withered eyes a
crescent moon of
dusk under the
pupils red lightning
cracking across
blank pages born
from some unseen
space beyond the
corners

when the head lolls
back the neck snaps
to refocusing on the
unseen nothing in
the physical to grasp
at looking through
all layers of deceit
at an inside a
center that cannot
exist but is always
there

motion is the mirror
the frame the negatives
rolling seamlessly teeth
and sprockets a perpetual
rotation immune to friction
faction and conflation

singular in its mindlessness
just an eye bloodshot with
nebulae as everything
collapses in on itself at the
speed of light passing
through the central retinal
vein feeding information
into the unseen center of all

I know she's there inside of me
and how she makes a scene,
    just when I see you with her,
         I turn a little green.

1311

This *****—little—Heart
Is freely mine.
I won it with a Bun—
A Freckled shrine—

But eligibly fair
To him who sees
The Visage of the Soul
And not the knees.

I want to dance to Frank Sinatra's tunes
this cold time of the year.
With our feet bare on the kitchen tiles,
with a handful of each other and our heads
reclining for support on our shoulders.
I want to stay there until the early hours of the next day
with a soft silence and cozy smile;
just us muting the world for this little while.

When we soon run out of music, we'll simply sway
like an anchored boat on a breezy day
and all I'll need will be the steady beat of your heart
because to me you are a mellow melody always
and throughout the disarray of my life.

Just for this night let's sway in each others embrace;
let's dance the frigid winter nights away.