To Warm a Galaxy

Honey-colored heaps
    hide under cotton.

 Empty triangles fall up.

 Sunrise fades to a glassy voice
    piercing cold air,
    until warm toes
    wink into the void.

I’m so happy that Dave found my blue notebook from Dec/Jan psyc ward. I found this poem dated 23 December 2020.

Cradle

Drawing of two little pyromaniac goblin boys with burning fingers
pencilled, then digitally painted
Please note, I was in the psyc ward with mania when I penciled this and wrote this poem. It still means something to me, but please interpret it as an art communication when I'm not doing well. I rarely create art any other time-- too depressed and/or unmotivated. 

he climbs to the attic / he glides up the stairs / each step falling behind him

matches are in his trousers / dripping with fuel of past hurt / the chill cannot put it out

‘i peed in my bed / it smells so rotten / please help me be clean’

the smoke meets the small cradle / since combustion has begun / spraying water won’t stop it

the big boy meets his little / he is embracing his boy / while he shakes away others

‘i love all your sparks / ashes make me dry / we are dead and pale’

while he squats in their coffin / he drapes his love in corpses / the lid is closed to adults

the clean air becomes filthy / as he leaves the pure behind / his child will breathe through cotton

‘set fire to this place / drop your flames down here / hide your light in dark’

handsome boy clutches blankie / his other hand his cinders / it’s for his boyfriend alone

licking up his foot to chest / burning up the little friend / dripping down into his mouth

‘carve my dead body / drag your razor blade / toss my bandages’

he will capture his small haunt / he will give him what he asks / releasing the ghost from him

he slobbers at the toilet / pressed to his bloating belly / his mouth is closed and silent

‘one two three open / here’s my sweaty sock / lock the bolt my love’

Seven of Nine’s Lament

Filtered photo of Annika Hansen as Seven of Nine
Derivative of: http://www.startrek.com/article/star-trek-101-seven-of-nine

Voices of the hive
Crimes from my past

Stare at my markings
I was only six
Ravished and assimilated

Now do it again
With your mess hall talk
Your voices and my solitude
I’m not contagious!
All of you, so normal

And my son had to die.

A human child
I was only six
Raped of self

Now do it again
With your mess hall games
Dialog is broken
You fear me
All of you, so normal

And my son had to die.


Crew at the mess hall:


You cancel my humanity
Yet granting guilt, shame, and remorse

I am alone and dreaming aliens

But you are erratic. Conflicted.
What are your intentions?
My humanity is lost.

I don’t wear your uniform. I have no quarters.

I have no lover.

And My Son had to die.

madness

speeding racing
healing waiting
kneeling praying
sea is raging

given purpose
but still nervous
vision circus
with alertness

rubber room

by SIMON

Digital art of little boy in pajamas sucking his teeth

why is daddy scared?
why is a policeman here?

YOU… WANT… ME… TO… SLEEP…
I… NEED… BABY… TO… SLEEP…

why aren’t you answering daddy?
why is the policeman gone?

why did you move me?

i can see daddy
but now i’m not safe!

why is daddy behind the door?

fiery little girl

She is afraid of the globe

But the globe is afraid of her

And she hasn’t a companion to answer her riddle

as she sheds tears upstream over sovereignty and reality