This new man has staticky ambitions;
Believes the future needs something to do
And talks to me in straight lines

The ****-flavored pears
Now littering my yard
Are only the beginning

For the sake of misdirection,
I suggest we **** Keyser Soze
But he's stuck on his previous observation

'I said, 'gravity's gone bad for you, girl;
Everything 'round you's up in the air.'

'Yeah', I tell him,
*'I heard you twice the first time'

He's held for us a shy court,
In the continuity of my world.
Where time under anesthesia
First feels the cold of my shoulder,
While still showing a vague interest
In what he makes of the sordid elements
I've deposited at his feet.

Until his acting as what I've presented
Has perfected his imperfections.

His unwrapping this horror
Has lost the only bookmark
I'd destined to hold the significance of your laughter.

'This object is worthless'
He laughs, and then asks,
'Is it the grayest of ugly gifts?'

I reckon it is,
But remain stoic.
Not too unlike this damage now done.

My picking up these pieces
Of his paper misery
Reveals where the torn of his envelope
Has concealed the light of my gesture.

The key hides elsewhere tho',
On the shores of love.
A once deplorable trinket,
It now derives to hold the heart
Of my oldest fable.

So I destroy it without regret.

'Waves on a sea bed of linen,
Are at the heart of every prison'

Such a strident thought to plague my mind
A single yawn before the dream.

Outside, I reach my moon
As it touches me,
Such a quiet companion
To be keeping
With the busier of minds.

I sit in the porch swing
For over an hour.
Rocking.
Thinking.
Creating.

I imagine a southern jukebox
That comes through clearly
By listening for its beauty in the ether.
Its music feels too endless.
Too easy.
While moving through me too freely.

My throat heats.
My heart aches.
I begin to weep.

Afterwards, I scare my ducks,
(Because I can)
And make my way towards the pond.

The new grass beneath my feet
Warns me to run forever.
As the memory of you and me,
Stops me at water's edge.

Where the frogs soon move me,
From musing nature's scant lullaby,
To analyzing Pharaoh's teeming nightmare.

I eventually retreat back inside.
Across the lawn.
Through the house.
Up the stairs.

Beneath my canopy of night,
Harsh thoughts
Clash wholeheartedly
With heated tears
And stifled cries.

'The stars were never shining down on me,
They just looked down on their luck.'

Such a wretched truth to plague my mind,
A mere wasted wish before the dream.