the edges are the most honest

blackened swaggering heart
indifferent to pendulum of desire
mad with mud caked memories
and a cross threaded heart
we pull light from the dimmest of stars
and name them after the ones we have lost
we sink our fingers into muck and mire
of what we have been
we swallow deep the semens of lust
and spit out the bitter taste of self betrayal
whiskey neat and ******* in the alley
the gleam deep in your drunken eye
unsuffering someone’s soul

then reaching over that edge

touching the fingertips
of the purest angels of light
wrapped in folds of forgiveness and love
pulling purpose from our existence
offering up a joy of being given life
standing alone but not left alone
laying down the weapons of self derision
breathing in the softer breezes of truth
where the soul dances with the soul
and something smiles
deep within your eyes

in between

we are held in equipoise
there at the edge
we peel away to the truth
that the entirety
is both entropic and beautiful  
both pain and joy....

inside the bus
the heat is oppressive
it is a stagnant force
that holds you still
bound by air
that was sent by the sun
to remind us of how small
we all really are

time slows to a trickle
the body aches
for the bus to begin it’s journey
and for air
moving air
the salvation of us all
the hourglass sweat
rolls down my neck

her fleeting smile held a longing
as she sat next to me
on the last empty seat

we embrace the comfort of silence
between strangers
and mark time with distance

the bus sways to the left
and we realize that we were touching
the eternity long fraction of a moment
we linger

it is a strange universe
how we can live moments
that can never be lived

the blood of his poems
lay desiccated and alone

the stars are the refuge
as futile as they are

the misanthrope laughs at something
he no longer cares for

another shot of ***
and another book of self told lies

still laughter is so cheap
so he turns his head to the stars

and laughs until he cries