I
keep
leaving
cues
that
no-one
picks
up;
like
autumn
leaves
in
the
wind;
lost

She hangs low in the evening
like she's worn out from the shift before.
Her golden feet bless the tarmac
of the road below,
Playing children swallowed
into her glowing belly to
become obscured blotches
submerged in the delicate fabric of
her tangerine light.
She falls.
A silent ambush.
Drowned in the warmed cement.
Dragged down by darkening blues.
Before she is buried into the darkening hours
she peeks her head just above the ground
to see murky figures appear once again,
they wander through the charcoal haze
in gangs of hoods and ski masks
and lie in the middle
of the empty streets and scream.

yesterday, the universe seemed as if it was a mirage; I saw planets beyond planets, a moon beyond moons; oh the minutes were soft and golden; they melted to liquid, into a million, into manifold, into one...

~perhaps this was what nobody told me: perhaps I am
more than the mass of resentment and regret that I had so greatly condemned, then became...~

and as I fell asleep; folded and cradled in the warm arms of the universe, I understood, I truly understood...

~that it was forgiveness that made everything beautiful once more...~

My legs dangling, the soft weeds press
against me. I am caked,
watching a bright sky shifting,
a horizon drifting slowly into darkness.
Lilac devours the earth in a pixellated haze
and children laugh, high on the energy.
I feel a stumbling feeling, breathless,
from your hands around my waist,
catching me off guard. A quiet hum.
It rolls over the hills, inching
towards the silence,
where words burn in our throats
like bad music. Water giggles on the stones
and we have the same taste in our mouths.
What is it that the sea does to the devout?
I hear them singing close to the shore.
My hands shimmer where you touched them last,
my left side beams all the way home.

Our minds are so morbidly scary
In bouts of silence and dark
That we can imagine death, destruction, blood, A SPARK.

Knives cutting holes in our paper-thin skin,
Kids throwing rocks till their brains turn pulpy,
Bridges rocking and creaking, skin hitting ice,
Smashing our souls on concrete..

It cures a hidden desire, worse than lust or need or want.

And on that note:
The world is turning
And with it, morbid minds.

Kinetic energy
Without equilibrium

A fixed star
Collapsing in on itself

There she stares unblinked
At stellar remnants

Sprawled face up
In the dry aqueduct

Holding her breath
He won't return