Forged through amalgamations of bravery, deepest indifferance and hunger, fluster formed a solid ingot of unimaginable tensile strength. Bought and chewed what she was fed, "Oh to be wed." She would have it melted in her mind, as if drilled through skull, and smoldered into a pithy membrane. This vow, this marriage, this perfunctory cause and reaction would be solid fortune of her life. As if what her mother, father, church and giddy peers always spoke was lost wax fulminating from her ears. Topped with encrustation, a sparkly rock, salt of some miner's sweat, this platinum bond formed and molded was then clamped on her finger. As we of confused instincts know ourselves, she came from a far worse place. This all the reasoning there need be, for institution. Most of her life, she would not miss that lost pithy wax, that mind of her own. For this was the method called "sacrament" and this was her sacrifice.

I see myself on their faces.
They walk the streets at night,
lit up by frail streams of light as they go.
They step on cracks
and pass trees dying for the next rain.
They shuffle through headlights that capture
what they don’t want you to see.
I don’t mind.

They talk about nothing
and laugh at stupidity,
beckoning each other
with open arms and wide smiles.
They waste away their lives
taking drinks and walking miles.
Their shouts are loud and absconding,
as they scream to the heavens
and sing to the moon.
They don’t care.

They paint portraits with their words,
give grins of innocence with acts of hate.
Reliving old characters and old ways,
they wrestle with esteem.
I don’t mind.

I watch their strange paths.
They tell lies and form truths.
Seeking out themselves,
They never know who is who.

I see myself on their faces.

Is life too short to have regrets?
What if your life is a series of regrets?
Potential unfulfilled.
Dreams unrealized.
A meaningless existence.
Many a man has expressed his regret on his deathbed but
what if you realize long before you reach your final resting place
that your life has been full of regrets?
How stark the revelation that your life meant virtually nothing
in the grand scheme of our universe.

the explanation of it
sinks deeper yet it is rare without
any manifestation.

it is difficult for me to
unlatch the locks
and throw away the keys
into an unknown abyss.

the hot star and
the apple of moon
now rise in the distance.
tonight, there will
be all that is troubled
and no solace could ever *****
us in its promise.

it is the ending of things
and right even before
its emergence, you can feel
it in the way things play
themselves out like a
premeditated plot or a fool's
unchanging ploy.

the wobbly table, stirring all
glass and fluids -
the soft rumble of the feral
over the rooftop -
the remaining enigma of an
unfinished epistle
teeming with infinities -
the door left ajar by
the tenor of wind -
a raked tumble of singed leaves;
the swarm of cocooned light
over the bland asphalt.

i have seen hands lose their
taut grip upon things they swore
with ease to never let go
as a dog is wan without its
asphyxiating leash,
as a bird is free without
the conundrum of metal,
as we are both
free
as though we do not know each other - fretting for answers raw without
questions, or scurrying through
the fixation of so many pleasures
just to diminish whatever it is
that remains insatiable, or holding back the flight of things
and consigning them to slow exeunt.

There's comfort in crashing
or so you said,
I've crashed and burned
and risen up again,
but I like rock bottom
just as much as floating on clouds,
being in the pits is easy
no reason to get out,
I've lost myself

dr. mustard
he goes by other names too
he comes by night
his satchel full of wonder bread
leaves me a slice
and returns home
one night he left a trail
back to his cave
i never followed
now there are crumbs all over
like children's toys in a day care
i like their ambiance

There is probably
nothing more lachrymose-inducing
than holding hands in a movie theatre.