Streaming

Like laying in a slow moving river,
And letting the mosquitoes feast
On your flesh because you’re exactly
where you want to be under the moon.

One name is galaxies superior to
One thousand ointments and touches
My eyes aren’t satisfied with seeing
But thoughts don’t flow that smoothly

If wanting two mutually exclusive
Things at the same time is neurotic,
I’m neurotic as fuck. (These thoughts
are making too much sense to me right now.

I might keep on typing because you just
May learn something about yourself)
Accepting sequential something is usually
a heaven mist of angelic self-portraits

Opposing poles keep an illimitable
Balance. For what lies between, but
Only one world magnified through Balzac
Tendencies and dignity in this informality

I thought of cream thick eyes doused
In absinth drenched thoughts of late—
Night balconies. Perfect for deep sea
Jeans as they collide in plasma soaked bursts

This may be a smoke closed calamity
Of unnerved introspective nothingness
But then again if I were to diagnose a
Malignity it would be a lesser comprehension

Of love. It’s all too draining in an unnatural
Blaze. I don’t think it possible to multiply
All that one knows in a night flower haze
Of explosions through pistols of your smile.