I like to bake crumpets
on sunlit avenues
of sleeping cities

Whose bustling is an uproar
of white noise
in the collective mind

Lulling them
to
perpetual sleep,

like the drolling of a fan
in the dark nights
of their electric grid of thoughts

It’s nice to make something sweet
out of the heat
that radiates from the surface
of a broken paveway

Cracked, though it may be
It gives me hope
that I can sustain myself
in this faced paced world
of nonsense

And yet the world is always
a blur around me
As I stuff myself
with metaphors
sugar coated
and left to rot in my stomach

I could never hope
to match their speed,

I’m too caught up in the weeds
overgrown in my head

Sure, it’s cutting,
fast in the haste of being slow

Taking a machete
to clear out some space
Leave me feeling empty

The wind never stops blowing
in my inner world
It sure shuts them up

What sort of trembling has become of me?

How could I fly the coop in distant memory,
and shade myself in anything
without a breath of deep, cold air?

Where should I sit when I’m alone,
if all this restless energy forever
makes me shake in discontent?

Where is the comfort in the fulcrum,
and the levity in slow eventual tiring?
Whose rock am I standing on?

What is nature to the trees?
What is ancient to the breeze?
What is movement to heat?

What is everything without the occasional stopping point?

Where does one line divide
the mind
from humankind?

What is holding me fast
against
my screeching in the night?

Why do I cry in silence
without ever letting loose
the deluge within my heart?

Why must the mind and soul,
the young and old,
the love and life
and hope,
all stand apart?

Who am I
without the world
to define me?

Where are those with whom
I may share
my hiding?

At night my eyes do bleed into the undercove

Such clouds of darkened ichor mask my vision
I saw the great respite wherein you bode
took hands upon your form and shouldered myriad of blight

Spat then a tongue into my mouth
though it was not your own
as your apparition, dense, did disappear
I came to know the truth with clarity
for you were never here
in that dream did I call dear
to your admittance lost

For she came to fill the void
in faces squat upon the isles
when I was sat there on the floor
only one was nearer to my truth

In the beveled floor
I saw motion
in the map of self
a shroud of stars

For what is worth beguiled?
For what is measure spent?
Beseech my innocence
nostalgic loss of breath

Love is not a thought
and not a dream
It is the sleeping mind’s
one haven in the dark

I woke
to you beside me
speaking cheerfully of days unworn
readily acceptable
there to be adorned

In our unity
a dance
which grants me levity
as we romance
an absence of the ****** past
as pains should die again
where we go forth
in union
with our star gate skies
not alien or human
having not a guise
simply We