there are only 5 seats and on each end
are metal chapels. time slows down like a slug
climbing a vertical wall, or say, a drunken man
  making his way towards the oblique recess.

the ignominy of an exhausted carburetor
is the orchestra for the night.
lots of women go in and out, out and in,
  whichever is first, but the last is always
just as bland as any other truth:

we go, each foot splayed to cover measure,
  and in the flash of a scene, gone.

I watch their skirts make gossamer tune,
like some flotsam or a poised note being led
  straight to a trajectory disappearance:

the idea of the image is to glide
over them, over flesh,
over this fetal smoke that I will soon toss
  right into the womb of nothing

and fall flat as a key from a tone-deaf cathode,
a spanked melodrama of television with dull cursive,

        or as lithe as justly, the right camber of blues
             ripping straight through my day-old denims,

peering through the tease of a thigh’s penumbral shadow,
the sound of the world being dragged into double-doors

       echoing a metonymy: *silence the interlocutor, her mouth
                          full of birds. Dark birds.

Simoom*, desert wind
from ravaged realms
through spacious skies
bear every sacred grain
to enduring fields
where amber waves
root in the fruited plain
sweet mercy nourish
shed its grace on thee
reveal our good
through brotherhood
from wasteland
to the sea.

Early hours; the
parts of sleep
     recalled;
          a fly opening
        it's silk cocoon,
   a foetus moving
in a jelly womb,
   irises and corneas
         assembling into eyes
                    eager to explore
                a world outside;
      those first times
when regrets are
               abstract concepts
                             not feelings
                        growing roots
       in subconscious pools;
all the things I'd redo,
              my deepest desire
                              to be anew

Paths less taken
Faces with no souls
Voices unheard
How many hearts have been broken?

Torn and tattered
Hair dishevelled
Hatred and lust, they bind
With their souls left behind

No Clicking Of Heels

I don't cry anymore
Because I know
Anything that lasts
Must go slow.

We burned it out
With passion hot.
I touched you softly
And found your spot.

Not the one
Between your legs
Or your neck
Or pulling hair while you begged.

Far deeper than that
Did we go.
To a place unknown
In our soul.

A place that scared
The living hell
To a point
We did bid farewell.

We burned it out
Before we began
To see each other
From end to end.

From heart to heart
From head to toe
From places beneath
That none will know.

To places far more vast
Than we can see within ourselves.
Places never written about
On tall bookshelves.

Places beyond
space and time
Where angels dance
Where all things rhyme

And gel within
To grow us far
From egos to souls
On other sides of stars.

Where did we meet?
In halls of school?
And where's that baby
We wanted, with coo?



And I think of this
From time to time.
Wondering how
To end this rhyme

This hell to heaven
All wrapped in one
The memories of pain
And so much fun.

Where we are together
Making love and peace
As gypsies do
Living in ease.

But all my logic
And all you feels
Can't bring us back home
By click of heels.

The storm is too great
In your mind from then.
Yet I'll dream of you
Until my end.

4 mins flat,
This took to write.
And it's done with love
Not worry or fright.

You're within me
And you just flow out
So it all much be true
I have no doubt

That you miss me too,
Now and then
And have great wonder
Why did we end

Or could we begin again.

My feels; your logic;
My logic; your feels.
But no fine answer;
And no clicking of heels.

I've tried.

Haha

Love,
Smarty Pants [aka NitWit;)   :*]