lughnasadh; an apt phonetic for lunacy shine on you crazy harvest moon i'll see you in the fields

each time i walk the hall i re-position the rug so its angles align to the floorboards its chance imprecision nags is this a problem? insanity isn't difficult a sequence of fierce yet steady inclinations to one degree or another of an arbitrary and socially deigned scale i didn't realise i missed you until i cleaned the bath black and brown hairs yours and mine wadded together in the plughole

my brain is lunar cycling from a light so hard as to cast shadows to occulted darkness depression is a curious thing deadblackdown and worst of curse and yet; let's watch my brain and see what curve which road is today's play

i was never insane except on occasions that required it i'm just the weirdo in the corner i'm used to being that am happy there don't have issue with it overheard dialogue - 'i don't hate them but they're bred to be eaten.' i've not listened enough to decide if he's talking animals or people nothing to think nowhere to go nothing to do i hear only the deaf speak only to the dumb see only the sightless art only has the value one gives it prettiest star or bone yard trinket or each and every fucking thing this has no cash correlation overheard dialogue - 'pregnant women in public are really just boasting about the fact that they got laid.' one of those days when going insane seems like the easy cop-out solution overheard dialogue - 'i've been in the pub so long i've won the moral high ground. if i text her now i'll just be giving in.' everybody i've known has a signature sound that snares them in my memory: yours is the 2am sigh of car wheels on wet suburban roads seeing weirdness and hallucinations when your mind is drug-free is disconcerting but does have advantages; for one you save a lot of money i have lived through songs garner albums like some men do stamps train ids soundtrack to a film i neglected to cast myself in

there is no star that notch my gate that tell me all is time is flight is miss that nock each still my hand arresting on my gate

i've played the depression game so long that i know when the season is right for the major league bring it on; but where are my sponsors? never strew booze in the path of the bipolar that way lies blissdark fecundfuck all staratomsoil tear-scent epiphany cheap-seat poetry depression isn't logical is chemical factions vying for ownership of brain turf just another war no place for friend logic in that

brother what happened to you? those devouring angels have much to answer for some days the drugs don't work i slide askance of season look back from event horizon i'm wearing dead dad's fleece rings and sculpted banshee these words fly to reach you those hour minute second how slight did we fill them? how lightly we are placed how dim our position you ghosts who walk my days you neptune titan stars that frighten gimme far light white line blue shift deep time gimme seven of something before you go remember me down in rust in counting the remainder no dust no salt grain of bone 1969 and nowhere we live in red light we would have should have is it isn't when it's done you but i but i you want every second

'i wanted to avoid being alone' she says 'but that's all you ever are' i say 'that's the one thing any of us ever are.' she in her tight wonder me in mine she draws razor i draw breath she downs spirit shots i shoot spirit just to see what'll happen 'children? no' she says 'to thrust a soul from non-existence into flesh requires a degree of self-assurance that's ever been beyond me.' 'we need to slice away vanity' she says 'we think we are beautiful yet only a layer of skin cells protects us from the true mess of us the only thing she'll truly own; her body her meat though maggots wait to burrow it it is for now hers nobody else has claim on it

the blackest thing about depression is that it offers scant glimpse and no glimmer of a way out of itself is all the mind's matter spiraling in to its own self-created event horizon this little yet utter darkness isn't me is just my crooked brain thinking it knows better cheat on me brain if you must i'll be here

slow monkeys weep for star in a styrofoam cup spastic current the dollar jail shadows driving saffron fortune steering teardrops kings ride the midfield dogs in careless light fingers fatten alleyways sumac ply a water drip barbed wire swallows glitter dims his babylon stomachs hide nature’s leave streetlights wart her whore birds beasts drive the lips lust spits halo spirit silent gods fly by night in this lustless trailer park

monsters lie sleepless and shivering in my bed i am the thing that lurks in the dark beneath it my mind is going i can feel it i'm the thing that spiders and clowns are scared of funny how one can know that every devil is metaphor but that doesn't make their claws tear any less tender we dust of stars had could have run had lips on mine or thousand mean the same thing this is not a corridor down which i walk but writhing whelter of matter-mating matter that for now have form of a corridor into her golgotha graveyard mind cosmos sits at her feet she is the gate

watching the still dance of moonlight on pond's turning water never sky bone starlight owls hoot blade turns clouds swoon good is all