coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.

yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

I’ve got arms long enough to hold the whole world
Well, not really, but my arms are quite long
Which means that if I don’t hold it in my arms
But hold it at arm’s length
The world is remote enough for me to feel safe
And if I cross my arms over my chest
The barrier is strong enough for me to feel protected
And if I touch the back of my, also, long neck with my long fingers
The caress is reassuring enough for me to feel calm
It’s a shame, really, that I don’t use my arms to benefit the world
Because I find that when I hold on to people
My grip is a little bit stronger and a little bit sweeter than I expected
Enduring through time, space, and hurts
And I do feel guilty about it
I imagine the first man who wanted to move to the moon or the man who invented fences
Must have felt some form of this guilt
And the first man who was so disconnected from the human race
He needed to touch his chest to reassure himself
That beating hearts exist
Must have lamented, like I do
Who, in Sauron’s name, started this?

General time
To live the life, electric
In a count of fames, a name of trying
That will begin the heed, of reach, exact

Secrets, only a demon could see...
The tooth and the envoy of truth
That collected a shrewdness, in all anarchy?
The scope we adjust to a new light we Rueth

Spare demonstration, for decency to quiet
And hold for a sulking hour, houses of repute
Come to the fashion of seasons before twilight
Time is am's honored party, sat to describe its sordid worth?

But hate is such, a future foolhardiness...?
When we are, the culture of simplicity...
In the name of conscience lead, to a very different guest
My name is whole and clear, of what a soul was, intimacy

Clamor of a self-sufficient eye
Many more than out, to seek the world of else
Wealth in the spy of virtue, that can suspect a total, for a lie
That we have come to know, like the basis of what seems to be, hell's...

Night comes for a tired eye to complain:
Here in saving hindsight, I have learned with the coping hours of others
And their burden, sense set before me, in sate or plane
The voice of love, with eyes to follow and hide, ruin from the peace savored, together?

Ah, the fallacy
in talk of tree limbs
and fragments of the broken-apart.

                     Those scars opened a rare window
                     below the cloud tops
                     and into her room,
                     where a new dress of fallen leaves
                     hung in her wardrobe,
                     fleshing out her understanding
                     of how that blemish
                     lingered long enough for
                     her own intentions,
                     hidden behind the frown,
                     to surface.

The myth in her eyes
wishing they could say,
"Might we share this fall together?"

I want to understand
But time eats me
A fallacy presenting
Sometimes in beauty
Sometimes in loss
All imagined
Here I am delusional

Please, let me be
One, one with all
I can see me in you
The pieces fit together
In a puzzle we never realized
We fragmented
The picture itself is whole

Caulk these broken bows, please
whether salt or fresh water,
it has weight, presence
and if allowed to pour in
it will sink me

Trying not to think too much
won’t work
as the only perpetual motion found
in this empirical life
is in our anxious minds
so as life jackets go
it’s a no no

To ask for a shipwright is unfair
but to have you there,
tar brush in hand
is enough

No treaty is negotiable with the eager viral assassin.

Doubt the truth of gossip. What's sadder than the unreasonable sucker?

Tribal outcries and worldly conceits are not impenetrable refuges.

May you all be sheltered and safe and may modern alchemy protect you.

May you have what you need and be happy.

We will rise or fall together.