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A sprawling performance poem inspired by Burning Man that invents its own vocabulary—"Splitzoid"—to name the feeling of being torn apart by societal fracture, unrequited love, and the desperate need to create meaning from chaos.
This is Plahm at his most ambitious and unrestrained. The poem begins as cultural commentary—a riff on Burning Man’s ethos of collaborative creation—then spirals through political rage (“DemoKazy”), existential crisis, and ultimately arrives at raw, unguarded love confession. The invented word “Splitzoid” becomes a container for everything that splits us: society’s fractures, the mind’s contradictions, the heart’s impossible divisions between loving and losing. The opening prose preamble—confessing the word sat without definition for four months—is itself a statement about creative process: sometimes meaning arrives through persistence, not inspiration. The central performance section deploys military imagery (“rat-a-tat-tat,” “voice shouted down,” “hope kept hostage”) to capture political despair, then pivots to defiant dance: “Let’s dance / On the glowing fragments / Of burning glass.” The “Return to Center” section achieves formal compression—a near-sonnet of resolution amid the poem’s sprawl. But the true revelation comes in the closing confession: the Muse who inspired all this fire is someone the speaker cannot have. “Should have. / Would have. / Might have. / Wish I had.” The word “Splitzoid” finally finds its definition: to be fractured by love that exists fully in the heart but nowhere else.
Plahm’s most structurally daring work—part manifesto, part love letter, part performance art directive. The poem risks everything by refusing containment: prose preamble bleeds into political polemic bleeds into dance anthem bleeds into heartbreak confession. That it holds together at all is a testament to the emotional throughline—the “Splitzoid” concept as unifying fracture. The invented vocabulary (“DemoKazy,” “Splitzoid”) demonstrates genuine linguistic creativity, and the stage direction (“Get on the stage— / Woman”) gives the piece urgency beyond the page. The “Return to Center” section is the poem’s structural anchor, providing formal respite amid controlled chaos. The closing love confession—arriving after pages of societal rage—lands with devastating surprise, reframing everything political as deeply personal. Weakness: the poem’s length and tonal range occasionally strain coherence, and some middle stanzas (“My mind— / On overtime. / My imagination— / On vacation”) rely on parallel construction that feels more workmanlike than inspired. But as a performance piece—read aloud, embodied, staged—this would be electrifying. A poem that earns its title by splitting the reader open.
Burning Man
The festival that embodies temporary community, radical self-expression, undressed gifting, and collaborative creation. Especially collaborative creation.
I’m interested in the last part.
When I heard, through the long, long, long grapevine, you were THERE.
And I wasn’t invited. I’m depressed.
Then this happened:
I wrote the word. Maybe it’s not a word. Maybe it should be a word. It didn’t have a definition. There was not an entry in my Funk & Wagnall’s.
Four months ago, I penned it and have been reading it almost everyday without a plausible direction for explanation or what the heck does it mean. It definitely meant something important.
This is a performance piece. Find a stage, a microphone, a filmographer, a historian, and record it. Speaking and feeling. Alive. Get on the Stage!
I found clarity. Through a made-up word. In the desert of my mind.
My devotion is indiscriminate.
It’s not directed to anyone specific.
It’s a revelation of appreciation,
For my Muse. Who is…
Anyone I love.
Splitzoid: The Fracture of Society
Your decadence
A shouting fire—
Like a rat-a-tat-tat—
Through a window.
My voice…
A whisper gone,
Like smoke
Through that broken glass.
My mind—
On overtime.
My imagination—
On vacation.
My heart!
on strike!
My soul—
On fire!
My dreams in exile,
My thoughts gone rogue,
My hope kept hostage,
A dream without an end goal.
My will in pieces.
My voice shouted down.
My wish—to survive,
The disparity of reality—dissolved.
DemoKazy
History ignored.
When your mind
Is in despair,
Torn this way,
And that—
Don’t listen to
The pundits.
Seek
The truth,
With transparency—
Not the fracture of hate,
Not the shards of broken glass,
Nor the desert winds
That grind hope
Into desolate sand.
In the autopsy of this moment
The burning alive man—
Still walks,
Still lives.
Rage.
Truth.
Witness.
Embodied!
Through the emotion fracture
The societal despair
The searching—
Of this moment.
When the smoke clears—
Let’s dance
On the glowing fragments
Of burning glass.
Let’s dance—
In the real world
Of creation!
Reject the DemoKazy.
Bring forth the Ontology—
The root and core
Of existence.
Let’s dance
And return to center.
To the beginning.
Return to Center
On the ash of broken vows,
We dance, unburned, alive.
Each shard—a glowing truth,
Each step—a will to thrive.
No DemoKazy binds us—
Ontology’s clear call.
We spin through smoke and ruin,
To center, where we rise—
United.
Burning Man…
Continues its message
Of unity.
I’ve seen the light
At the end of the tunnel.
Through deaths moment.
What a revelation.
Build it!
Love it!
Rise together!
Burning Man?
I think—
Magic Man.
And so I gift…
Myself.
Get on the stage—
Woman.
You!
Are the
Centerpiece of
Creation.
You
Are the magic.
My personal SplitZoid.
This is not for you.
I know you’re happily
Every after with yours.
Just an afterthought of
My own perplexity.
Ever fallen
In love?
Should have.
Would have.
Might have.
Wish I had.
I should have.
Ever fallen
In love?
I did.
I’m-
Heartbroken
I’m-
So in love.
The real
SplitZoid?
True magic?
Just love.
Unrealized.`
I so love
You.
This began as a word game.
Splitzoid.
And became…
Fractures
Whatever,
You think.
That word
Just splits me
Apart.
You
Are
So
Beautiful.
It just brings me
To tears.
I’m Splitzoid.
My Muse—
Is magic.
I will
Walk through fire
And be
The
Burning Man
For
You.
Somehow, Someway, Someday, Somewhere, Someone, Something, Sometime, Somehow..
When you know the final line before you
For the inspiration behind every: Ha! for Her
The personal version: one of individual love. Lyric
CooooooooBaaaaaaaaa! Logically, Geographically, Culturally, Linguistically, Legally, Economically, Strategically,
Santa readies his sleigh, laden with gifts— and
You’re a good-looking woman. Terribly full of logic.
Barefoot at winter’s fading light, I dance—unrobed, unafraid.
Time The first fire. Is my friend And
Launched at 120425;3:26AM. I fell asleep dreaming peacefully
Death—Rebirth Requiem—Resurrection Life—Forever The veil of life, lifted-
The Solitaire RazzleDazzleBerry on a Plate. A picture
Drunk— in misery and eternal sadness my life
After an excellent workout, the creative side overwhelms—
My Lovely Lady In your lovely ways, you
A deliciously delightful distraction of conversation for a
Note: this started with a conversation with my
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Howdy! What’s on your mind? I had this
Very little food for two days Scared to
A view of you Pleasing, pleasing, very pleasing
A Muse Threads that Flux and Contact with
