This is not a disaster.

The feeling that fuels

your arctic phallus

turns your spine

into dominoes

dripping black

like oil, churns

our butter faces

from the nerves

aged as religion.


That’s not the problem.

All I can muster (while

the invisible adrenaline

propels me like steam)

is the implementation

of our corpses better

and the world clean

for those children I

repeat I never want

(or that the universe chills

before the dirt preserving

our lonely genitalia so we

won’t miss out on much).


Published by


Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s