Tucking away your joy;
caving in a hiding hole- pulling skin over
your head: Uncircumcised
Uncut grass, to the disguise of your hedges
you so desperately try to hide; despising such
a sight, to the heir of your generation’s likeness
of still fighting to feel alive

You won’t come outside;
you won’t live under the stars, to at least
stay a night- your commodity spent over what
you long for: Perfect body, a faithful soul

“Why are they laughing?”
no, that’s your insecurities making you
laugh out aloud, at yourself

A battery tongue to lead
into the energy of our conversations
Leaving that imprint of our first outgoing
experiences: Date stamped
Feelings lost in a brown haze of your eyes;
your skin tone made of mother earth, even
as your cry in pain, it turns into mud

All kisses find their perpetual motion
their thoughts of one’s cocooned emotions—
ear curls, your breath coils, turned into hot coals
a lip bite under the tightening grip of second skin

A riding body on a trip to fill itself
as a heartbeat starts with a hum: drummed in
the middle of a hall; through its walls, sound vibrates
Everything else gyrates— as the hammer weighs down
an anvil: to love her in a set picture, polaroid sometimes
I love her still

I scraped the skin of my teeth
with the value of a man’s worth at market price
My dry and thirsty bones are out searching for a home;
the great times of stagnation— so stuck up on yourself
Lost the eyes of a keepsake figure; crying in your sleep
to wake up to another *******

The pole-vault over a night barricaded by
this indistinct glass of a scentless, texture less, limbo
Surrounded by well sculptured tombs; with an attitude
so stiff, you were born a statue out of the womb

Glued hopes to that fitting memory of your youth,
tucked away on the rack of time- like old stained shoes
Pieces of leather tugging away the past old days;
stepping so softly, ending by the button to start, that
feeling of achieving a dream that still turns you on

I'll turn mine on, to push a little further
through this time of doubt; a higher isn’t lost
…until all you despised is all you’ve got
this is the feeling to the lost, that don’t have a lot.

A seed is buried in the manhole
pebbles of time to chuck at the glass screen of life;
the genuine stone in your hand- consistent is its determination
Dreams lost in the dusty drawer
a mind’s past tortures, alongside the crawling pieces
of blood clot envy under my skin- towards a love so in vain
These are the ancient wounds
jumping into conclusions; through the escaping hurdles
In place of the ghouls, the faces that flow through feeding corpses

Night falls, into a dreamer’s eyes
unlocking a world full of possibilities- insignificant fingers
trying to count up optimism misplaced in the gory wings of lips  
Fly away from your comments
comets fall in a beautiful destruction, to perish dry and blow
out the picture of a star- drinking wine at a sunrise; drunk on life

More so, more or less when
the consistent soil grows us bread to feed buttered-up charms
as lovers spread out their love to the distaste of a jealous bunch
Don’t open, that love jar
letting out that sickening hint of spark- once you open that door
it will close you in defeat; from head to sole jumping in heartache’s
repeat…

Love: in just being an option
At times I don’t like most of them;
Where to start inside of a feeling
Is the beginning of an additional end;
Separate a place where I’m living
As a means to never fall in love again

Sunlight is irrelevant in a dream
for the one who still wants to stay
fast asleep

Build yourself afloat an idea of Noah’s ark,
trafficked creations through this industrial suburbia
Blinded in success’s fog lights often conspicuous;
and spun in a slow arc
That vent plugged into a socket; looking for an outlet-
old feelings to a new friendship, connected to a stream
of similar energies. But living our days as house spider
webs, vibrating time as people who go out less

Elevating breathes to awkward stares between worth;
on a tarmac’s bland lead up to an eternity lost in urbanity
— sophisticated talk between us both; trying to find
pickup lines to a car now slowed
Please don’t miss your stop, through the stark trees,
cheering you on with an Uno card- a reserve of glory
here, without any red image to resurface; a missed
purpose in the marsh grasses, tears at the water’s edge,
for the soak of fears stinging like bees

When every bird called, I seemed to only hear a scream
up until a noon brought forth; adding up myself in
a mathematic solution, of why the unnatural tones
I was really just screaming at myself, stuck of how
so many ideas were stuck in between