Anamnesia

I promise to remember you
If you make them promise to remember me
Something special to make me,
the saliva writhing on mother tongues
Name an incurable disease after my name
So that even in death,
i recoil ad nauseum,
ailing more crowns,
a gentle reminder

Advertisements

Homecoming

Welcome home,
To nowhere in particular
It might seem anomalous
But everything is exactly as it was

Don’t look at the upside down pylon,
With its head buried in shame
We would offer the same,
If it actually were upside down

The abrupt foundation of the road,
Which leads to a perpendicular interminable horizon
Wait, I mean, which leads to your erstwhile homestead
Now stop with the daft questions and embark!

The immaculate sign invites you
Ah fuck it, the rain has washed the wet paint
Let’s both go and revivify,
To pull same scheme on the next fool exiled

What does it say?

It was in exchange for pencils for the school
Or maybe for a tractor for the farmers
Was it to put phone towers on a graveyard?
Might as well have been put there by aliens

From a rust factory for discounted prices
Held together by the last quarries of sinew
A bountiful harvest of ballistic thorns
Wrapped as rosary beads around this important post

Upright trees marked as deadwood
Lead from the paint leached into the soil
For all the pulp razed and pulverized into gloss
All that remains is a peculiar rorschach blot

Pass

Wait for the signal
The signs will cordon the flow
Information will be crafted pre-staggered
“Need to know” will shed skins as ages progress
You will accommodate the cast as how we smelt you

The legwork of what was
Impel you to follow fossil footsteps
You will be afforded better grip in the mulch
Enriched by brackish flesh and ghastly familial sabotage
You will call that plot home, where all that will grow is poison

The pale form of the goal will cajole you
And you will corroborate the collective hallucination
You will be told to habitually embellish to appease the vision
You will encounter unfinished crossroads fashioned by previous traffic
When told to hatch a new cross section of your own, you will but merely pass