Freedom?

I am an unholy mess of unholiness
And the stink of it is overwhelming
I am whelmed overly

I want to choke on every follicle
Of your glorious mane
And every inch of your pewter frame
Inch by inch
By inch.

I want to be your colonel mustard
And you be my miss peacock
Without the pea.

You told me inaudibly and unwritten
That you’d be my orgy
An orgasmic, triumphant cacophony
Of light and wet delight

I thought to myself that
If I were a tree
I would stick you with all my branches
And soak your blood through the earth
With my roots

Call me over these electric lines
So I can feel your electric delights
Even if it’s just with my wrinkled palm
And what’s left is a flushed face

That’s gross but it’s my mess
And I can’t clean it by myself.

I want to glue your clue
With my dice and my cardboard chart
Until the light in these five candles
Is a corkboard of all that is childish and wildly radiant

The way our dreams became a reality
But only in our minds
That’s how I think of you and about you
In fictional retelling of our facts
But in verse. And not paragraphed very well

Because I don’t know how.
I don’t know how to cross these borders
With their rebel machetes
And glassy eyes
Staring at my arms deals and my
Array of purple blood diamonds

I am the god of war in our melting world
And you are my liberating force.
Here in controversy and against popular opinion
So feed me a grain of rice
Which is all my swollen belly can take right now.
And I will cry out for more
More, though its taste will kill me.

You will kill me with two grains of rice
And the blinking gaze of your carbine
But it will be a slow and swelling death
And I’ll rejoice in its beauty
As my innards burst and the hole
In my chest bleeds slowly
Because my pulse is low and slow
Like the dying dog my mom hit with her car
As I watched from the backseat

Even if its not your rifle or your well-intentioned feeding,
Its you in the backseat watching
With a morbid curiosity and a touch of sorrow
Because I have curly hair and sad eyes
As I gaze at the fender and the parts of me
That are stuck to it still.

These are my inner feelings taking shape as I breath
and watch my fingers coming together.
Over me. Over me.
I roller coaster with an early warning
Even though I don’t know what that means.

I walk through a desert of clichés,
Searching for your drink of water
And its your puddle that leads me
To the darkly paved road where your mother
Where you are driving.

I’m trying to turn this spasm in two
Something beautiful but its just not coming to me
You are, though only halfway because your mind,
It’s else where. Where else?
But maybe its you bleeding into
The puddle.
And my tire tracks over your torso
Who knows but the owl watching from the gnarled
Spiny arms of that desert tree
With its biblical shape and its biblical name.
It’s violent shape and its violent name
But the beauty that sits amidst those spines
Is a beautiful cacophony
Of feathers and soft hooting.

I wish I could take its place
With the crows and the carrion
Birds that seek out
The smell
Of decay
Maybe it could be me that eats your carcass
Instead of the opposite.
Maybe your bones in my scat
Instead of the opposite.
And I could walk away full
With satiating death
In my gut
Instead of that grain of rice

So shake your head
Until it spins around
I’ll wave my arms
Until I float away.
Either way,
We’re both still stuck here
With each other’s blood mixing with
our roots and our rain water.