Hello, little pins in my paw.
How is all my Life, the rain ?
She's apart from me.
But letting go, is not a part
of Me.
And that is
pain.

my darling one.
if you can hear me...
slack the rope.
I don't know how
these miracles work.
but i know how
to work
for nothing.

and that is
Hope.
At least I hope
so.

The wreaths of requiem ,
rest like the flocks of pigeons
in the delapidated buildings
where we house the words of
a frustratedly forgotten God

Our thoughts are marbled
Sculptured by surely ways
that leave their mark upon
the soft white limestone
we once held for granite

So we take "noes" for hostage
"Yes" in all it's uncertainty
and doubts and fears
we leave to professionals

Mass en Mass . . .
the silence shouts for redemption
as Altar boys stare straight ahead
and mouth unholy words
they could not swallow

Nay Nay !
The robes of iniquity
girdles more than the truth
of daybreaks after nights
of shadowed sin , brutal lusts
and innocent blood stained floors

I can't go where you go and be there at the same time.
I can only ***** for Angels that cannot sing
and even then, I must tell them lies
to keep them from my sin,

the fox and the hound go merrily to their graves.
but the hunt continues...
the sun bloats the blue like an untamed thing
and all I got is a worry stone
to pitch at you.

II

long gone are the days of easy peace and rapture.
but the love in my veins is no cancer... more like a smooth raven
pricking my thumbs as I try to grasp
your haven. chiding my spiral into dementia
as my eggs break from my efforts
to save them.

you nest in my always, like forever in my ' not now'.

I can't overcome what I cannot refuse.
you're my heart's loss... and something else
I have to lose.

And I will always lose it
Somehow.

Somehow.

Building a life on cotton candy dreams
smells of the circus and carnival rides
Exuberant children in tousled sheets
Doing untrained acrobatics on a highwire of hope

Melted sugar nightmares crash without a net
Eyes burn in the stench of memories and laughter
Wearing that broken wire like a decade old prom dress
Wishing pieces of that life didn't still smell so sweet
Making everything sour by comparison

Ever wary of the remote reminiscence of
laughter and the exuberance of children
Flesh torn by that highwire gown
Whenever someone smells of the circus and carnival rides

your ******* are like the sea
if the sea were made of islands
of lost ****... or mice that heave dead clocks
that beat back the passage of time
as a prison... but put forth
skin as a reason to be confined.
your thighs bark humid lips
whoms bite is worse than the absent kiss.
But the kiss is too the bone...
and too tight.

when the wet hunch is fixed.

your eyes are like the warm numb
of a dread quake.
a slinking barrage of absolute sleep
stitched to the heel of a dogstar ,
coming from nowhere -
like anyone that might draw the rain
from the lip of a bee
to appease the queen of Self doubt.
but...

Thine is the kingdom
of the less joy... even as you quake
the pavilions of my hive mind
to better slaughter my lust
with your Unkindness.

I beat wings against the heart
of You.

I walk away with the goddess
that gravity
told me
too.

And that be You.

the happy sea of heartbreak is no happy sea at all.
but yes...  it's well content to be broken
as wave after wave blooms in your palm
and something is a canyon where your trailer home
is not where your heart remembers you.
but condemns your love.

This is what we do when we do nothing.
let me tell you. but let me love you too.
I am gone where stench clings. And i can't be me
And You are no one,
save the ridicule
that lust cannot fathom
and the beauty of you
as I usually do
is undone.

This is what we do when we do nothing.
We flip houses like coins,
we go nowhere at light speed
and I love you much
as you let me go.

and I go where my want
is not wanted.

I go where all my going -
goes. And seldom
circle back.

II

I feel like Black, tastes like the Moon -
Tastes like the heel of my bread
Tastes like my hands...
Thrown up in the
Air.

I have no love, save the prerequisite doom
that your lips prove
a less dangerous
ploy.

And from this height
I might regard you
As a Goddess
to dispel.

But nothing goads  -
a comet, from it's entropy
like a private
Hell.

or a public distortion
Of the Truth...

we tell.