smoother sailing
is the promise-
And the
Explanation,
The be all,
The Balm, salve, or
solution.

"I didn't mean to"
sometimes they did.
sometimes they didn't.

But I have no,
no real way,

to explain gravely
enough-
that in the real world
sometimes Sorry
just can't
doesn't
won't

cut it.

Try.

It's a small word
divided into three
it becomes mightier.

the power of shapes
against the sword of a pen
for it, the shield of
defeat

the two letter 'no'
you would think three would
beat two

you would be wrong

'yes' also invokes
yet at it's strongest,

really means 'no' too.

I need your hug
I need your smell
I need the things
that I think you do well
hands on my feet
hands on my hips
kisses on my shoulder
kisses on my lips
I haven't even seen
you and the things that
got between
[you and I]
are backwards and
forwards
confusing, no lie.
but we just couldn't go
back even
if we tried.
so to save some time
and make the pain go by fast
I'm going to destroy
my values with rhyme
and just try
and bury my memories
of our past.

I need
a new notebook
or to engage
on the phone with
Life and
tell it to
slow down.
I can't write
fast enough
with these
feeble hands.

feeling of wrongness
sheen of oil
power shower
can you get it for
a soul?

when I go back
it is the same
and it isn't
I am me and
her now
we have memories
like two halves
of a lost
coin.
And I have the
same hands.
but the things
they carry
are burdens that
just couldn't
even be imagined
the last time
I exited this
stage.

You were always afraid
your heart filled with pause
and your eyes touched by ghosts.
But,
your back stayed
soft
strong.
muzzle filled with wisdom
ears full of silk.

and the wind came
and I was defenseless
for I had not boarded up
my windows
in fact I
had opened up
my doors and welcomed in
the creatures of
plague
I invited the leeches
onto my ankles
beckoned the water snakes
into my hair
and sat in the chair
I had wrought of
moldy river reeds
and looked up at
the storm and the
ark and said
too late
this flood
that man
they've gone.
so I'll
just stay
right here
For as long
as I can.

smash with your fists
bash the drum
slash the strings

hit harder
sing louder

turn it right up
but for the love of
god don't stop

I don't want to-

accidentally hear
my heart.

It's not
strong as
some...but the
taste of a
garden stays on
my tongue.
lips wet
like grass after
rain, the
scent of flowers
leaves my breath-
the *** is empty.
time to join
the life outside.

a robot
approved my
card.
now paper flies
to the
wind
and I get to-
Live.

Night and day melt in
A cycle of paradoxical yin
And yang
Up is down,
Sideways is wrong
And stopping is the fear of
Speed
The struggle is the
Map when searching for a
Key that you didn't want
to Need.

I see your wings.

even if You
Can't.

I scramble to tally all
the things about this that are wrong
Clinging to
And clawing at
Careful pieces of
Someone else's song

Ringing harsh around me are these lyrics in my ears
Clashing, ripping, tossing feelings out of my eyes with
Traitorous ******* tears.

Somewhere there is laughter
Somewhere there is death
Somewhere someone is fighting
For their last and desperate breath

And here in our bubbles it's hard to see the trees
But the wind it still whispers
Catching me 'round the knees

You are mortal
You will be mortal
Your life is in a shell
Be grateful for what hits you
And what isn't- so
Guard this well.

Unspeakable yet bursting on my tongue.
Keeping slow poison in my heart and knowing the map to potential misery I hold.
My feet steeling themselves for the treacherous path that I still only truly know.
[It's...]
The frozen moment before the window breaks.
[That...Knowing ...]
This jagged rock lies in my pocket--
everything that touches me feels as though it's about to shatter.
The false illusion that I can protect anyone from sadness.
I am  the eye of the storm.
An epicenter of grief.
Ripples in lava. But alas.

I have become Pompeii.
And no act of Earth
or sky can stop this.

So forward march,
And away we go.

Things that are dead
Vegetables
Fall.
So many ants.
We give and take life so
Frivolously.
Barbaric in our uniformity.
Mob mentality
House flies are a game.
Cut flowers, Christmas trees.
Beef in cream sauce.
A culture of mundane murderers.

It's ok.
All the kids are doing it.