the doorbell will never ring at 4am-
no surprise visits,
hesitant, awkward, longing smiles
and hesitant, awkward, longing body language
that sounds more like childish screaming
than pleasant conversation
had by adults who'd administer un-pondered scolding
just for the noise-
at least not anytime soon.
wrapped and delivered, waiting on the stoop,
a box beneath a bow and note scribbled
with little hearts and a name-
an offering responded with fangs and venom
by a snake, like the veins of the heart
that was supposed to grow fonder with absence
but instead grew wicked with the thought
that forcing seconds into minutes-
minutes to hours-
hours to days-
quickly caused us to wonder

It's like the world's in denial
About how I really feel
And I'm so sick of living
For the world's appeal

I can't look at myself
Without feeling regret
All the time that I've wasted
I will never forget

Emotional train wreck
Emotional train wreck

I'll love you ten times longer than you'll love me

Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a plop.

Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion

The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.

Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.  

The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.

Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
,

That tree
The oak out front
The one indelibly tattooed on me
In full moon light
When everyone is quiet
Above all imposed virtue
Moreys
Those vanish
Comfortably in their dreamscapes
Meeting their lives love
Committing Crimes
They would never imagine 
Appropriate 
Necessary 
Fair
Or in some cases
Riding on the back 
Of an ice cream donkey
Into the sunset

In that quiet
I can see
With all certainty
Who that tree really is

Im looking into the eye of  a scowling Bowser
Two eight-limbed horns

This is the tree 
That triple dog dares me
To stop squatting
Not this front porch
Unfiltered and French inhaling
Sighing because this tree
Is shaming me with its boughs 

Leave!
It dares me
And I will
I should
So I can find 
Like the dreamers above
my life's love

29th of February, that’s my birth date

Personally, I’ve always found it great

“Really, your born on a Leap Year”

Some people practically cheer

Instead of 43, I’m actually ten and 3 bits

People’s over-excitement at this can sometimes be the pits

I’m wondering when I’m at deaths door

Do you think they’ll multiply by four?

“Jeopardy” replaced
by ominous clouds
on Doppler’s screen
rains came!

In my absence
My mind has been doing back-flips,
back-spins and hand-springs.

They really should be called head-springs.'

Off a spring board I began vaulting.
Trying to spin, tumble, turn des pairs
of thoughts stuck in the landing area

Threw a little french in there for ya.

Grasping at hysteria asymmetrically with sanity
must be stronger than anxiety. Like a glass coat, it blankets me
however you can see to the core, translucent rings of a tree.

Walking the balance beam
between life and suicide sporadically.
Being pushed on both sides by a jet stream

Surviving is a pipe dream because we are all dying.

Once again I am on the floor. However,
I am implored to look forward by poetic neighbors.
All I gotta do is knock on their door and they'll gladly give me a cup of esprit de corps.

*More french, Au revoir