Jay Alejo Writes

starting this blog with an inaugural augary

sugary water in bottle hisses and startles me

i refuse the question like bartleby

i google the answers to questions i only know partially

and probably, i could pierce the perihelion

if i could act my spit and be an actual real one

self doubt clouds the mind as i unwind in real time

what do i want? the entire world or at least a trillion

but my feelings and motives always get in the way

holding out for the unfolding of a brighter day

and the page is slain each time you read it

the data is dead and inert by the time you receive it

so it’s up to you to revive it and heal it

sit down share a meal with it, prepare it and steel it

and that’s the realness for which we overcompensate

living in a fashion so extravagant and profligate

i was just passing through the last gate when i saw

a three headed black dog with gore dripping from its jaw

without pause i approached as if in dream

and woke up to the sounds of my own yells and screams

oh hell, i thought, nothing is what it seems

and yet this self is the very thing to which i cling

straining to stay warm in the sun as it steams

boiling the earth and i pull apart at the seams

flinging myself into the cataclysm with eyes ajar

stars parting and spreading apart almost just too far

i act the bard, discarded on the side of the back road

and melt away in the daylight like a wax toad

licking its lips gratefully, and frightfully

the night will bring along new sights, frequently

and it’s all in shadow, i asked it said “i had to”

“i had to do it to ’em in a fashion so actual”

“that it dismantles their façade in a way that is so casual”

so i drank from the bottle and swallowed the capsule

and peeled back the masking tissues

until the skull and brain was all that remained

full of pain and tied to all the links along the chain

splayed out for the organs to be harvested by the vulture

rupturing and coughing up a liver and lung, so punctual

targeting the drops and winds biologically sculptural

sepulchural distended bloating and rotting

i look myself in the mirror and ask “is there a problem?”

if there is i imagine that it had to be God sent

because God is the God of evil as much as can be obvious

obnoxious odors twisting from the cigarette tip

my teeth are stained and my mind is eclipsed

and i’m sorry if this is all so damn depressing

i’m back in school every night and forgot all of the lessons

so i inhale and cough up some lung congestion

and then frantically contemplate the next pressing question

such as, as if, and if then, to be approximate

and i don’t want no part of it when that ultimate logic hits

i drink beer all night and the next day have atomic shits

and look at the reflection with dead eyes and sardonic grin

‘cuz it’s a race to the bottom and i’ll probably win

speak of the devil and it’s probably him