When stars become

a burner account--

they attempt to keep

tabs on where they

went out.

Not understanding

there's no longer a

need.

That a one way

account, is a one way

account.

Making it the loneliest

it can ever be.

The afternoon sunshine was ambiguous,

& not for lack of.

It was from there that a strangeness did

more than parody the noncontextual.

Its impressions were so sudden in their

completeness, so altogether different

than what experience was

approximating.

Was that these impressions were of

themselves so overwhelming, or was it

that they overcame the ones in place?

It stood to be another Self, crammed

space & disregarded time.

It was a great sadness guiding away

melancholy, a record playing beneath

sunlit water--a terrible assault on

intuition.

A moment alone as water muddies,

ahead of a significant change.

Comes the high discernment of what

won't be suffered.

The very life of it returns to be  

mercifully obliterated.

A frenzy of trespass righted, where

lines weren't.

A witness stripped of sides, swears by

seeing--to speak the unspoken.

A warrior cuts to first loyalty.

Never denying what is, never settling for

what is not--all else is premature death.

Earphones can conjunct like wrong

planets--isolating a soulless listener.

Forced to hear dissonance, noise plugs

that give what they get.

Awkwardly excreting too much

information, owned by goodliness.

The whole bus reacts as if something

is passing through.

Music's ****** paralysis, at harmonious

odds--prohibited flight.

The stank roots one puts down when

caught, the sorriest excuse for being.

Music doesn't play to everyone, just

because they press play.

It knows whose listening.

Innocence quietly leaves in the

middle of the night--knowing when

she's become an imposition.

She's more than welcome, but her

presence hurts--her lightness is too

heavy.

She always means to stay, but goes

because of what she means.

The worst proclaim her, cursing their

parents for putting them here.

As they prodigiously corrupt

everything they touch.

They think themselves majestic

creatures, that must flee back into the

treeline they exposed themselves from.

Wearing leafy masks of misconstrued

radiance.

Being at a safe distance from themselves

is all that matters...

taking cover long enough to feel like

a victim.

These are the ones that curse innocence

under their breath, as they duck.

A vessel becomes the

planchette of depths,

moved by the underbelly

of a storm.

Drawn all the way out,

to know how it's seen.

The bloodless spelling

of its own name.