Go gently into the night
Fight against the secrets of sleep
Peak into the abyss
Find your release in the dreams that await
Fantasy and fiction
Or simply the subconscious
Is this reality,
Our true self,
The essence of our being?
Alarm bells
The spell has been broken
We cast our eyes over and take stock of things as they are

A perceived existence

Satin runs from dried stains
in torn reminders of convenience
Morning tastes of stale sweat and disappointment... again

Displaced retribution is a punishable offense
sentenced in hangover flashbacks fusing pain in lust heavy deviance
coddling complacency, impaling the nuisance of a persistent past

That serrated double edge glistens with humility and humiliation
licked clean by ravenous canine
flinging leftover apathy on unwitting pawns

Feeding on the deceptively needy
blinded by intoxicated cliches
mistaking release for emotion

Condemnation bartered in stolen commodities
Toilet water hydration reconstitutes enough to bleed
behind neuropathic armor and addiction to the nether

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

In the end keeping people apart is useless
Humanity is far too strong to be denied for long.

feeling at home with trees
ancient roots
more hidden connections

In the market I'm a popular man.

So very nice they say
he doesn't even ask the price.

I'm the sellers' good mate
they decide the weight
or rather the mass,

So very kind they say
he's the buyer top class.

I'm the sellers' idol
the quote they call
I pay

So very good they say
he's our man every day.

They decide the rate
decide the weight
even the item

while my mind thinks of a poem.

in passing of time,
as we grow old,
as i learned the wisdom
of the good and bad
in the rhythm of life
i stood still -
  in pause,
       waiting
              in silence.
at a passing thought
you'll never know
what's out there -
uncertain in most
                      cases.
in beating the odds
a step yet to have taken
    i only took a detour
for a time, just for a short while
yet I wouldn't have imagine
years has passed never did
i take a step...

Sun come up but
not for me.
My name is not whispered by the wind
when it blows through that tall stand of pines.
What now passes for a winter night,
with its tepid atmosphere and
lack of magic,
does not call.
If it did I wouldn't answer.
Standing sentry
are the haints and phantoms -
the faded pains
felt as echoes are heard,
left forgotten but waiting.
All of this time spent idly watching the world feels wasted, but
we've been secretly reinventing nuance.
I dont recognize it anymore.
Too bad, really, since
I've always loved subtle difference.