"We Murdered Will Know Each Other," "Death Exists Only In Material," and "Drawn Under Locust"

We Murdered Will Know Each Other

We believe in nothing
Only stimulants and requiem.
Only splinters of rust we are
Making love beneath Anthropocene.
 
The glass and ceramic in this home are destroyed.
It doesn’t help a soul to be innocent while
The fish and bacteria melt away.
A poltergeist crawls through the veins of America.
 
This resounding air reminds me of a capsized language.
We chew at the satellites like heels of bread, or
Bitter nipples, and we drink their urine too.
My hand will grasp and to puncture your stomach,
A dust mirage. What unknown selves still wander you?
 
The clicking of my teeth is more crustacean and
Doomed. How is your automatic heart polluted with living?
Suddenly your limbs become a sheaf of fossil,
As quickly death will germinate on your skin.
 
Extinguished and emotion as
A boiled chicken’s body. Alive,
To kiss the molar sky and roam.
We murdered will know each other.
To see the end above, meander through then
Lovely, laughing.

 


 

Death Exists Only In Material

The most ethereal day I know
I drowned myself of you.
 
Listening
Through this rain’s disruptive murmur,
The stuttering voice a tide without pattern
 
I do not remember my own life
How we were twisted apart,
Trembling under the motionless current.
 
Distorted emotion and value as
Gasoline puddle reflections scattered
Among the flooded streets with smoke.
 
To comb through my hair, my stiff fingers
Like leftover wisps of kindling, uncertain
Beneath the shut, abundant eye infinity.
 
It is veins of coarse blood discomforting to know
We are still more unique souls than
Instances adopted from the sea foam noise information.
 
Mouthfuls of illusion,
Bitter nights as sipping bleak oil and waiting
For the painful and mesmerizing sky.
 
Myths about clarity for the illegible world when
The mystery is what compels us through living.

 


 

Drawn Under Locust

Thorns of stars, and
We painted a fever on the ocean.
 
The city is empty,
Fumbling worry and bewildered in this
Delirious weather.
 
Our doves are hung with lice, as
Life is so often unlike itself.
 
A crowd of abandoned cars,
Abandoned weeks litter this drowsy mind.
Amok in the supermarket, uncertain and
Circumstantial as anything.
 
Those above separated the moon into crumbs
To obscure us drowning. Everybody else in the world
Asleep in their vehicle, disappearing
Faster than sound.
 
I’m exhausted wearing through uncomfortable skins,
Etching death poems on the television.
Invisible meteors will pass through our wings, then
Moths eat tomorrow perhaps
Disintegrate reality.
 
I know unconsciousness
Spilled into your morning. Seizures
Sipping milk so disorientation implies
Some kind of existence.
 
As I love you also the ocean
It gnashed apart the shore to
Escape. Aware of
The resting pollution
Who caged us to
Desperate lives.
 
Invasive crawling bugs across the kitchen ceiling
Eating light bulbs to the socket
And candle wax and wicks
While night falls in,
More devouring.
 
Bury us in plastic jars until
The chemical burns will molt from our voice,
The pebbles of loneliness we swallowed digest, then
Return these afterthoughts to the stagnant crossfire.
 
I see mirrors in the windows.
The frozen world so suddenly
Excised from comfort and
Vanished.

 

 

Kyle Trujillo

Kyle Trujillo lives in Seattle, Washington with their partner and two cats. Between writing, they arrange and perform leftfield electronic music as ‘Uncanny Dandelions’. Since 2017 their poems have appeared in both print and digital formats, most notably with Unlikely Stories Mark V and Genre: Urban Arts. Kyle recommends the Sex Workers Project.

 

Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Thursday, July 16, 2020 - 08:43