that’s all I know, title, subject undisclosed,
new morn amourning arrives,  when writing~writhing
hunger, comes and remains till fufillment,
sometimes, nagging, sometimes roaring, completion is
the satiation satisfaction when the pouring/
spilling is from within to without, topping off
the nearest receptacle with hugger-muggery,
beauty jumbled, elegantly jagged linen creased

the it of it, must be done, so my heart un-seizes,
breathing to nearly next to normal, yet the distance there
incroyable, inch or mile, meter matters not, until closed it’s a
chasm rupturing,
 fingers grasping my temples, to hold the
jumbled tumbling innards within, redirected towards my
screaming fingertips, hoping, relief will come sooner,
making room until the throat and lungs engorged,
when~with this selfsame need returns
on the morrow
if, when,
my eyes open,
and yesterday itself
is a writ,
a realization accomplished

~~~~~~~
perhaps, you recognize yourself?
perhaps, you reconcile yourself?

Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet


thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…

much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards

back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism

now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat

~

As I tidy, I organise time in little pill-pockets, sweep debris from sills and tables. I dice their cravings and fancies into some sort of meal, and wash nine hours of lines trod and toed from my clothes, ready for morning.  

These things make me feel needed, and I resent them as though they are chains. Do you draw me as selfish?

~

As I rest, I see my oldest cup with my keys; my coat and cleaned-boots left by the radiator gathering heat, and I wrap myself in a patchwork of dreams. I catch a wink - my favourite colours - beaded from the heartbreak-dark of a room.

These things make me feel loved, and I breathe them as though they are air.
Do you draw me as ungrateful?

~

As I watch, I turn my reflection this way, that way, pile ink-hair on her crown. I imagine my burgundy dress fall over her hips to the floor -  reveal to my mind the vanity of sheer-stockings and dark eyelash-lace on porcelain skin.    

These things make me feel beautiful, and I miss them as though they are dead.
Do you draw me as shallow?

~

“*But wrestle I do nonetheless,
                                    for the pleasure of this (non?) soluble
                problem that both creates
    queries & quenches
                             simultaneously, so I break off this
                             thinnest wafer to share with you,
          offering this notional”


<~>

mine own words return, Halloween hauntingly,
every event adds layering failure to comprehend
and the frustrated anger dissipates into a thousand
swirls,