covered with sarsaparilla and sage
you untie the laces
just as the mountains crumbled
streaks of lightning shape your face
opportunity knocks for you
upon estuaries
the mystic spoke
through me
was this the space
her ***** bouncing
and you're already ready to give up
the movers need better timing
simplicity is welcomed
our fate created by our own ignorance
in the lashing out of anger
strangers dance
making maps through the sand
poor men weep in silence
for their longing is asleep
interlocking aspects
upon the drastic sea
i collect pens
connecting signals
i am standing
jumbled in a pool of muddy sheets
what a tragedy
is this love
his mission was to listen to her
i say wait a second
how dare you judge me
who can be your enemy
in a world where all is one
release this lonely song
your world is learning how to dance
goddess, yes its painful to retain all these words
in the eye of ecstasy
you once shone like an emerald
and now i only wish the best for you

My words are fractured                      
                   but my thoughts are undivided.

My fingers are tapestry of both,
                    stitching them incompletely.

But to some these things make sense.

People say they want to live in a small town,
but when I look out my window
all I see is
Zero.

I look out my left window,
Zero.

I glance out my right window,
Zero.

The daily routines,
an Act Without Words.

We go through the motions in a small town,
get up, smile at people we hate,
hope for something more,
repeat.

In a small town
you bite your tongue,
just to keep the peace.
Did you bleed today?

There’s no point in asking
how someone is
because we already know.

Each new piece of gossip
strings us along,
Beckons
teases.


The small town will hold
anything over your head.
It will dangle a divorce
suspend a separation
and hang up a hook up.

In a small town,
the space between people’s teeth
revealed by their fake smiles
serve as cre-
Nells

People rave about the
fields of grass, and the trees.
In each patch of green
lies un lucky Clov-
ers
The fresh air is fetid.
The stink of the town’s
***** laundry is
enough to make
any argument for the town Null.
Zero.
It’s almost genetic,
the little Nagg-
lings in the school yard,
slicing, dividing, cutting
people like cake.

Settling for small town life,
is a fate worse than Hamm-
lets think about it.

No excitement.
No privacy.
No trust.
Zero.

The stone Angel fascinates me
and repulses me
It stands about 8 feet tall in a fountain
Its made of white fake stone
It pees
He wears a gown and has wings
His white hands gather around his middle holding a far too small water jug
Unless your within 2 feet of it
You can't see the little stone jug
It stands at the Corner of Tennessee Avenue and Beech Street here
*******
in front of an ugly little strip mall
I walk by it and we smile together
That Angel and I
I said to it one day," How lucky you are to get to eternally **** on this MayBerry Hell"
He smiled back
He pees as the children play by
As temporary lovers hold hands
He pees as the old people hobble by with their canes
When giving directions, people here actually say,"You know, it's down by where that Angel pees." ***
Sometimes I wish I were he