let's be humans

drop me off
who really figured out the earth isn't a plane
I mean, it's plains
but I don't know
I mean, it wasn't columbus in his three speedboats, I mean of course before he got his boats
christopher columbus was going along in his three boats
with his slaves
when he discovered that the people whose land he'd discovered
were also darker than he
so they could be his slaves, too
#extraslaves
drop me off
the flat plain earth
so I can float in space
upsidedownless
rightsideupless
bodiless, totally Mister Onlymind, here
     Cassavetes & Bergman & Fassbinder etc made a lot of films
in which the losing of one's mind, or the journey into a woman's spangled neurosis, is chronicled
  I've always loved watching stuff like that
watching someone crumble into the mind-abyss
lose a self in another, or a loss, or an absense or something emptier than that
it puts it into perspective
because I sometimes feel like I'm teetering on the edge
of some similar plains
just wondering if I'll ever tumble
but we've to remember that we're just human beings, here
like columbus
like his captivated
like Cassavetes & Bergman & Fassbinder
we're just rediscovering what's never been discovered by us
or discovering what has been, already
traipsing the sinews of a brokenmind
floating on the new eternal sea
or in new eternal space
to find someone with whom to hold hands
to clutch on tenderly
till the infinite brings us round again

hello, beautiful

Why? Because my blood is thick. I have all these tortured organs, I know it. I make them whipped. They ache, but with smiles across them. My sweet little heart getting big on itself. Making hard itself. That tumescent little thing. My mouths filled with apologies which fall out and disappear on a breeze. No one will hear! not even my own opened ears. My filthy fingers reaching for yours. Your cups in mine. Mine own overflowing. The quiet cold, my heartattack building, the mossy breeches of the nailed fingers, traipsing, traipsing toward yours. Yonder fingers tracing over mine mossy knuckles. But this is love, no? shall we argue? Nothing in me is for an argument. I give up, relentless, restless, accepting, open, whole, heartedly, whole. The whole hole filled with heartblood, gushing, retracting, sucking itself off. Never relenting, never detumescing. The various plaids of my outershells, my chitinous fibres. My camouflage, our matching stripes and shades. I will be there, you know it. I will scrape you off, when you need it. I will sing when you like me, I will look when your eyes are away. And still keep it when they turn back towards, inevitably. Do you still read me now?