Because the sun is coming up, and I still haven’t slept,
They call me crazy. But I’m not, I promise you
-Not in a destructive way. I hope that’s alright.
And I can’t see the technicolor clouds from my window,
But maybe that’s for the best. I’d only be identifying
Images of you floating by in the shape shifting aurora.
False dawn passes, its greyish-blue hue
And fresh scent of rain giving me a second,
Third, fourth (and so on) wind, almost as much as the caffeine.
And I waited all night to talk to you,
But you never came. You said you would, though
It was silly of me to think that you would show;
That’s me: silly. But you like me that way.
And with my words failing on a pendulum locket,
Copping like they’re coping with the treasonist panic,
Backstabbing, hair-grabbing, pinching; biting; mother-spiting.
Falling through with mad devices, a lost prolific parody of
Gasping fools, so desperately grasping to the notion of an ending
That they insist is only the beginning to something greater.
I put a sign up in my window: Prozac and papal blessing- 2 bucks a pop.

I am you pauper, bring me a daisy,
and kiss these lackadaisical twilights
goodbye. Slip me a drink, I feel hazy.
Can you begrudge me these drunken bar fights?
Roses and ribbons that serve your hair well
feed me sugar-coated dispositions.
While we peasants hear no wedding bell
we are subject to sadder traditions.
Adorn me with this crown of all your laws,
and I shall forever live under you.
Build me a castle from all of your flaws,
to live and die beneath that rubble, too.
If only these clouds did not float so high
they could drown me, and I not say goodbye.

I was wheeling, weren’t you left reeling? We, we--
Weren’t you falling like a star from that stately name,
Before you didn’t feel the same, and touched by
All the teeth of beasts you couldn’t tame? Then there were–
O, what silken shards of likened dreams were in your past
And it never lasted
More than a week or two. But you,
Then, you were a sentry. At the turn of the century, the
Wooden horses burned and the cardboard-box gates fell.
Since then we never felt so well
As the day before that centennial. Anon, Aeon!
Spare us only years.
I adorned you with a crown of forget-me-nots.
You, you presented me with a fistful of dirt:
Told me to grow my own **** flowers.

Salt--

It was a taste on our tongues,
Mingled with sand and hermit *****.
We weren't quite worth our weight in it.

It's a grit between out teeth tonight,
As we were chewing our lips.
A tinge of metallic warmth being gently seasoned.

Salt--

Rolling over in the mud of the coast,
Our clothes clung to us, too heavy.
We'll never get it out.

Salt--

We don't drink the water,
But we choke it down and wish it were air.
Just a few more mouthfuls and we'll be turned into

Salt.