of the tongue
               and body
           as it beats
              the demons
                 of my own silence to a gentle hum –
  a drunk laced
   representation
    of what the watching eyes
                                        desire,
            ­                            crave,
                              ­          emulate
                                          in their sacred spaces –
      center stage
     with every performer
         abroad this conditioned
               disillusion –
     how it masks
      all the confusion
       for those that
         jumped in early –
   the lights
    look so friendly
   when you need them,
      but it's you
        who feeds
            them –
          and you die
    without knowing it,
                 you cry
    without showing it –
    mourn, in distractions,
      what could have been;
      what could have been
          if you didn't have
             to keep on
                       searching –

    the pen marks
   rely on the same security,
       lost in its
        contrived purity –

           the light is blinding,
            but it keeps us from
  rewinding,
  reminding
    our hearts of the pain
    or the game,
all the same –

wanting too much
for no good reason -

Plain brain game,
      droopy eyes,
        shaking thighs -

    Why am I back here, again?

      Great laughs -
             ha, ha,
                ha -
          peeing cycles increasing
            to release
            the awkward current
               forming armies
               of goose bumps
           around my thoughts -

     My Friday night
        has just begun -
              but it feels
                like last week's ****;

       Same tickling fear
          tied in a knot,
      as I seal my
                       heart
       with more dishonesty;
        
these distracted strangers
     don't know any better,
                             any better than me, anyway -

      "Love is just a state of mind,
          the heart knows better,"

                             hmph -

     intuition feeling
          a tad under the weather -

       Not good enough,
          I should've known better..

Loss is a heart drawn in the sand like a mandala,
Or bravery built like a sandcastle,
Too close to the edge of the sea when the tide comes
Slowly washing away every last grain,
Every speck of courage
Built up to walk across the boardwalk
To the end of the pier to look her in the eyes
And smile without an awkward, nervous giggle
To ask her to dance.
Her elegant wrist rests on the old, wooden
Pier guard rail that contrasts
With her soft, creamy hazelnut skin.
Her hair is backlit, gloriously
Set on fire, revealing her radiance.
You are not ready yet and all your plans are sure to fail.
The salt in the air is thick in your throat
As you notice how large the ocean is behind her,
And how high up the planks of wood you’re standing on
Rise above the crashing waves.
Loss is yours because you turn away
A few steps from deeper waters.
The wooden boards beneath you creak.

“I love you like the moon.”

         “I’d do anything to see that smile.”

                      “I’m standing on a roof
               and the tingle of the edge
                          reminds me of you..”

                 “Anything, anything for those eyes.”

            “Do you want the gifts I have for you?
        *Nope, I just want you.
                 Kay, I’ll wear a bow.
         I’ll wear a bow too..”

                              too,
               too,
too,

  girdled,
       packed up,
   ensnared, stacked, ****** up -
  
      All fickle,
   molded, folded
           to the point where the paper
         starts to tear,
                    
   “One day, we’ll get married.”

Cold,
    recycled feelings
   and you still don’t care?
Care enough to play nice
   with the frail beast
          at your feet,
  the silent song
whisking
   the oil
                 and
         water
  into grey -
      
    “A fantasy –that’s what you are to me..”

Vacuous games
    you still like to play -

   as if
      I were a fool, too,
                     like him –

       or a fool, too,
                               like you -

  not to see how bad you are,
             how sad you are,

           lonesome,

         aching baritone
     deceiving a different home
       with the loudness still in your lap,

       ended with that slap,
        started, again, with that stare,
      that glare into a promise,
          a dream worth more while
        than a bed full of loveless tricks
             and a jealous heart
                rung out,
        back in the back,
           where the bees feast
                on all the hot meat
            swallowed,
      inhaled by your salty appetite

                              for sadness,
                                 contrived madness,

              again,
              again,
             ­ agrain?,
              again,
              again?,
          ­    again,
              a_pain -

                  ****,

ungird me from this swaddling love cocoon,
                     unshackle me,
                         untie me from this camouflaging lie,
                                       unwind me,
                                    unbind me,

              don’t blanket me with all
               you think I want to hear…

        if you don’t want me -
             let me love another      


        “..almost like it gives you joy crushing me so hard -
                   all I’ve done is love you.”

magic in,
throughout the spell
w-trapped ‘round
the beating stick,
ay-ya,
blending with the blurred corners,
in with the mix of mixed-up-**** business,

“who said they gone fight for freedom?”,

out in the courtyard,
out on the yard,
they fight with the message underneath,
in-betwixt reality and fatality,
alongside
all those poison berries
all those violated thoughts by the projector,
protector,

on who’s turf?

“Not mine, not mine” said the machine,
said the auto-plane, touch, voice screen,
said the custom fit sack of *******,

again,

watered down source
of noise,
but in these foggy places
I see no evil,
feel nor fear
the throbbing ‘umph
with my achilles in it’s mouth,

in this purple-green-dripping pink
glare,
       glaze
                           of ‘the level above’

        all the consciousness
before -

I remember one thing,

my love for you

principle -

a little piece
  of something much bigger,
     belonging to both
                         halves
                           crumbling in rather,
              suddenly, opposing desires
                for an unknown everlasting;

     never-casting
       lines of the unconscious-

   whimpers after a deliberate strike
    bleed so
               much
                  more than
       all the possibility
         of sadness
          in these softened cracks,

     in the subtextual
       slips monopolizing
         our silence;

   possibility  I wouldn't know -

           tell me, babe,
        please tell me when this
                sigh is over

            that you've fallen
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              in
                              us