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Leonora Carrington, 1961 I believe this was rediscovered on Antiques Road Show

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Visual manifesto no.1

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Visual poem for my twin brother

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Things I've Tried to Alleviate Depression

Sertraline

Lamictal

Lexapro

Blackberry macaroon

Overpriced coffee

Meditation

Klonopin

Xanax

Yoga

Acupuncture

Emotionally unavailable lovers

Cleaning my room

Taking a nap

Taking a walk

Shoplifting

Psychoanalysis

Vodka

Vicodin

Wellbutrin

CBT

DBT

ECT

THC

Trintellix

Mirtazapine

Philosophy

Talk therapy

Boarding school

Treatment center

Loud music

Soft music

Self harm

Self love

Kissing

Crying

Cold shower

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Cut my tongue out my mouth and I will still bleed your name

this body is a tomb, not a temple

the bones are tired.

the flesh is ritual.

the veins run like pipelines

through my dust bowl of 

tender sorrows. old wounds

radiate hot sicknesses

that infect the heart and

set off the geiger counter

shrieking into the sunken night

where phantom hands posess my limbs

and phantom lips berate my thighs

covered in blood. still warm

optimism disemboweled by such

backwards tongue self sabotage

in this scrapyard of psychic junk

you learn to fit to the confines of your cage.

you learn to swallow your rage dry.

the ground is barren. nothing grows here

not even weeds. tree carcasses bend

backwards away from the sun.

something is hiding

behind a vitriolic shroud 

all this time. and so familiar.

narcissists parrot their pain

in this regurgitative graveyard  

the pulse throbs SOS in morse code

strung out led astray. i disintegrate

like a spider web in your palm

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There is no progress, just circles

I left in the early morning when the sun was still blistering in the sky hiding behind veils of cloud and smog you’ll find in cities commandeered by industry metal monstrosities reaching upwards toward salvation toward the blistering sun glowing and seething and searing a hole in the ether circular like a cigarette burn circular like samsara everything is always dying and being reborn in the wake of yesterday’s blast zone erecting cell towers with your mind or crawling towards some temporary euphoria it’s all a game of circles you speak circles you spit circles you live and die circles you abandon one circle for another because circles are all you know but this is the rise and fall of the chest of it all create destroy live lose there is no progress just circles the day I killed my expectations was the day I floated up and away to a non-heaven without circles

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Chinatown sleepwalk

I ripped the sky open & gardenias grew from the wound

seeping sweetness into the air like pus from a sore

staggering through Chinatown like a zombie

drunk off my own sleep deprivation

the lights all blurred together

painting illusory pictures that

glowed against the nighttime’s stillness

punctured by echoing strings & footsteps.

I wear my dreams like armor

I dream like a wet cat on acid

with my hair raised & my back arched 

& my mind searing technicolor images

of taxis with golden tracers & wet cats 

& paper lanterns lit from within

this is not a funeral march

this is an ode to hypodermic needles &

a lament for the patriots possessed by ancient demons

I take my sadness uptown & transfer at 14th street

christened in piss & metallics

with the sound drowned out by

cannibal daydreams & pig chatter

this is a requiem & a love song & a big fuck you

there is nothing left to lose but your fear

riding razor blades to Venus or

watching spires bruise the skyline

shades of copper & violet

chimneys spitting smoke

from brick mouths