betony, betony, wood betony to calm down, down there in the moon’s mud, where there is only creation, never “good” nor “bad”

i have not
disabused myself of
the habit
of making myself

was it the good
doctor, Hunter,
who said that?
something about having
to make ourself
into monster?
did the velvet
and tree-
sap brain
of my teenaged
planetary years
hungrily suck at
the words of those
i admired, even
in my flagrant hate
for all who claim
some form of


yes, likely,
my tongue—

i reference it

—my tongue is
athletic, yes,
still yes,
though only
it stumbles
embarrassingly on
its many beams,
skelter and akimbo

—i feel
the fecundity of
hormonal tide
and make contact
with a woman who
once shared with me
in slick sickness,
both of us, our
minds ripe and stinking,
both of us intent
on disfigurement.
we drunkenly
punched each other
in the darkened recess
of my rented home,
punched each other
in our chests
only, we are
ever vain in our need
for rot, after
all. we punched
each other though
we actually wanted to
but my mind had been
by puritanical Christian
tradition, limiting
my methods for
which i would enter
her. our
muscles flexed and
our skin tossed
off some sweat and
we took our bodies
and threw them
at each other.
and a turgid lust
for self-destruction,
no better form of
birth control.

today i talked,
earlier, always
with a woman
i admire, both
with rod and cone
of eye, and
winking wrinkling of
brain, and
i felt myself splitting,
skin stretched to
drumming translucence
by the hollow
of softly forming
monster. monstrous,
i left from her
and entered into another
encapsulation, where i
contacted the punching
woman and despite her
many thousand mile
distance from me, i
could smell the blood
in her lips. monster
it compels me
to split
until i myself am
fecund; blood
takes unfair maligning
in comparison to the
deified sea—

aren’t they one
in the same?

i cannot remember
who said anything
about monstrosity, nor
can i recall why.
perhaps the chewing
jaw of my mind
took the words of
Nietzsche and
molded them to
fit comfortably between
teeth; in righteousness,
against monster, i
create myself
in their image.
in presence
of abyss, i
struggle to keep
myself from being

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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