once, while searching for peace,

comfort found me in the middle of the night.

It came in the form of cups of coffee and plates shared with friends I barely knew.

and under the yellow haze cast from overhead lights

we brushed away the dust of the long summer day

with talks of past mistakes and stories of things we've done.

with gossip and gospel.

on the ride home we talked about human nature

and the weather in Ohio

while through the windshield the moon illuminated the fog and threw shadows on the faces of sleeping backseat passengers.

looking back I realized,

that night, in those hours before sunrise

we constructed a whole new universe around each other.

place your hand on my chest

can you feel the rustling?

the almost constant buzzing of the monster growing it's nest?

in moments of stillness I can feel it tunneling through my bones,

until it comes to rest inside my ribcage

waiting to hear it's name called again,

when it will flap it's wings in reply,

shedding feathers under my skin.

once it's awakened it will continue its endeavor

in pecking and pulling,

making more room for itself

and less room for me.

Somewhere behind me

There may still be monsters accidentally existing

I have no time for their ghosts or membrane mutiny

Somewhere a childish criminal collects clarity blissfully sidetracked

Simple secrets now subjected to an expiration date

A jar cluttered with light may illuminate its conclusion

Hums fall with clicks inside glass contaminates

Class refrained curiosity made these spaces empty

Peripheral pimps take my scenes for nonsensical renditions

Ticks in the skull while empathy ponders panic

A familiar echo for the susceptible
A time bomb mistaken for clockwork

Helium hideaways complicate an otherwise profound articulation

They fall separately

While defunct damsels capture blue bliss on virtual timelines

It's not real
Light speed fleeting

Grasp the grips for your short sighted ******

Do these chalklines suggest hesitation?

What flaw shall we consider fixation?

Brickwork bygones crumble into memory and highway streams

Falling on fiends lost inside a smokescreen sanctuary

Eyes indefinitely indulging

Porcelain prisms with mindful monsters

Timeline logic lays low for the sake of saner discovery

Downward dazes find hands like phases

No correct callous in sight

I met a man who claimed him and I came from the same home,
I told him I've never been.

he didn't understand my disconnected nostalgia,
Instead he trusted place and time.
I guess he hasn't had much experience with drafty windows or closed mouths.

I tried to explain to him, home is where you hide your skeletons,
and I've used people and words as closet doors,
when that didn't work I buried them in shallow graves under my skin.

he said he noticed the bones sticking out of my body and I told him,
my search for home as left me starving and unstable,

that after a lifetime of asking for directions
to churches and cemeteries,
I've become envious of comfortable beds and worn-in floor boards.

the ebb and flow
the back and forth
the wind carrying sand and salt water breath.
the current takes us in it's rhythmic side to side sway,
almost matching us to the waves completely.
the beauty of a paradise
juxtaposed with the nearing reality of less.
the stillness of life like distant ships,
carried away by time and tide.
fleeting, but no less beautiful because of it.