Show me something that isn't false,
something that isn't tucked away,
for years,
for years, can't you?

a conversation real as flesh,
a smile with no code to crack.
friendship not cast in a play,
not an actor filling
a human role.

a love not scared of killing
hopes of mornings smothered
heavenly in harmonious being,
plastered with life worth living.
a love not afraid of fatal words.

May death be spurious,
standing bare without a scythe?
Might conscious be counterfeit,
scanned copies of life seen through ones before
they sought that of life?

Life is but a masquerade.
Every guest a facade of chosen character,
oblivious and eager to soak in the
fictitious nature of hope around them,
while the owners of the great party
check them off the list.

Thus be my curse or thus be my gift,
Itching and scratching yet never relaxing
through my brain thy sift.
A radar of such
with a thousand blips
searches an infinite falling sky
for clouds of dragons fierce and ghosts
preposterous in vapid moments
between a green eye flashing.

In the center of static mind spins
a lighthouse splattered in graffiti
paint from wicked galaxies,
illuminating ships already docked,
While others scrape the jagged thoughts
pincher piercing, sinking in magnetic soot,
later to be rubber-banded around the maelstrom
In a chasm that ***** the world dry
and vomits the taste that is too bitter.

Oh god the embarrassing flick on
flick off, hey look at the birds,
how they fly formations
like ripples in the pond to feed the
Little ones in a tree.
screeching in glee through mushy
worms of moist earth;
oh their I go again.

Today I bathe with her, the blue maiden,
she greats me the same way, shining brilliantly
With silver armour in her waves and
Blinding sinatra blue eyes.
walking along her sandy cheekbones
******* me in with each step,
spitting crystals in my face.
she licks the hair on my legs with a frozen
Tongue as I stand before her.
as slow stride?
No, jogging.
No, running!
I sprint into her,
and she hugs me with each wave
foaming at the mouth.
I dive in and she grooms my hair,
and I sit cradled like a child in the womb.
I break the surface with sunlight blinding me.
I am reborn once again.

Luna,
I see you though my window,
I feel your fingers graze through my hair,
aye how sonorous your presence is.
the hair on my arms thicken,
then my chest and legs.
hands melt and freeze into black hooves,
gently my face stretches outward,
atop my head aches with the growing of antlers,
they are small and young,
still fuzzy with youth.
In this moment I am the Elk,
ears switching
as hot breath swirls around
the room flooded in moonlight.
my call punctures the emptiness,
guttural and majestic.
I am the Elk of your black night.

From the green hill, blows downwards
a wind, gently titillating the languid trees
of this dense forest,the rustling of the leaves create,
an impromptu tune, proving they are taut strings,
yielding willingly to the sensual fingers of the wind.

Super moon,while raising, listens keenly awhile
as if she had never heard one like this before.
The wise silver owl, sitting on the high branch
keeping account  of every stroke of night,with an imaginary wand,
as the conductor, catches the emerging mood that seethes
within the million pieces of orchestra that gently merge,
get exhilarated, finds a pause to punctuate it with a timely hoot,
the moment freezes, falls in to the repository of time for keeps.