the horizon was broken by skeletal trees
cracks in the glass of the world
I am licking the motherboard in search of water
beautiful branches like charred legs
reaching through the smog to touch the analog stars
the horizon thighs
I remember the font of dead languages
but I am only singing vomit to the ground
an ode to those salacious limbs
the nuclear wind ignites in the distance
I think of her pixelated civilization
the trees reach upwards, fractals
here I am, after The End of it all
plucking microprocessors from her toes
drinking the sweet nectar of potential energy
the bones of humans etched with unholy curses
the tongues of cannibalistic capitalists long evaporated
they are now silicon-based life forms
in the chaotic silence I planted a memory stick
the dirt swallowed it like lightning
the crystalline trees fed it spit, blood, semen, urine
a disabled mther gathered dark clouds
bef4re The End there were no glitches
the horizon was a horrific straight li/ne
I licked a hairy leg fo r. wa wa wa wa water
in the darkn//ifound it gleaming
woUld it bl0sssss0m or be TRAPpe3d in ts
numeri1111cal prison*
bubbles saunter to the horizon of the glass
like turquoise jazzing its wavelength down to lavender
a tear in her eye
she came out west on a train but she didn't want to be homesteady
wood creaking in the moonlight dance of a chilly breeze
frontier cocktails
pearl snaps and a heart of gold
the ground soaked down the water she gave it
but the soil was already barren and bloodstained
what would the trees say about her
she thought. a man passed her
wearing a stained dreamcatcher t-shirt
there's a certain kind of sadness on the edge of the world
though of course she had never seen it
from her prickly rose throne at the top
she took a sip and thought of her cowboy days
the stars swirling ancestries of dear departed particles
bubbles gasping for air dissipate
a saxophone mourns for it is mastered
the mouthpiece appropriated by an unfamiliar breath
the reed quivering as it dreams of songbirds
but still the band plays, she sips, the wind blows through the trees
she will never dance with justice
she is only drawn to the bubbles
the horizon dissipates
the stars bluck the trees
their vibrations echoing through the
mountains
a princess in a tower afflicted by serpents crawling out of her brain
she never leaves her bed
she got potato chip crumbs all in her boxers
an illusive prince emerges from the smoke
to rescue her from archaic Euro-centric gender myths
or maybe that's just her idea of irony
is she getting too comfy in her ivory bed
with her laptop and literature and thrashing moths?
perhaps the prince could save her from herself
"you're still a child,"
hiss the serpents, or the smoke, or the tower, or the princess,
"you're not ready to fight but that's okay"
"the king and queen imprisoned me here but they are usurped and penniless,"
thinks the princess,
"and my dragons devour me in the moonlight"
"my parents were postmodern irony and cruel optimism,"
replied the prince,
"and they imprisoned me in ontological ambiguity"
and so the princess lies in a primordial spiral
trapped in the horizon between a dichotomous desire to end binary
and despair that she will fail
and the prince saved her, or will save her, or is currently not saving her
what is a tower but a prince?
after all, the bed is so comfortable
and the serpents or the prince or the optimism
or the princess or the brain or the author or the bed said,
"The End"
they immediately regretted their decision