Human existence
Is a story
Accident or miracle?
An accident, for sure,
But could it not be both?
We
Are alive
And so am
I
Something from nothing,
Is that not miraculous?
People talk a lot
About Human nature
As if We are The Stone
When We are The Mountain
Of The Earth and Our
Image in The Lake
Reveals The Truth of Gods
Our Dominion is the
Consciousness We give away
To get back when We
Know
So for sure
It does not
Work
Not at all like that
I will explain it
All for my child
Under the light of day
Make no mistake
We have Made this place
Where
Currency determines
Which of Us will ascend
And it has been
For me all my life
That's when I look at you
And see you for the first time
A piece of The Soul
Welcomed to an entrance
Among Our every new
Where Our Elders sit
In circles of no clarity
Selling songs, selling food,
Selling news, selling views,
Selling Us modes of Life
Pandered to preselected groups
Test and Market approved
And Selling it as soon as through
Our parents who Would
Paper Our deepest wombs

You wouldn’t let my feet touch ground
until side A died out
and the pirouette ceased.

We laid there in our Analog Atlantis
staring beyond the ceiling
letting the soundscape crash over us
and cascade into auricular orifices.

Our bodies lifted from the mattress,
floating up and up—
past the ceiling, past the trees,
past the planes and clouds,
past the stars and planets—

into the ether we fantasize about
in our synchronized dreams.

Til the sound waves receded,
and our bodies washed up along the shore,
our contours molding into impressionable sand,
turning our gaze to one another—

the needle lifts from the wax
and returns to rest,
the platter ceases its cycle,
the speakers die—

and instead of feet touching ground,
I flipped over to side B.

Vinyl Chloride

I will never believe
in you again,
There is harm in
trusting a delusive
person like you;
Your damage replays,
others can see the
debris from your mistakes;
if only I were made of bricks,
then maybe, you
wouldn't weigh as much,
but because I'm
not made of bricks,
I'm vulnerable,*
starring tired flesh
and equally tired heart.

"Who would love such a
toxic conundrum?"
I whispered in the early
hours of my existence,
starting as a lukewarm
substance,
gazing into my pristine heart,
my empty core.

Then the fate of life saw to it;
to stain my skin and give
my emptiness a name;
Hurt,
no.
Ignition, match,
or maybe their hands.

I can't tell when those things
had a distinct identity
and didn't just seem to be
my heart twisting and
my core splitting,
soaked in chemicals,
all mixing.

There are cigarette lighters
everywhere you turn,
they look like brown eyes,
rough hands and vinyl collectors.
But I realize I am something
to be inhaled;
choose dying over pleasure,
give me your utmost devotion,
touch me as I burn.

A platter of black plastic
Spinning circles at a speed
That fill the air with music
The inspiration that I need

I close my eyes and listen
To every hiss and pop
I keep the arm retracted
So the music doesn't stop

The little worn out player
With the sweet distorted sound
Takes me back to being younger
It's where memories are found

It's magic made of plastic
Spinning out musical streams
That box that pops and crackles
And fills my vinyl dreams