A bit of Black.
A piece of Scarlet.
There's no turning back.
When I place my rings upon you
nothing is beyond my grasp.
Each rotate to become the main body of it.
In place of angels
the hand of friendship
forms a pattern on the wall.
It's there to remind us
we're all sitting targets.

Dads buy them
Boys hide them
Fascinated by what they see
It's a passed down ideology
A coming of age curiosity?
Or the beginnings
Of misogyny?

What's worse than death itself?
A conjugal visit from
The grim reaper.

Time is always
the first one out the door
in the morning

Bethinking

The blossom

The flourish

Hitherto the withering

One backward glance

Time ravages beauty

~
No view of sunrise
from this garden of delete

We are alienated
from your light, trapped by local clocks in imperfect time

Everyone after Adam is broken, and we carry it along our bit of shoreline

Braziers on the beach
in consequence of
the darkness in our hearts

Hoping either to be rescued or swallowed up
by the sea
~

We are fragile figures. Our pillows at the outskirts of paradise. Befriended by dreams, the mind begins to process the day in Kodachrome. Once it starts, there's no turning off the pictures. She lies beside me. She's reached paradoxical sleep. I'm still on the outside looking in.

Take me there. Beyond the eyelids, where the mind wanders each night. To where the seeds of disturbance must be resolved within us. Some are strengthened. Others desolve as mist. This is how we survive. Chemical fires burn, become tides of memory. Pass the torch of preservation. Keeping them warm and remembered.

A miraculous routine. Live together. Dream alone. Desolate. Magnificent. My eyes are at the moment the apparitions are shut away. My mind in this place, a stretched fabric. Yet, it's far from alone. In the cataloging of miles and years, I sense an odd fellowship cresting without limit. I thought I saw her smile in agreement from her side of sleep.

Something truly remarkable
About Tic-Tac-Toe
Is if played perfectly
No one wins

As a kid,
I was terrified
of things that went
bump in the night.
Until one day, I realized
this was just my parents
failing to do it quietly.
A new kind of terror
thus ensued.

School teachers
deserve hazard pay

Under
The canopy tree
My shelter
Of light
Pulled me
Into its shadow
And
There
Operosely so
I remembered:

In memorization
Of varied
Maths
And
The columns they path
And
How they became
Feminine
And all about how
She looked and felt
Underwater

She was
Pale
And
Pearl
And diamond light
Off shore
And
Off the shoulder
My boat still afloat
Yet her waves indeed
The sinking of me

But then
In the peril
Of natation
The shiver
And the taste of salt

What entered my heart
Was the same
As filled up my lungs:

Anticipation:

The microcosm of
Pain
Or pleasure
Or both demises
At once

Think you've mastered the English Alphabet?
Try saying it backwards.

Dinner by candlelight
underneath the stairs, down
in the bomb shelter,
dancing to love, peace, and paranoia.
An evening called quiet
resentment, where there's
canned goods and children's games,
Duck & Cover,
or if you prefer,
Heimlich Maneuver.
Then little sleepy heads
go gently into their bunkered beds.
They might not outlive
the threat, but
the plan has a half-life of a chance.

The day you feared is here!
They've been pressed
into service.
Oh, new Dad
don't be jealous now.
Sharing is caring.
Yes, they're still your
PlayStations.
But now they've received
a higher calling:
To nourish your offspring.

Love is a blindfold
--you're content in not knowing
how it will end.

Where have you gone,
my dear friend?
Margarine's a mess
I just can't defend.
O Madame Butter, fry
for me!
You're my everything,
can't you see?
The one and only tasty spread
I'll let cover both sides
of my bread.

You were one-in-a-thousand
my 2-ply friend

But as our time together
nears it's end

There are a few things
I need to say to you

Number one

You were so strong
to take all my crap

Number two

You always rolled
with the punches

And finally

Even though you were
slowly unraveling

You were never harsh or abrasive
but soft & gentle

Emptying yourself
as your time grew flush

How will I ever replace you?
May you now rest, end piece...

It's a bad dating sign
When even Alexa
Starts ghosting you

Pinhole sunrise
Sodium lit
Murk and ambiguity sleep together
Down in the seabed

One moment of calm in a chaotic rift

These dark vessels
Of the fourth plateau
Scheme vicious pastimes
That live by night

Orphans of the smog
Attiré par le chaos
Soldiers of false beliefs
Progress the beauty of destruction

Their slogan:
"Making better mistakes with tomorrow"
It has the sound of a long goodbye
It lights the final flare

~
A diamond is forever.
Don't leave home without it.

The complete man
Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

Snap, crackle, pop.
Pleasure you want. Protection you trust.

As fresh as an autumn breeze.
Maybe she's born with it.

Think different.
Make. Believe.
Have a happy period.
~

A thoroughly washed,
non wax-coated,
pesticide-free,
organic
apple a day
keeps the doctor away.

Fireworks are a blast
Until they go off
In your garage
With you trapped inside

~
man on the moon,
woman in orbit,
unrequited science.
nowhere to land,
nothing to feel,
it might as well be Siberia.
luminaries change,
control lingers in the framework.

the heavens revolve
—deasil and artificial.
she has revolutions of her own,
legs that once swam
everyday in his backyard pool,
(that once draped around his coil)
now openly kick free
from his lunar confines.

he starts the countdown
—one one thousand,
two one thousand,
but she's not coming for him.
she's chasing other transmissions,
the bones of what she believes,
hoping something out there
can activate her heart.
~

What comes after 'Z'
cannot be expressed
by letters or words.
I'm afraid, it's a bit of
snickersnee.

For they have their say
in our struggles and fears,
in our laughter and tears,
in our sighs and moans,
to deep within our bones.

They're in our very own
heartbeats, great and small,
in that place within us
where some rain must inevitably fall.

Where they came from is no mystery,
but we each tend to use them
in the secret hours
of our private history,

like a trail of breadcrumbs,
like a bridge we jump from,
never mindful,
never loyal,
always on the tip of our tongue,
and there it toils...

The best exit strategies
Provide a running start

~
I know your glow
it moves on tracks
of never-ending light

illumine, my dear glimmer

an ornament of love
spiraling along
flightpaths to each other

one maybe a failure in flickers

yet another a successful sparkle
drifted down gently as snow
about the tactile lanterns
of your hands and face
~

As the white noise
Filters out
I'm once again
Left to the tedium
Of my own thoughts