I’ll be peace,
When there is war.
I’m already,
Quite good at war.
Told in traumas,
Miles long.
Where I come from,
You learn both systems.
Imperial,
Metric.
Becoming good at quantifying the world.
Old Logger Guru wisdoms.
Pity I’m not a logger.
Easy enough.
Eat prey.
Love.
Survive at all costs.
/1
Promise me peace,
When we are done.
Old songs,
New meanings.
My curses,
Are my weapons.
The Infinite Hunger.
This Blood Curse.
My witchcraft,
Strewn across a dozen poems.
Kill me softly,
Or not at all –
Immortal already,
Across two thousand poems,
& counting.
Let this indie underground,
/2
Play host to my grave,
Portions of my ashes interred within.
My bones cast as dice,
Drinking luck,
To bestow to my kin.
Thy neurodivergent youngers.
Pass these flames onwards,
Little ones!
Refusing to be broken,
As we once were.
These Myriad Scars.
Let me drink you in,
When I can.
/4
Crosshatching my own skin,
With the sharpest pencil I could.
Dragging bloody crosses between –
My knuckles.
Some scars,
Self inflicted.
Others were not.
But how else does one learn the arts,
Of war,
Eh?
In hockey stick massacres.
The Brutal Calculus.
Madness incarnate,
Left to dredge yourself –
/8
From the bottom of society.
Desperate to prove your true values,
These hallowed virtues,
True.
Pity,
Capitalism has other plans.
Fat cat cacophonies,
Speaking Wall St. jargon.
I’m skookum.
In all literal interpretations,
Of an old dead trading language.
Using the dregs,
Of other civilizations,
/16
Just to speak.
Pygmalion Complex.
Forced to name my own issues,
As if proving they exist.
When,
Will I ever have enough gold?
Fools hoard it.
The clever use it as conductors.
Modern alchemy,
Making lead,
Or iron,
More valuable than gold.
Primal knowledge,
Held in mind palaces –
Dredging well.
/32
Damn you.
Get fucked.
Who will speak for the loggers,
When they’re all dead?
Not me.
I’m no logger.
Learned the true value of diamond,
In tipping my tools.
Coastal Salish taught me the power,
In copper.
Holding it valuable –
Long before they ever knew,
About lightbulbs.
Granted,
/64
As a people,
They’ve only given,
& given,
& given.
While most was stolen.
Ugly colonialism,
Fetid byproduct of capitalism,
Feeding on anything,
Everything,
Everyone,
It can.
What futures,
Can we agree on?
You & I?
Can we paint new tomorrows,
With our dark congealing blood?
Each ragged wound,
Direct access –
/128
To broken hearts.
What is this legendary resilience,
Worth?
Which tragedies,
Built all this grit?
Jawing about bootstraps.
Ignorant of the truth,
For people like me.
Blessed if we survive to thirty.
The quantitative nature of statistics,
Ironies abound,
When neurodivergents do the numbers.
/256
Believe me,
When I say some will be too stupid,
To ever grasp this.
Gesturing wildly,
At the void.
Which audience are you?
The academic?
Or the riff raff?
Accusing me,
My Fair Lady.
Puns all intended,
Across a dozen interpretations!
That’s the sorrow.
If you’re reading this,
Then I’m likely,
/512
Dead.
Simple statistics.
Humans live a hundred years,
At best.
The span of time,
I’ve been dead –
Will always vastly outnumber,
The periods of time,
In which I am alive.
Singularities be damned!
We live in a time where machine learning,
Masquerades as true A.I.
Stupid fucking loggers,
Or not.
/1024
The fact I loved,
Or lived,
Past thirty?
Stupendous!
Tough odds,
For queer,
Neurodiverse people.
Damned to things like ableist,
Microaggressions,
Or sour looks at painted nails.
Would you carve me,
From ivory?
What a waste.
It would never reveal,
All my scars.
Such tattered histories.
/2048
I’ll never rival,
The twin epics of India.
In scope,
Nor scale.
But hell if I haven’t already written epics.
Playgrounds of my youth –
When I was convinced of immortality,
Through other means.
Times before I finally made peace,
With my oldest lover,
Death itself.
Beautiful in all her glory.
/4096
Thus,
I will remain peace –
When there is war.
Pacifism in all attempts.
The Shitty Monk.
World Serpent,
In stolen name.
Masquerading as dead Jotnar,
Fallen demigods.
A natural step.
From ivory,
To the stage.
Finally cinema.
A wooden boy,
Made real.
Then warped into a cryptid.
The greater good,
Eh?
/8192
