I'm soaked.
Drenched.
Water logged.

There's wrinkly fingers
and prunely toes-
from a wishing well's
water spilling in my head.

The waterway
pulls me down.
The drain - body blocked,
as a river
meets my ocean.

I'm water logged.
Drenched.
Soaked.

Nothing but water.
Bones of Voss bottles,
blood from Icelandic glaciers,
spring sourced
liquid death.

Gnash and Gnaw
a story book
of semantically related tales.

Troublesome twosome
words that stitch
a crossword of misrepresentation.

Incredibly Inedible
plasterboards
of unrequited dining.

Grotesque - ******
inevitable
struggles of theocracy.

Grace and _
spared from false
synchronicity.

I would have really liked
just doing laundry and taxes with you.

We're near the avocados
and I can't help but tease you
"when are you going to make the avocado dish"
it's with a sly smile I ask this.

I can't resist,
seeing your little dance
your face scrunched
and you're flustered -
"we'll get them right now, so I can make it this time"

"No, no."
"We'll get them next time"
but really I don't like avocados
it's just part of the fun.

You drop some blueberries into the cart
"they're good for the heart".

I think what makes me the most sad is the world doesn't care how good of a person you are.

You can shake hands with all the people who are homeless named Mic, who fondly remember Mel Brooks movies, and you'll still find yourself left behind just like them.

Complimenting women's nails for their sense of style or telling the cashier at the dvd store that his up-sell is really good and it nearly got you with their sense of flow.

You never take their offer of coupons as what's the point on collecting relics of a time we've all already left.

Strong, sturdy, and silent is what the past is made out of, as there is nothing left to break the illusion of today.

Sturdy for no one has found a way to bring all their passion home.

Time can only stand still, and all we can do is move on.

A kindness forgotten: soft words and thoughtful intentions are what make me the most sad.

I'm a brick layer
by incarnation
by aspiration
by luminosity.

I find unfinished buildings-
toppled skyscrapers-
imaging their foundations
their structural intelligence.

With a brick here
and some love there;
once demolished
can be reassembled.

I'll reconstruct
your finest details,
the youthful aspirations
of an idyllic generation.

Too naïve to
understand that unforgiving
weather can happen
to even the kindest of buildings.

New Job.
New Drive.
New Interest.

It's all so new,
yet so-so familiar.

All there is, the heat -
encased in a fireplace
or a furnace.

Smoldering,
the ashes
never filter through
these windless lungs,
instead of oxygen
the flame kindles
on anxiety.

Life is going splendidly - no hiccups -
Breathing is easy
but all that rushes in
is the flagrant blossom
of ragged thoughts,
all the possibilities
for how helpless
the wind is
when it's always being
knocked out.