness

different tones and timbres;

began to count voices and opinions

none authentic to me

but it became my job to arbitrate 

these separate voices,

that don’t speak the same language


it’s hard to understand 

i am a singular chorus

of cacophony




i think of myself as an object

i try to describe myself in grand words

and eloquent turns of phrases

that mean nothing

but have artificial beauty 

my world is artifice 

hidden in a maze of streets

that aren’t on google maps


i use phrases like

i’m made of tangents

and parallel lines that

wind themselves around

each other like dna strands


i fashion words into saying things like 


i’m made of repeated detours

any direction i move

i’m lost


i try to use simple words

one syllable straight on words

but it’s not that simple

the world i see or 

the occupied land

i am



there are nights

wet sweaty cold nights

when i wake up like electricity

when i scream at the dark

why am i doing this?

why am i still trying?