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this is a portion of part 1 of a 4 part poem

focus, i am a house of rubble, pull out from beneath the ruined pangs of sobriety, set on collapsing your aura clear into an ocean of visual and sonic phenomena. prisms and mirrors abound, buried under the color of headlights in rainwater at night, them dissipating with glassy shadows. swaying with the dashboard, while radios speak and jumbo jets are soaring over lonely motels. there are television towers taller than the highest spire on the greatest skyscraper: i use them to broadcast my thirst for you across the haunted continent. you’re a cake coated with acquiescence, i forbid you to eat drink or piss until these threads are untangled. chased down through the wires, clocks that rise and fall and form ghostly walls around the proverbial vegetation. shapes torn to shreds, to cease my sleepy spasms, piles of abandoned effigies are woken by the voltage. currents crash your cartoon character and shimmer against the paper. dark white words, turned and spun through a cyclic pattern, you line them up i’ll knock them down. meanwhile oxygen outbursts and warm fears, bodies surfacing like dead jellyfish. it’s timely, the spacious tongues rhythmically stirring inside. on hometown streets with starry maps, guiding you are the power lines, parallel like we. rivers of regret run through valleys of desire and over mountains of indecision. spliced our two identities, i am the dynamo of how to calculate the forces and probability of this collision. so, heave your bags of grain to the junkyard, grab your luggage and climb aboard the vessel, this is a one way flight with no stops.

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