weekends together
seen from China
seen from China

seen from Maldives
seen from Switzerland
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Costa Rica
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Japan
weekends together
In an alternate universe Noah and Micael are horse boyfriends
the nap master (he’s trying his best)
just us two
Special.
(Noah dude, you’re lucky.)
o u r g o l d e n d a y s
Noah thinks Sirichai is mean and Sirichai thinks Noah is plain annoying, but you’ll always find those two together. Always.
S A L V A T I O N
Flush, Pulse, Stir
Flush, Pulse, Stir
Words images flush – maybe Bones dustless, rust sick spark screech – fire crinkles embers dissolve out somewhere beats thump – rhythms resound and we .
no. whirling wind spits this down to formal formless inferno then howl breath throws it blows it up to heaven then down again (purged in purgatorio at some time lodged between) then up to paradisio
and so on until it comes to . . to the eye storm blinkless crimson pray may god be blind or else bind this page or else grind future (t)error that penultimate slow coming to of nauseous fat bolt of light swells up the sky with seeded crackles and a rip is the last sight faceless extras will see born from some twisted storm cloud grave
no. there is beauty in what’s passed in the numinous echo of ghosts scents, trembling drops of sweat on the lip and the bright glow of skin flushed from love a sincere prosody now like stars they are, his or her eyes their pulse at dawn affirms the dawn
or would rather breathe burnt wood and glass then this spewing gore and damp death drift to perish sick the face his or her dance of two bud red spheres like hemorrhaged moons they are, his or her eyes fallen from orbit – plink plunk – stirred into the low tide at low tide
mere pulp snuff
. . .
flush before I sea the scabbed over with syphilitic film of tin rusted reels of worn-in apocalyptic dreams . we are crystal cyclone keeps the spin but we are in for every pair of another will rise wind and eye-less storm crimson-eyed
distension. dilation. spin pinned spin – apocalypse is not time to disappear. rising up could be stars. oh be / loved…
flush, pulse, stir.
. . .
Noah Adrien Lyons 2014