Dandelion seeds in the wind,
the sun burning in her hair,
and she bathes in that light
with a sheen of delight
dancing across her lips,
pressing outwards against
the crimson velvet rope
of her physical boundaries.

Were it a dream, she'd fly
with those monarchs
that so well contrast
her gradient eyes.

Editing my thoughts;
A spoonful of porridge in one hand,
a pen in the other

My two main forms of sustenance;
One for the body,
The other the mind

A bite turns into a meal,
A written word into an expression of 'soul'.
The primordial biological urge is constant

Without the food I would not have the strength to pick up the pen;
Without the pen I would have no desire to eat.
Their unison might be the only thing keeping me in motion

Long may it go on.

my heart, is contaminated
the person handling it
                 isn't wearing any gloves
their fingertips press on my ventricles
their prints are ingrained as my
breathing
is restrained
Exposed to the sharpest smoke
inhaling the most addicting poison
my vessels gradually drained
                    of blood, of purity
my heart will never be retained

I just can't stop
replaying it in my head
over and over
again and again.

Soaked sneakers and Jesus,
I felt like a god
and tasted heaven
on your lips.

The sweat sheet cleaned
our muddy feet
and then I found myself
in your hips.

i yearn to change
the world
but i can't seem
to change myself

i fear the gears have ground to a halt
and i've been left to gather rust
between the teeth of tired cogs
in the jaws of this dysfunctional mess

am i nothing more
than a bent tool
a broken fool trapped
in self-detesting testament

piece
me together
with anger anguish
and mistrustful lust

the aspects of a psyche
peeled back
like flayed fingernails
exposing fresh flesh

i've resolved
to be a nightly victim
of my own failing
mental health

i may be pointing fingers
and smashing mirrors
but i haven't been avoiding
the abject reality

a reflection
i know reflexively is inexorably
responsible for this current
catastrophe

i
am my own
sworn
enemy

a contagion
jealously infecting
everyone and everything
i've tried to love

though i dream of death
every evening
i continually awaken
disappointed

tendril scrawl of
notmuchlongernow,
trellis all thoughts of the sea

in vain.
my brain

is not well.
it resembles  
blank page,
dog-eared.

i fell
alongside the angel,
and i'll rise up 

with the simpler
constituents

in that beautiful
wonderful tiny lukewarm
yellowish glow.

my little halo 
in the compost
worn by the glorious 
green bottle fly - lithe, woke, on it.

the doors are open. there is something you have that
i need. i've been driving since march, taking the
longest route. whenever you get to your final
destination, you're expecting to get exactly
what you drove through heavy rain or
blinding sunlight for. turns out, the shorter
route could have gotten me closer to getting
what i came there for. all of you is taken from
me. there is nothing left for me. the doors are shut.

- kra

meeting you was like brushing shoulders with
god – once i turned around to catch a glimpse
of you, i realized it would take a requested but
granted miracle for us to intersect. they say in
euclid geometry that two parallel lines will
never touch despite the fact that they lie on the
same plane going in the same direction. as long
as that plane kept us interconnected, i thought it
would be okay to let you speak words of
resurrection to me. as long as the roses inside my
chest continue to blossom and as long as you
continue to help pluck off all the overgrowth of
thorns, i thought it would be okay to let you see
me for the beast that lies under my beauty. it feels
like i’m getting closer to the truth, but further
from the one that i’ve been looking for. the big
picture looks a lot like manifest destiny collided
with continental drift.

there is something called the bermuda triangle.
this is not to be mistaken as a metaphor for an
unrequited love triangle. a significant number
of aircraft and ships have mysteriously vanished
from thin air, so they have made a name specifically
for the catastrophic triangular death sentence
phenomenon that lies out in the north atlantic
ocean. i think of myself as the one aircraft that
plummeted into the waters early. despite how
long i’ve been flying this aircraft, it’s the turbulence
that puts me at risk for something like this. i didn’t
know being one of many parallel lines would have
a death sentence. mother nature is laughing at me
as i sink, because i’ve forgotten how to swim.

i’ve become a part of the empty space on the plane
filling in that void until you eventually collided
with a perpendicular line changing your direction.
parallel lines don’t get the satisfaction of ever
crossing into each other. they are always at arms
distance. close enough to touch, but not close enough
to feel the ghost of their breath on our cheeks. we’ve
acknowledged that the other exists, but not the fact
that we could divert from our paths towards each
other. loving you was a learning experience. it was
learning that i shouldn't swim into deep waters, but
i shouldn't stand in a three foot pool. this is why i want
to know if there is such a thing as non-euclidian
geometry, if there is hope for us parallel lines that
will never collide with our soulmates.

- kra

When I stop
to read the signs
I can feel them
reading me instead.