A Gaseous Memory

Breathing in the room where She expired, speaking to the tubes where her voice echoes thrice, the cars seem to never sleep outside, it's dark enough tho the sun shines, the sun blinded itself by looking into the mirror, mirrors looking into each other laugh & giggle infinitely, also cosmic memories and bulbous dreams swell under the radios voice, what kind of moon is this? Seven circles surrounding each other, blue moons fizzing in my tank overloaded, a radius thistle to sprout nuclear missile. What the hell is this place? It cannot be called the city of angels anymore, for they have all evaporated. Change the name with a new phrase, phonetically comprised with new faces & cleaner places. A mechanical organism this city. Cars take on their own language, vehement vibrations & ceaseless vessels to pulse thru. But the veins of this county are clogged & it takes triple the clocks to equate. It's all about the voice & if it is loud enough to electrify. Singing to myself alone in this room where she had once questioned the growths on the palms outside the window, & Mexican man walks by and hears me humming vibrations out of my pulmonary box & we make eye contact for several seconds--a game I do enjoy to play with other lost souls--but he looks away, barely nodding an acknowledgement. The rainbow evaporates & the light bulbs birth. Glass eyes with plastic retinas see the sun as they want to. The city comprised of static concrete & walking meat. Joggers wish they could slow down but their ear tunes them tightly, as cars honk out their oiled throats & scrape the sides of each other playfully. There is a man 200 feet directly across from me in the park & sits on bench arms crossed, hat on. He contemplates just the same as I do. He sighs & breathes in the fumes and looks the other way. I can't help but wonder his life. A boisterous blonde surges by on her spandex feet & doesn't even think twice about the faces that follow her, mine alone, perhaps, hidden in the ivy of the shadowed plant. Pedestrian hearts smile with plastic sunglasses over their windows & eat two times faster than they want to. Humans artificially connected with the world weep when the television doesn't come on to speak to them. Alone with the ghost listening to Prius below fart it's sorry existence. There are so many goddamn people. 

Outside the fire stalks the air & breathes in chords of toxic electricity, the eyes growing brighter & more synthetic with every dawns final breath, every dusk's first sigh & every death of every detail grinds it's teeth to cloud matter. Control the Suns placement by sleeping under plastic rocks & drinking from rubber trees screws and bolts, chewing tires & spitting out the miles as the moons stride together in the darkness & the cold emptiness of the voids liquid emotion, water the sun to watch it grow and pour it's lemon pepper down each other's throats, why don't you care for the life you created? Someone sold the bridge to the other side of the day -- night squeezes the pulp from the sky, sky-blazing the years & the lighter fluids dusty tears, amber smoke rises from her nostrils like an ethereal eternity, craters on the surface of her eyes fill with the tide & the lies that she catches springing from my swollen tongue, glue goodbyes with wires in our ears, ants consuming the crust of the moon until the skeleton is visible, which in all reality is just the microcosm of iris, the graveyard of premonition and intuition, wires vocal range is as far as the sun can see, says the limbs finger, leaf &ring attached like a scope at the bottom of the ocean, hair still alive, still swimming with the same cosmic revolution, shorter, breath shorter and fill lungs with seahorses to laugh and watch TV together, do you understand the divider? she asked from the other side of the mirror, Do you understand the weight of the earths breath, and the wind of its mighty cough, coughing up violent pearls of human activity and violet hues of pain and joy, a ceaseless tide of retrospect and memories mucus, the secret sight you have in your hand, disguised with a leather diamond guise, let go of the wheel and stand on your feet and roll on the balls of your spontaneous skeletal sculpture, dance with the wind which is basically just singing to the wall, the pitch is in the teeth and the parrot is in its cage -- the earth is just a marble filled with insects and squares. 

Gaseous memories fill my skull and O think of her, O Her and how she is forever absent, the beauty of living with the memory and never with the artifact, broken and pieces scattered across the globe and buried in a thousand different places. Fearing the failures exhausted from metal decorations and the millions of holes on your skin, forever adjacent to one another and always within my mirrors color. Weeds grow in the spots where you once lived, the place in your sockets where you once stared out at the wind and the trees and the organic cars and the artificial water and then lastly me and my prey smiling on the surface with my vowels and the symphonic flowers stuffed in my a*s to grow fossils of holy s**t and golden turds--you always jacked me off because you wanted to be slapped in the face with my hot diamonds, my bile jewelry and intestinal existence-- you caught every cautious drop with your foolish tongue and swallowed the secret into your Fallopian sector, transforming neurons into new thoughts to jizz beautiful lies onto butterscotchtaped canvases composed of granite bubbles and euphemistic vaginal voltage cores, dead nights still as your statue six feet under the peach tree and the voices that chirp a sense. 

I'm already gone because I'm here now aware of the absence of your existence, pianos clash together until the shells burst and spray battery acid in my cactus throat, who hurts the pain, was it me? I stabbed Pain in the eye with a sharpened pencil and it laughed and bled ink onto my fingers and I wiped it off onto your cheek when you were asleep inside the seed, shiny tears dripping down your thighs into the desert of blue oasis mud -- I got to the cliff last night and threw the money into the vast blue--it sounds like a salted cliché but it's true, because I want nothing to do with anyone if they are not you, if they don't have your eyes or your a*****e that birthed only citrus afterbirth, I reject this globe of sand and tanned purple bruised tongues with exotic voices that I can't understand for the death of me, oh but all these ants are crawling on my skin, love, they are crawling in my ears and feasting on my fearful cerebellum, they're cracking the shell of my eyes and consuming my ruby sight, I have to say goodbye to the future for it is not for me but for another me, and the ants are in my mouth and dissolving my tongue and they're in my nose and my a*****e and they are eating the waste like the fools they are, these ants all have names and addresses and they laugh as they cover themselves in s**t and bile and blood and bone and become tangled in my sins and netted in my veins and they sharpen their antennas to seek further the diamond source, the source of the past and the nonexistent present, there is no present, there is no now, there is just the equation of love that has no answer, no organic outcome but only the chemistry of our loins and how the insects survive the sun and nestle themselves within our heart cage and takes mouthfuls of gold to spit into the mouths of their disgusting newborn, it's sad really, that we can see death walk towards us with its cane down the road with the sun behind him, the silky sun silhouetting him against the picture frame of my exposed eye. What is this new life? I thought I had just died? Trees grow here, she said once. They grow and they grow and they don't stop until they reach the flame. Death got closer to me and reached out his hand and I grabbed it and completely forgot where I was going with this poem.

Author's Note

4-19-15

Reviews

[Calliope]

Reading this is like zooming out on Google maps to the point of having a small existential crisis.
(You get that same feeling of not wanting to zoom in again, not wanting to come back to earth.)
Pretty amazing. Mild insanity factor A++, if given the chance to read again would not run screaming in the other direction.

[Chadvonswan]

HAHA YES, im glad you read this and reacted to it. I want people to react
...wtf.../
thanks for reading !!!

[Calliope]

Dude, it's no biggie. Have I mentioned I love your writing lately??///!!!!?@!!!hzkxhl (insert haphazard keyboard smashing here)

[Chadvonswan]

Only my writing of late is worthy; I'm finally figuring out how to go crazy

[Gaston Villanueva]

The ending haha

"ants consuming the crust of the moon until the skeleton is visible, which in all reality is just the microcosm of iris, the graveyard of premonition and intuition"
"the beauty of living with the memory and never with the artifact, broken and pieces scattered across the globe and buried in a thousand different places"

This was a great experimental piece and I liked the vivid imagery and euphemisms
It had a lot of details that teased my imagination

[Chadvonswan]

Thanks a lot for reading G-Man