under the last palm tree on the moon,
throwing up…
more like throwing out.
watching fake colors swirl out of my mouth.
so gone. i am gone. gone. gone. gone.
dead to the world that once knew me.
blue cheese penicillin moon beams
rumi.
the poetry of rumi
hopefully soon we meet again in the stars
in the great light
in the fight of my life right now
no words i write down
aren’t knives to the throat of a clown…
cloaked, crowned
in the land where no king resides just i
alone, lonely
for the first time blind.
by design
i crawl in every crater i find
on the dark side
tar tide. asphalt cream pie.
give it here! let me try…

it looks how it smells how it tastes in my eyes.
death the next 3,000 miles.