Man In The Radiator

 Human beings were a cosmic mistake and bringing new life into this world should be a hangable offense. Here's a new poem.  Birthday My phantom limb dissolves Evaporating into the careening chandelier  Hanging from stretched umbilical cords Held together with pulpy, burnt sinew. Dimming pink light  So I can’t see my own shadow creep up on me, My fingernails are forming; sharpened and ready To peel at the muscles coating the walls, Cup the dripping, unidentifiable fluids And burst through this horrid little Flesh-colored bubble that I’ve found myself trapped in.  I’m wailing without lungs Weeping without tear ducts, Feeling every nuanced reverberation around me Without any sense of time or space, Starving from refusal of the  Masticated, lumpy regurgitation Fed through an undulating tube Connected to my underdeveloped stomach lining.  But a vague ambition begins to take violent hold of me, A glorious vision of dramatic transformation An unexplainable eagerness to exist. I would clos

This one was inspired by the dreams of someone close to me. It makes no sense whatsoever. I'm losing whatever small semblance of talent I had.    Untitled Psychic Dream Siphoning Experiment Click of a faraway machine A razor-sharp puppet string  From your ailing skull to mine  Pulls me in  Life in reality has gone on long enough  Slice my eyes open to impossible landscapes  Bludgeon me with your mania  Toiling in my corner of the void, Searching for signs in my bed of broken glass, And gnawed fingers, That you still exist. Dreams splayed out on a bloodied slab  Hissing IV pumping gravel in the circuitry  Monochromatic waste of sleep Subconscious assaulted And brought to its shivering knees Slice open your brain stem  Drown me in whatever pours out. A flash of significance  My memories burning in your mouth It all unfolds  I’m helpless Predestined to the fall  And lost forever  In images spiraling in the wake  Behind your sickened somnambulance. Surrendering to the vision-bearing wr

  "Bathed in blood Or drowning in my bed With the fragrance from the flowers In the gardens of the dead." - Jhonn Balance An Incomplete Illusion  Ethereal helicopter blades Whirling and slashing Cutting through sheets of pallid skin Stretched out across the acrylic, silver sky. Chunks of numbered refugees splayed across  The upturned highway A primordial upheaval, nothing’s chained to this tortuous globe Watch as my reopened flesh Spirals through broken windows Of abandoned buildings transforming, Finding their breath, a shadow dance, In inverted vacuums of negative light. Among it all, I’m bound to grief  Remembering when I used to watch the apocalypse  Unfolding from our bedroom window Against the engorged, ugly storm clouds And torrents of tea and wine, Choosing to brave it all with you, Holding you close to our shared collapse, A doomed caress, Now I don’t know what’s become of you, If you notice this severed devastation,  Or how you now see me Or what the point is  Of r