12.

11.

#10

#9

Ugly.
Oozing sex wounds,
my immortal warriors of
the human place.
Life giver,
I worship you,
I fear you,
I want you,
to continues this haunting,
far beyond your picturesque
mountaintops and subtle
sense of black and white.
Be strong! And do not fear
the mystic balls of sight,
following you in helpless twilight.
You are the goddess of my dreams,
you are the ghost which sets me free.

- Jonathon Todd

#8

Split,
between and oblivious,
gazing into that sweet,
that sweet…
oh, but to look past
look up into this,
and see us, jumping frames
and, hanging : momentarily
suspended, we;
sniff the air, auspicious,
and question this benevolent
holy shine.

- Jonathon Todd

#7

For all of its beauty,
still it wraps around itself, tangled mess of dreams.
I sink deeper into the level where:

1. Form perishes
2. Sight strains
3. Direction shifts

And, in these moments,
I feel inclined to ask myself, what is real?
For, in truth we are just flowing lines,
somehow or other drawn together in specific points,
a grand mess of non-existence, beautifully existing together.

- Jonathon Todd

#6

He stood there, confused by the strange lights enveloping the vision/plane around him. Taking quick, shallow breaths so as to not upset the dichotomy of disorder. Not but a minute ago, the entire world was in harmony, blissfully existing as it always had; however, when he paused for a moment; and, slowed down for the first time in years, all sense of being and time collapsed. First it caused shock and anger: had everything been a façade? Then came, with time, a smooth acceptance to the new visions, for with disoriented senses, the world was suddenly new, and beautiful again. -Jonathon Todd

#5

# 5 Child: your hunger: it’s, such a bore, supremely dissident, gaping open wounds. So I (being far above you) remind you of your place, far below the highest circles of being, where you belong. Myself? Well, I’m screaming too, a fait wail, a small piece of myself, into the opaque memory of my beginnings; when, I too felt hunger, and was mocked by the gods.

- Jonathon Todd

#4

I want language which is surprised,
by repetition, and repetition, until
angrily I feast upon up heaved
continued repetition, and faceless,
faceless, faceless...
You will being in Ernest,
fail in spite.
Awaken and do not become
the smooth paper of delicate, empty words.

-Jonathon Todd

#3

fruit:
1. I bear you.
2. I am you.
3. We are one.

Strips across,
sullen eyes,
my surprise is not surmised,
by:
wishfully looking into the expanse,
open and lofty,
o’ too real…too damn real.
Held in place…up….up:
HIGH.
Marked with hands to show
ownership, to show grip,
to show the sound of…….
(- - - - - - -)
Beautifully ancient, present still,
persistent; above all, locked.

fruit:
1. Is rotten.
2. Is sludge.
3. Is me.