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the seeds of everything

casually blowing off the dust of dreams
clearing cobwebs left by vague visions
shaking away fragments of feeling
replacing it all with new nothingness

a nothingness worth more to them
than the seeds of everything


dark calls to darkness
deep calls to deep
i threaten the master
i silence the sheep

what are you watching?
how can you see?
nothing is out there
just listen to me

branches are shaking
the drill plunges down
when this is over,
i’ll wear the crown

observability is an invitation

remember this tomorrow.
it’s not exactly a note for you, or even a sign.
are you getting this?
it’s here, being here.

remember this tomorrow.
it doesn’t seem like a meaningful transmission.
is the signal reaching you?
it’s not for you, but it can be.

remember this tomorrow.
it might not even be a transmission at all.
are you out there?
it doesn’t really matter either way; it’ll still be here if no one ever notices.

but then again, maybe it won’t.

insides in

insides in painting by lurm

don’t they ever stop to ask
what lives inside the cracks?
hidden under banks of dust
mixed and dried to form a crust
made to keep the insides in
never breaking
always shaking
“let’s enjoy the land we’re taking—
no, it’s not a sin!”

the shadow of lightning cat

lightning cat lurm

Yeah, sure, whatever. You can associate me with some kind of magical sign.

But rules are rules: I get to define what the sign is.

I won’t be as basic as the black cat was about his sign. There are more entertaining ways to make you uncomfortable. (Hey, I’m a cat. What do you expect?)

Here’s your dumb little sign: whenever someone sees my shadow, that means they’re trying to fabricate an interesting experience for attention. 

Have fun posting about that on social media. Ha!


he wraps cold coils around your shoulders, believing they’ll hold you safely in place
while he unravels his organs to wrap and warm your shivering bones
though they’re not shivering with cold, as they seem
let alone any cold that could be warmed by the cruel unraveling of a soul at its own merciless hands
but until the bones can cease to tremble, on and on the string is pulled
woven of sinew, muscle, pain and fear
stretching on for miles and years
the story of a life in an endless strand of flesh

a story you must now protect.

adjust to the light

lurm adjust to the light

what functions have been sourced beyond you
buried under misplaced trust?
every rule laid out before you:
what you should and what you must

does the law illuminate you
(ash to ash and dust to dust)
or is it being used to blind you
so you can’t see signs of rust?

everyone that came before you
built their cities on this crust
now their roads and towns define you—
they demand that you adjust.

we’re good drivers

where the road leads lurm

we watch for potholes in the road
and every time, avoid them

and at each curve our pace is slowed
to cleanly steer along them

we neatly stay within the lines
and never veer across them

avoiding tickets, tolls and fines
by knowing what will cause them

we drive so safely, and so well—
a pity this road leads to hell.

will the line break?

will the line break by lurm

the line won’t break unless you think it might.
so just don’t.

you might think it’s possible that you’ll think it might.
might you?

then it definitely will.
so don’t.

definitely don’t wonder if you might think you might wonder if the line might break.

in that case, you may as well just take scissors to it directly.

a love letter to you

love letter to you

this is a love letter to you.

nobody can read it, and i have no way to prove that that’s really what it even is.

i wasn’t even thinking about you when i wrote it.

i was probably thinking about me, if i’m to be perfectly honest.

but that doesn’t matter. because you’ll feel better if you can convince yourself that it’s a love letter to you.

if you do, and if it is, then you’ll get what everyone is looking for.

you’ll feel loved. 

once you feel all the love you need to feel, then maybe you’ll even be able to read it.

i wonder what it says.

space for the shape of you

just picture yourself here

there’s space for the shape of a book that I wrote
hanging on a branch by a space in the shape of a rope
swinging according to my predictions of the direction and speed of the wind—
assuming the humidity will shift
based on how hot i’m guessing your shower was.

yes, you fit nicely in that space.