this one goes out to my unintentional shakers,
the ones with thunderstorms in their chests,
those that are
tweaked with
tweaked with
tweaked with
weakened with lightning
as it rocks their spines
You and me and Hugo Weaving
You and me and Danny Glover
we’re shaking around,
poppin’ stillness pills
hoping we don’t drop and fly

this one goes out to the Aristotelian thrill seekers,
pumping their veins with telos for months
as their bodies pump with pain for five minutes
time passing differently for two parties;
a bruise,
a bleeding tongue,
and when they smile,
it’s Dickens, Carroll and Poe.

This one goes out to my defaulted orbital cortices
the four, four, four; zero, five,
five, five; six,
six, six; eight,
building crashes of thunder in a mindful storm
thought storm
storm of thought
looping and swirling
ideas becoming impossible
the mind shuts down
a system smart enough to reboot
blue screen
long beep
foam mouth
tight jaw
quick jerks
small grunts

inside is paradise
inside is flying through space and time
existence ethereal
rolling through grass with Charles Bukowski
he hands you a drink
you tell him he’s old and gone
he says that all is here and now
nothing is ever ‘here’ truly
that you’ve shaken your way through the fabric of time

eight, eight; three,
three; zero, nine, nine, nine;
or you’re standing in the docking bay of
six, six,
some ship, all around is dark
six; eight, eight;
and suddenly you are surrounded in bright light;


Do you know your name? “no”
nine, two, five, five, three, three;
Do you know who the president is? “An asshole”
eight, eight, seven;
Do you know what you were doing before this? “kissing someone”

Hugo Weaving runs through my thoughts,
I’m too young for this shit,


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