I find my emptiness at the beginning
of panic. The time changes, and as I pause,
between the magic and the real, a sudden
nothingness descends, and somebody
goes away, plans forgotten and mislaid.

It does not matter that the dark falls
too early, skies damp with the the
hopefulness of being confused again.
Even dancing holds no appeal, as
the music is plastic pop with a beat
but without heart. I sense the pouring
little I've become, escaping only when
hour clicks to another number.

Darkened rooms lend whispers.
Can you hear them? Let the sentences drop
and fall into a descending tone, for the
collection of platitudes are heavily
pregnant with hints of beeping bells.

They've gathered here, manifest
with their antiseptic concerns
Mumbling to one another even though
the sentences are necessarily vacant.
What small measure of happiness I
am able to endure is saturated with
routines that are tiresome, heavily laden
with standing still in rolling cyclones.

I kick at the plastic straws that litter
the drinking cups of plans come undone.

Do no harm.
  Leave the war-plane frame of reference
       to other puzzle pieces.
We are naked.
We are not.
We are not certain of which
         monologue to begin.
So we chant in
       unified panting
         etching legends
          out of rhymes.
Do no harm.
    Do no harm.
It matters now that the growing telephones
          are charged like neglected
         poisons of dampening redials.
Truth is gaining wisdom like
         groups of formatted crosses
           jumping like splinters
          of margarine jars.
We are naked.
We are not.
We are one with living and prepared
          for the drying of the hands.
Clean me up and leave me outside.
Sun gone but wind remaining.
Do no harm.
    Do no harm.
      Do no harm.

I close blind eyes and slip into sleep,
My mind is so inclined to present me with dreams.
Blissful scenes, of something so sweet
Lips made of clouds and cotton candy.
Pillows for my own, for passion to hold
Tongues that twist, for lust to unfold.
Bodies made of heat, that melt into one
And moans that fill the air like a gentle song.
In the middle of the night, my thoughts of you become undone.

-SLuR

Not too hot,
not too cold,
I like purple
because it's bold.
It's royal, it's pure,
it's a daydream sky;
while purple and black take me back,
the watercolors dry.

I used to like blue
like typically boys do.
Calm, a primary color,
your favorite flavor, too.
I like the blue of jeans,
and the blue of a summer sky;
I like the blue of these little pills
that motivate me to try.
-But blue is too strong:
a frozen twilight leaves you bitter
as you march through the snow
protesting, but Mama didn't raise a quitter.
Plus blue comes in many shades -
indigo, teal, more than you'd believe -
and it's hard to think
while a crowd cheers for their favorite team.

My favorite team is red;
I see passion and pride
in this jersey I'll wear
long after I've already died.
I like red because its
shades grow richer
as you taste something
intoxicating like liquor;
the way it paints
those curves of desire
makes you wonder
if you'll ever get any higher.
-But I don't like red
because of his car and his truck,
and this blanket of mine
that he's never tucked.
And a sky dripping red
ignites a burning fear
like it's soaked in blood
and the Lord's tears.

So purple is mine,
and I cherish it like gold.
As violets bloom,
I see the truth like a secret untold.
Blue and red come together
and purple glory reigns;
I am a paintbrush
whose color never drains.

Your words cling to me,
Like dense smoke hanging in the air,
You penetrate my skin, like a piece of cloth
Your scent remains for hours,
Days,
Years.

Covered in your odor, stitched throughout my seams,
Your smell permeates through the skin it's tattooed in.
Leaving olfactory marks and scented scars,
Whenever the wind is called upon.
And I fall, tearing myself apart
Pieces of worn fabric, stretched so thin
That it's almost see through, when put up against the sun.
And you stitch me back together, just adding another layer.

Reimagining my existence,
You've made me something new,
Just a flesh sweater scented with layers of you.

-SLuR

Lonely man, living like
a drifting ******* crumb
floating
in
a
bowl
of
soup.
The table is filled with
ice cream hearts
melting
slowly
into
oblivion.
It will come, this death.
It will proclaim
its victory
as if it was
a triumphant
gladiator in the
arena
of
goodbye.

And still they say that every day
is the best medicine to swallow.

Xenophobic androids
bleating
their
inconsistent
beliefs.
Change is real.
It defines
who we have been.

And one wonders why the
scratching bees are silent?

Have they lost their focus?

That must be it.
The focus.
The never staying
hum-drum of
placating
the
masses.

Grieving man, who
sits at the table
and
pounds
his
hands
into
the
fire.

Let the burning begin.

Put on the tombstone,
"Not here anymore."

Rain falls on the ground. Drizzling water.
Television turned on. Angry rhetoric.
New plans proposed. Armies marching.
Please, please, please
                  pray for peace.

Skies black with hate. Lazy yelling.
Fish swim back and forth. Danger unaware.
Tribes gather and they scold. Malicious vibes.
Please, please, please,
                  pray for peace.

Watching children learn. Violence dominates.
Corporations preach and burn. Insipid parasites.
Grass grows in tones of brown. Dying atmosphere.
Please, please, please,
                  pray for peace.

Water runs fast and slow. Strangers shouting.
Trees shade and have no leaves. Corporate hello.
Moon rises naked in the sky. Sun is empty zero.
Please, please, please,
                  pray for peace.

Churches empty as stores open. Religious tolerance.
Dinosaurs gone but more to come. Media harmony.
Up is downwards and down is up. Confusing immoralities.
Please, please, please,
                  pray for peace.

Let peace be on our lips.
Let peace be in our hearts.
Let peace be our only word.
Please, please, please,
                  pray for peace.

It got to the point where we just ******.
No snake oil arguments,
No cookie batter eating binges, no street corner improv,
No cold, crazy, middle of the day, psychopath silence,
No clink, clank sulking,
No cuckoldry tears over the kitchen sink.

It was as if we secretly decided,
To pound each other to death,
Or die trying.
Why is this so enjoyable.