|Me ...when I'm not at me desk writing, at home drawing, in the field running, or at school working.|
Collection of LettersDear Poetry,Collection of Letters by Hyakki-Hikou
You do not sleep. But you should, so that I may take a break from your aggressiveness. You are chaos, a constant war raging in my cavernous skull, echoing in my ears, dragging me through misery. This plasma insomnia is all but a constellation to me and I dance through my days like a marionette sleepwalking on gravity. All I wish is to fall into a galactic slumber and swim in the company of stars, to have gravity collapse my spine so that I may fathom heavenly sleep. I wish to wake to nebula eyes and heavy limbs, to dream of interstellar love. But you won’t let me. And I won’t let me.
A struggling poet
Today, I realized that I had been dumped. It was the most phenomenal jettison. An absolute abandonment, so intricately and exceptionally devised. An unparalleled strategy. Perfect. So perfect, that it took me since birth to become fully aware of it. It has been recently brought to my attention that I have been magnificently
Religion is Rainbow lightReligion is rainbow lightReligion is Rainbow light by Hyakki-Hikou
Dancing on the white hair of faithful believers and red hymnals,
a breathing kaleidoscope of light on the edge of spiritual release.
Religion is grace
trickling in by the ray on steamy Sunday mornings and then
filling the sanctuary with stale tye-dye air.
Religion is us,
sweating and tired, counting the pieces of glass that
captivated us and turned dull sermons in brilliant light shows,
Religion is forgetting
where we left off, forcing us us to recount every Sunday,
but sometimes we didn’t recount because we are impatient. When it isn’t radiant light,
Religion is wandering eyes
falling on the bald, green preacher speaking an alien language,
the purple haired elder that always sat in the fourth pew.
Religion is closed eyes
fantasizing their lives in a multi-colored world and when mother
asked us what we were doing we’d
tell her we were praying.
And truthfully, we were.
Religion is blesing the lancet windows
at the end of each service,
Dear Paint GhazalInhale smokey memories of me, stain your brain with smear paint.Dear Paint Ghazal by Hyakki-Hikou
Get high off it all, lose yourself in the fumes of all that queer paint.
Prattle on about a past that never existed, but watch out for the lies
spilling down your shirt, out of your mouth into a bucket of premier paint.
Before it collapsed, I used to love the way you carried your spine behind you.
I fell for those lovely bones that shined silver and dripped with sincere paint.
Whispering affection in my ear, the way you did, your dusty eyelashes
they tickled my cheeks, brushed them with your love and clear paint.
The lid cracked open and hues of greed collided with shades of lust to
cover the walls of the house we built together with a coat of severe paint.
When you left me, I constantly choked on the vapours of your toxic gloss
that left everything shiny and slippery with reflections of you. Almost like mirror paint.
Finger-paint words ended it. And you’ll never know just how long it took to stop
missing the pools
Perpetually TuesdaytuesdayPerpetually Tuesday by Hyakki-Hikou
shake my finger
in the oven
on my tongue
sickly sweet tuesday
spit it out
jump from tuesday
days in between
all become tuesday
nope it’s tuesday
futile to hate
a day that’s