inverse my talent
to let go and
be what i'm not.

transverse my axle
and you'll find
a kind of heaven
greasing the pole.

what speaks without words
always, a riddle
unto itself.

the tree of life
is laughing exaltations
in polarizing resplendence.

bright bones are
jubilantly marching
ever deeper into the
triumphant unknown.

we are woven with
mystery, riding waves
of inherited momentum
on a sea of uncertainty.

ex mysterium, ad mysterium

and don't forget about
the punchline -

flatline...

inescapable
loveless years pile on top of
each other like cars,
windowless  
in a derelict lot.

without giving in
to easy despair, he moves
through them as empty
as the wind
blowing through formless sky.

here's to every **** poem
i do, have
and
will write.

- thanks
for all the fertilizer.

lapse into a swimming pool of calciferous crustaceans alert to the alarm ringing nearby.  what a silly sentence to think twice about writing.  what if they judge my whole existence through that one sentence?  the pottery of the world makes my hand cramp up apparently.  everyone pair up except you -you're too different, we couldn't find a suitable match for you.

                                               sorry,
                                                    management

Post Script: you're receptionist is a colossal *****, you should be very proud!
                                              
                                               Love,
                                                   Amy from Memphis :)

Post Post Script: my daughter baked you some cookies for those things you said about toilet paper and setting the world straight.  thanks sooooooooooo much!!!!!

Post Post Post Script: WE WILL SERVE YOU FOREVER

PPPPS: just a friendly reminder that Monday the 8th we will be having a pizza party to commemorate the launch of Kellen 14 and as such employees are encouraged to wear their genitals on the outside of their body to display their appreciation to the Over Beings.

                                              Many Dawns,
                                                      Kevin from HR

the sweet succor of
my own narcissism reflected
back to me from the mirror
in the bathroom; i am a crocodile
warming in the sun.

i counted all the
times you helped
me to see
the uglier angles
of what i
present as myself

i always believed
in the image i
had of you in
my mind.  one
of a goddess
among men - among
apes with smartphones
but , as
i got closer , i
realized that your
face was nothing
like that goddess ,
that you were
just another girl-ape
with a smartphone
trying to be
whatever someone or
something told you
to be

i lost count
i lost faith

you are below
the wind now

delighting in flesh
in dark rooms
that hide your
pain for a few minutes

in love
only in
dreams

those long legs
and hips
to sink into

blonde , college girl
in my building

sometimes , if i'm
lucky , when i sit down
to eat some
rice i catch a
glimpse of her
starting her run
across the street
from my balcony

those three seconds
are sometimes the
best part of my
day

i'm embarrassed to
admit it but
the other day
i took my time
eating my
rice , hoping to
see her again for a
few seconds at the
end of her run

i waited
and the sun
went down
slowly

through
orange and
crimson and
purple and
indigo

until there
was only broth
left in my
bowl

and not
a long blonde
miracle in sight