There's an American Flag on the Moon

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    dedicated to someone im too embarrassed to name

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    POEM

    its all bleeding onto the white sheets &

    turning them disgusting shades of copper& brown. our insides are inside for a reason.

    the very act of releasing ourselves into the

    minds of others is intellectual vandalism.

    i can only speak for my mind & even that

    is overwhelming most of the time. in spirit

    i exist as much as everyone & everythingbut in practice i am no more than an

    expression of what is possible at this moment

    in human history. i am background noise

    behind the stage of the world. i am red.

    i am water becoming vapor. you are the

    sky & one day i will be a cloud in your hand.

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    POEM

    chemicals

    arethe

    only

    person

    i

    can

    trust

    to

    makefeelings

    &

    emotions

    &

    moods

    tangible

    i

    love

    you

    science

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    I AM MORE FUCKED UP THAN ANY

    OTHER WESTERN RELIGION

    dreams are ugly.they don't actually

    exist, even though

    i don't like to admit it.

    when you reach for one

    your hand passes through

    it like a ghost & you end

    up falling hard on the

    bathroom floor. realblood pours out. it

    pools between the

    tiles. i spend all day

    coughing blood into

    my lap. i miss you

    already. even though

    i don't wish you any

    specific pain i hope this

    is just as hard for you.

    maybe one day i'll be

    able to keep you calm.

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    POEM

    is my life white? is there still empty space to fill in? or is it already

    stained by a million bleeding markers? ink washes over me anddays later i am still squeezing it out of my pores. you could suck it

    all out if you wanted to, but you are too many people for me to

    make sense of. if i work it will be for love and if i die it will be for

    boredom. those are the only two options as far as i can tell.

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    IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT

    THE SKY A LOT LATELY

    the sky understands methe sky is me

    the sky is big

    i am big

    i am the sky

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    RIDING THE METRA ROCK ISLAND LINE

    8AM ON A TUESDAY IN JUNE

    strangers fade in & outlike a beautiful fog

    you will never soak in

    summer mornings find me

    a sticky stinky mess

    a peach rotting from the inside

    girls w/ septum piercingsnuff said

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    EXERPTS FROM AN UNSENT LETTER

    tonight has been devoted to the kind of introspection usually

    avoided at all costs.

    im sorry that i let you think i could give myself to you when i

    damn well knew i never had anything worth giving.

    i feel silly & pointless & weak.

    sometimes i think i only exist in the minds of others. my

    conception of self is too saturated to make sense of. its soggy &black & falls apart when you try to pick it up.

    this is all very selfish sounding, but its ok because ithink youll

    be able to relate to that.

    was that sweet or stupid? ive never known the difference.

    you seem like someone i have no right to talk to.

    maybe one day youll let me crawl around your brain & look under

    all the folds & help clear out all the messy bits.

    you deserve honesty so i promise that, for once in my life, i wont

    say anything that i dont understand.

    i wish you had a voice, but seeing how i dont have one either,

    maybe i have no right to complain.

    maybe you were perfect for me. maybe i just wanted to see you

    naked.

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    POEM

    what a beautiful world

    what a beautiful girl

    what terrible luck

    what a terrible fuck

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    POEM

    underground streams

    empty into oceansthat hardly take notice

    of who is feeding them

    if we spill ourselves

    into each other

    would anything actually

    be accomplished

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    POEM

    the day

    i seembeautiful

    is the

    day

    i

    finally

    admit

    that

    theworld

    is

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    POEM

    a deep red soaks me.

    in my sleep it drips down

    my skin & i wake in acrimson pool of myself. it

    drips a path behind me that

    others cross the street to avoid.

    it dries on the sidewalks

    & leaves them stained in the

    same way that i am dried

    and stained. you are a

    blindingly white daisy &i want to drip on to you.

    ***terror is the root

    of the flower i have

    been cultivating for so long.

    the empty moments seem

    to spill out over substance.

    how do you grasp importance

    when the mundane is always

    greasing your hands?

    boredom is counterrevolutionary.

    the mind works more

    mysteriously than god

    could ever hope for.

    what does god hope for?i bet hes bored.

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    Alexander Cisneros is a 21 year old Midwesterner.

    He can be contacted on

    facebook

    or

    tumblr

    https://www.facebook.com/alexander.henry.7568https://www.facebook.com/alexander.henry.7568http://fuckfuckhorrorsodomydeathfuck.tumblr.com/http://fuckfuckhorrorsodomydeathfuck.tumblr.com/http://fuckfuckhorrorsodomydeathfuck.tumblr.com/https://www.facebook.com/alexander.henry.7568