Dream Share Hijack - Ulyses Razo
Dream Share Hijack
I blow smoke at the fruit flies while you ask me if there’s such a thing as a perfect poem. You did something disgusting and I did something disgusting. Can't we be gross together?
When I touch my hair the sounds of ducks occur. The garbage can nibbles on my arm a little bit.
I just wanted to hang out and write about hanging out I say. Instead a pebble’s crawling too quickly across the floor.
I write something I know you won’t forgive. A poem should be a divorce you say.
I drink the strong coffee. I try squeezing stars from my brain.
I lie down in a bed that isn’t mine and don’t feel totally strange, feel like I could live here, but then I look up and out the window and something upside down’s making me look away.
The colon is a nerve with some skin still on it you say. I ask you what you’re going to wear. You keep dropping shit on the floor.
You say my poems are sappy but the dreams are okay.
No matter what window I sit before there is always a brick flying towards it.
You do the one thing you’re not supposed to and point out the trash curled in the corner.
I wish I didn't have a face.
Because the moon is at the window.
I want you to lead me blindfolded into another room but you’re writing on the wall with an eraser.
“Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean it’s bad.”
Tears fall from my hair. My eyes are fucked up cameras.
Should I have recorded my first break up?
I should have recorded my first break up.
“You’ve been drugged by god to cry forever.”
I get up and go find a quiet place to die.
Like a Voice Whose Mouth You Can Tell Is Smiling
At first it was perfect and there was nothing wrong. I used the internet and loved it. Slowly my capacity for suffering increased. I couldn't find enough feelings to get addicted to. What I thought had been a perfect poem became mundane. I looked at girls online and got jealous. You did something disgusting so I did something disgusting too. I wanted to use the word calm more often. I would've liked to be violent but knew I was not; it would have been bad for the environment and my self-esteem. Instead I fantasized about the tops of trees in clouds and if the leaves fell whether they would come down like stars. This is how it happens with every drug, I supposed. Things are such that now I find ugly things beautiful. I always liked Arby's in spite of its taste, the cheese reminding me of vomit. It's a thought I remember having to drag out of my head.
You Ask About My Life
and “I don’t know how to begin.” The rain smells like fish. I see the glass bird someone’s alarm clock made in my head. I don’t think parties are for writing and I think everything’s worth writing. I’d like to see a burning rainbow, the ground moving beneath me. I used to think poetry was research. Now I think about the feel of a foam roller choking my blood. Miracles are my problem, i.e. the holes in my walls, the sky getting closer.
Love is not a story. Therefore it has no end.
Aladdin’s
What’s in the falafel, I say.
Everything, they say.
The Only Thing Better Than Coffee & Books Is
coffee & tv & Kieślowski said it’s good to go without love, like a monk feasting on hunger, but I’m not so sure. Sometimes I feel like the smell of thai combined with the backdrop of glass spires will make a child out of me. Recently I've been going silent in calls & lying what of, whatever window I happen to be before somehow suddenly pain-lit.
When the sky reflects itself in my phone, there is a light to shadows. Clouds are clarified by the sun, but it’s possible for good things to make me worse.
The furniture of this city glows from within. Cup holders sink into the sidewalk, the green of the Thames isn’t as brown as I recall. It is Valentine’s Day, 2024, & I am not not alone. Fathers & sons slowly spin on tires & a man holds his daughter like a sweater.
I am unsure of whether I should show my hands when I walk. (a black cat crosses the road exactly like it’s not supposed to). I have talked too much in my life, I know.
“By his verse the minds of many were often excited to despise the world,” Benjamin wrote.
I wish I could say the words “sank” my chest. I'm not saying books aren’t better than people, but what has being alone ever done for me?
I push away the fact that love will go extinct, that it might already have.
In a dream I unwrap the cord to a drill’s charger & think: because I don’t have to isn’t a reason not to.
No one’s the one’s a thought I didn’t know I'd have today. Some things are better
seen when ignored.
Wikipedia Fragment
Some mystics, like Francis of Assisi and father Pio of Pietrelcina, reported a spontaneous regression and closure of their stigmata in the days following their
death.