Love is a dish best served cold.
Or should that  be revenge?
Often they're interchangeable,
As the outcome is similar.
It's wise to fear both,
Both unexpected
And most anticipated... and dreaded.
They come out of the blue.
I excel at neither,
Though I keep my platter
On a low shelf.

As a coin is lost deep in a well
   As a forest burns by a misplaced coal
      As every mountain ultimately degrades into shattered rock and falling stone
         So I'd rather be here now alone
            As compared to building a faulty and falling home

You know it's over.
Your shoes have walked away.
Your phone dives
into the pit of despair.
Cigarettes have become healthy.
Your knees don't knock, but clap.
The chipmunks have fallen silent.
All the chameleons are gray.
The cat dismisses you and leaves.
Bullets pass through you like prunes.
Love is a forgotten memory.
Everything transforms into other.
You are a stranger growing
stranger by the day.
Over and out good buddy.
You know it's over.

Dormancy urges this vessel to
waiver in the processes of sight.
Each reflection an eclipse on
what is viewed from oneself.

I wish not to be repossessed  by
a motion where I'm a husk of
inactivity. Static in reality not
of my choosing but I slumber.

In the cloudiness of a mind,
I'm creating false versions of
myself, wisps of imaginings.    
But I see mirages of untruths.

I wonder like the spectral
apparition within an absence
of self. Weaving syllables of
disillusion, Yet  not of my words.

*"We slumber like death that is but a misplaced beat between both,

Sometimes I think;
therefore, sometimes I am.
Sometimes I’m not sure.
Those are the best times,
when uncertainty renders me
an electron only knowable
by observing where it’s been;
a statstical state of non-being
where all wonders coexist,
where *what I might be
is more real than what I am.
A dreamer dreaming dreams
in the presence of reason.

I've never cried at funerals
Beside the bowed heads
Looking past the markers
In this gated community.

I've never cried at weddings,
Those blissful, blessed tears of joy.
Seeing the children settled and content
For the years they've yet to live.

I've never cried at birthings,
Though tears are warranted
For years of trouble and ecstasy
They will surely cry.

I've never cried before the courts
Pleading for leniency,
Or alone in a cell.

I've never cried for lost innocence,
Those tears that only come with experience.
The loss of a love.

I've cried for myself,
And I carry a hankie
To marvel at the wet spots.

along with my useful lively self
i stroll the path of faceless crowds
they might not know me
I might not know them
but I'm glad as I watch
them do their story
and I on a steady phase
create the background
of my life,
the passerby...

Inspector Dork was not pleased with himself

he had interrogated everyone in the house
only to be knocked down by
impenetrable alibi

Spouse Susan slept soundly through the night
and was awakened in the morn
when the alarm bell rang in his room

Daughter Debby's room was a floor down
she was up with her studies
plugged to earphones

Son Simon was out for the night
he was at his friend's place
for a birthday party

Maid Maddie made his bed
when the clock in his master's room
was chiming ten

Butler Bill having served a glass of milk
closed the door behind him
and retired for the night.

Inspector Dork was about to leave the victim's room
when his eyes fell on the clock pendulum

it was not swinging

he knew who was lying.

To live life in intensive clarity
you must prepare yourself a lonely house.
A friend or three, of course. Perhaps a spouse
or three, as well, though even they won't see
how deep the silent spring that feeds your soul.
Intensity, in truth, is rarely loud
or boastful; more like one who's been allowed
perspective broad enough to see the whole.
Many come to visit, few will stay.
Some believe one lesson will suffice
until they understand in full the price,
the cost it takes to find and walk your Way.
For wisdom's earned not doing as you're bid
by those who knew much better than you did.

as the silken webs stick to you
an ignorant bliss is written in your eyes
you are stricken by a venom inflicted
you're caught in a web of lies

there's a difference between visible and hidden
a difference between spiders and flies
you're a victim of innocence once bitten
you're caught in a web of lies