6 from going to 108






It's not so complicated, the story, but it's something I didn't even believe in at first





                                                         resisting the storm snapped a wing
                                                   generosity also has
                                             its cancer

                                                                     I mean the planet when
                                                                     asking us to mimic oldest
                                                                     picture of our mother

                                                some minds
                                                    will not
                                        think around 
                                   corners













But then I couldn't do it. 






                                                       stop engine of the pieces lifting over
                                                         top of the sentence

                                          this gentle jeopardy portions love
                                          this is the oldest memory I have
                                   and cannot litter when thinking it

                                                                                        other days I can
                                                                                   almost sell the wind












Then I started after a long trial of crystal infused dream therapy I had developed 







                                                                                              tell me like I'm 6 how
                                                                                      blood drains from the land

                                                                 an orphaned sentence between us dies
                                                      I don't mind do you?

                                       jacking off the central base of union
                                         a new season for old martyrs 

                                                   it's like
                                                          if blood spurt from each of our mouths once
                                                                      a day with no one on the same cycle














I've been writing a series of Astral Projection poems


pen 
inking upward massages
                                                    glands behind a cloud

                                                            this is the gap we've come to consider

                                                            a golden panel of sentient touch gathers
                                                               the awful dance into one strength until
                                                                                    we rip the barnacles from
                                                                                                              our sides














DID finally realize that it IS in fact true, She wrote passionately against astral travel



                                                   who the fuck
                                                   appointed you gentle flip of the senses

                                                                              pregnant against the
                                                                              cistern turning EXIT
                                                                              signs to ENTRANCE

                             the sun has come to the back
                                                                     door

                               here's to the strength of that
                                                                     door















that it was dangerous, and I think she's right, but I do it anyway




                                                                         the brand name's
                                                 ceaseless blade resolves nothing

                                               I let it happen holding our memorized
                                                                              intentions to love

                                           my chest relaxes at
                                                          finding the
                               fake blanket something like
                                                  grass and stars