i walk on the edge of the crowd, seeing you all in it.

trying to connect, i spill my stories.
i pull you out of the current and we tell tales.
letting you into my mind is its own reward,
though i wouldn't mind peeking into yours.

having seen the machines inside you i'm consoled
knowing i'm not alone in my bitter automaton.

but now the crowd migrates without you.
rushing to get back to your place, regain pace.
memories are missed with the time lost,
and you had to work to reclaim space.

i don't want to hold back those i admired in the first place.

back outside the tide, i resist the urge to dive.
gazing at the faces and imagining their insides.
then i catch others staring back, continuing on
scanning me as if from outside the swarm.

we're all on edges of the crowd, seeing each other fit.

hold my tongue
with your weathered, learned teeth.
stop me from biting again.

as much as i yearn to impress
my throat onto your heads,
my orator just runs to the press.

so yet again your wings outstretched,
making my shade not to burn like you have,
and to keep your gut in the cold.

looking up from rest to your gaze,
my weight on you sustaining
that phantom limb's need to lift.

is this muscle meant to be trained,
or shouldn't we need it in the first place?

i could let these bottles float on
if i just swam along in the current,
but that would reduce their stories to pawns.

or i could show them my scrolls
and compare our notes,
but they can't bear the critique.

so, when we visit the rat, we sleep
as not to stir the vermin progeny.
but on the other hand i throw myself
in the way of your restless beak.

i may be hanging back as we all navigate these trails
but i know i'm pulling your hands
to try and steer where you lead.

When I talk, I'm performing
When I listen, I'm performing
When I ask, I'm performing
When I laugh, I'm performing

When I play, I'm performing
When I watch, I'm performing
When I teach, I'm performing
When I learn, I'm performing

When I touch, I'm performing
When I kiss, I'm performing
When I ****, I'm performing
When I rest, I'm performing

But when I perform,

When I perform I'm talking, I'm listening, I'm asking, I'm laughing, I'm playing, I'm watching, I'm teaching, I'm learning, I'm touching, I'm kissing, I'm *******, and I'm resting.

Oh, how I am resting.

Until you're not here,
then I've traded my mouth for my nature.
Metering expressions for a tireless repose,
acting to be for not being to act.

We got a sinkhole in our kitchen,
all the tiles shaken and wallpaper peeling.
Could be where we've been stuffing our laundry,
or just ran out of caulk to fill the cracks.
Either way, we paid it no mind,
and it grew from the fridge to the door,

from the toilet across the floor.

The pipes jutting out of the dirt and the drywall,
and drop ceiling shredded around.
Through the hole we feel heat rising,
and hear the squawking from the basement.
The crows are dancing around the clutter,
trying not go up in flames,

but without the children escaping.

They've felt the furnace overheating,
refilling gas with every rising flame.
Claws would burn on the steaming valve,
so they just endure the roasting.
Until the furnace finally blows it smoke,
bursting out the house-grown pressure,

the crows only feel frost or the burn.

There's no gray now, just black and white.
Up from the sink hole grows a giant sunflower.
Its rotting face uncolored through the cel shade.
We're all entangled in the vines until it's chopped down.

the night fog, thick with dust and smoke
a depression over sea for ages

tainted by this void, a lighthouse remained unlit
silent until an inevitable, habitual spark

the lighthouse burns a beautiful flame
its warmth and radiance drawing many from the distant dark

sentimentalists, misanthropes, vagabonds
all converging and communing around the beacon

its heady inebriating light bringing wonder, vigor to lives

as the density of benefactors grew, so did their warmth
the heart fires and body heat compounding greatly

storm clouds replaced by an inescapable, passionate blaze
steaming and suffocating the view from the lighthouse

the stairways inside collapse into embers
the dancing of which entertains the visitors

patrons each take bricks from the lighthouse to claim their own
but lament the lost stability

the tall pale structure, once hardened and obscured in darkness
now fragile when it's most featured on the horizon

the beacon dismantled
consumed in twisting, combusting delirium celebrated by all who witnessed it

until it left them no guide through the raucous cliffs,
and ashes to further shroud their view

like they had been for so long

haunt me
and make me numb

pull me up
to put me down

because if you don't
i'll do it for you

and we both don't want that

i'm always sedate in the darkness
catching that divine lethargy
and comforted in pitch black

however, this meditation is an ******
smoldering my spirit, snuffing out the energy

sunlight rejuvenates me like most
i can't cut it out like the rest
i've bathed in it, loved it
but its grating radiance pummels

wringing me dry

so in my walls i've made a hole
when i want the world,
or need its warmth
i expose myself

i cherry pick the rays of my contemporaries to shine through
when i need them
i plan the breaths i take out in the open, casting myself outward
when i need to

but this false balance toppels often
i either crave the sun's unrelenting healing
or the serenity of isolation
considering which i idolize more at the time

maybe my feet corrupt the soil,
'cause i can walk back and forth through this wall and the grass is always greener on the other side

only until i observed a model out in the world did i realize balance requires dual embrace

barriers need breaking
to dissolve their disillusion

the model bored so many holes in their borders that they cohered into a giant window

it seemed to defy their house
but the framework still stood
and the model lived at peace
merging the dark and light

i asked the model why his window was so big, and he said

"I’m trying to be more direct. In the past, characters would kind of show up, like, ‘This is what’s going to happen to them.’ And there’s a vague connection to something that I’ve gone through. It’s a way of evading responsibility for being like, ‘This is what I’m feeling and this is what I’m doing.’"