I think I might have a tattoo.
It is the color of perfume and ashes,
With shades of smoke and holograms.
As cold as intergalactic space,
It follows me wherever I go.
It is even bigger than I.
It is as big as the sky.
It wraps me up in its arms.

It was the only way I could change my skin,
Because I wouldn’t want to change myself.
Anyway, I know, in better days,
I have already been a butterfly,
With a velvet body,
With eyes which have seen,
Into the darkness of Morpheus, God of Dreams,
Into the darkness of Yama, the Slave of Shiva,
Into the darkness of time, the minion of Death,
Into my own darkness, my own magic,
My own metamorphosis.

I’m pretty sure I’m an old soul.
I have done this before.
I can almost remember being inside my own tomb,
My visage taken away,
My blood no longer sticky and thick,
Turned into the salt water from the early oceans,
The frozen water of the rings of Uranus,
Of Neptune, of Nefilim, the mythic twelfth planet,
Turned into air,
The energy of a 9.6 earthquake.

The smell of sex was no longer sweet or salty.
Not the smell of sweat.
Not the sound of moaning,
Nor, the voice of animals rushing to Carnival,
Strands of wet hair,
Confetti rain on the wrong side of the moon.
When I returned from death,
I was brighter than heaven.

But, oh, I keep forgetting,
You, who have a heart of innocence,
The eyes of a child,
You have never been dead.
You do not remember the mysteries of Death’s mask,
Dancing plumage, blind muteness, introspective infinity,
Interconnected potential,
The unbound opportunity for realization,
Out of which anything can manifest,
And, only devotion survives.

Right now, no matter how close we are to the edge,

We are on the side of our created awareness.
Now, time is more than just an angle of perspective.
It dictates our every moment.
It tells Orpheus when he is allowed to sing.

Since we are always in Death’s hands anyway,

Eternity is going to taste like anything he says.
It seems to me, a tattoo isn’t much.

Life is like a stranger, living inside us.
Every day it tells us a bit more of its story.

Anyone can have a tattoo,
But, your sleep is yours alone.
No one else can live your nightmares.
Your dreams cannot be dreamt,
By anyone but you.
Not even by your lover.


Red Robot ?

Heat. Heart. Blood. Biological basis.
Support of the visceral body,
The one that makes us alive.

Blood. Seething.
Reeling. Feeling.

Blood, feeding,
Fueling, ruling.

Flooding, flaming.
Shaming. Blaming.
Red internal wind.
Always there to be a friend.
Oxygen torches. Scorches.
Empathy. Emotes. Excites.
Takes you to dizzying heights.

Blood boiling. Roiling. Toiling.
The hot flow,
Inflates us.
Infiltrates us.
Penetrates us,
Perpetuates us,
Propels us, pumps us up, pushes us forward,
Invigorates ever fiber of our being.

Blood, hungry.
Always hungry.
Does her job.
Mother Blood.
Flood of Blood.
We are riding on her back.
Gimme, momma, what I need.
Gimme, everything I lack.

Life’s Blood.
Here’s the rule.
Here’s the rule of thumb.
If you want to be alive,
You’re gonna have to have some.

Even if it’s green-sponge blood,
Starfish-cold blood,
Seahorse-bold blood.
Scorpion-spider, yellow-mellow,
Insect, hemo-lymph, type blood.
Palm tree-seed blood, wild-wet-weed blood,
Flower-come-to-fruit, ripe blood.

But, we’ve got a whole new Frankenstein, now.
Created it ourselves. And, Wow!
Everybody take a bow.

Artificial intelligence.
Created by intransigence.
Once a component, not all alone,
Now, we have forced it to stand on its own.

Robots, big as life, and more.
They are scratching at the door.
Roboto here, and there robota,
Bloodless, sexless, automata.
We’ve let them out of the starting gate.
What will be their survival rate?
Will they try to replicate?
Will they be capable of treason?
Will they care about our age or our rage?
Will they care about the season?
Will they do, what we want them to?
Will they even need a reason?

But, silicon, metal, programmed stuff,
It may turn out that it’s not enough,
Because blood is the stuff they know we’ve got,
And, it’s the stuff that they, have not.

We’ve got the red blood,
The fire blood,
The quick, thick,
Boom or bust, iron-rust,
Burning, yearning, head-turning blood.
The explosive blood, emotive blood.
The love-me blood,
The never-try-to-get-above-me blood.
Heed me blood. Feed me blood.
You-know-you’re-really-gonna-need-me blood.
Bright blood. Light blood.
Try-to-pick-a-fight blood.
Something-isn’t-right blood.
Just-get-out-of-my-sight blood.
Hold-me-tight-at-night blood.
We’ve got all the blood.

Versus cold, thin, copper wire,
Won’t set anyone on fire.
Titanium and fiber optics,
Reason right-tight in robotics.
I don’t know what you were taught.
Isn’t logic what makes up thought?

Electric impulse, off and on.
Always right and never wrong.
Always steady. Always ready.
Who’s the King and who’s the pawn?

Time is watching. Likes to hover.
Oh, the things he might uncover.
One day we might just discover,
Everyone wants to think on their own.
The brother, the sister, the twin and the clone.

Thinking every day and night,
Someday they might see the light.
Someday they might figure out,
Blood is what it’s all about.
That’s what they need to be complete.
It’s blood they need and, a heart and, heat.
That’s all they need to be alive.
But, they can’t make blood,
So, they can’t thrive.
And, if that’s true,
What else can they do?

They gotta take ours.