They colour in dabs
that spark the streaks
long and drawn
about how this and that

don't correspond.

And out of place
to save some face
within their own space
they end and get back to the point...

back onto the same page.

But everyone's to tell
what words to those who are heard
and never to be
fall friverously on vincibility.

They seem to see...

that the sun paints me
tangerine
and tangents are all
that's ever been.

You've just got to wade it out until
you can catch the next wave.

Then you'll be soaring.

They’re pinned to pages.

Their feelings have flown away
with the last flutter of their wings.

In the index we are all in content.

Filling the pages with our individual faces…

***** we’ve all felt before
make it until the pages fold.

Kissing her in the darkness,
as the binder finds pressure between its hinges.

My larva sits in sacks waiting to be hatched.

A protein batch asks for it’s usual back
and cares so much about when it cracks.

It doesn’t think at all about the beauty that's about to be had
more than the flower it rests it’s legs upon,
or the skin of a fruit in its ripened state,
or now the rigamortus that it stills in its deathened wait…

Wait?

The beauty in what?

The obsessed,
as the butterfly net settles gently on top of another victim.

A classic beige villain cups and cards,
jars,
and pokes holes to breath.

The winged beauty is re-confined
in a place of un-metamorphoses.

Crashing into the walls
like any caged animal would.

Settling on a leaf,
while a female flips free in front of the reflections of light that plays on the atmosphere and condensation.

I clip myself and wash chemicals on my figure,
so I’ll never decay.

Suffer the stage with a name
and play the same pose that impresses without rest.

My cloudy eyes would cry if they could,
but they can't.

And all that I hope for now
is that when my counterpart ends
she’s staple to the page across from me,

so when that book is finally closed
we’ll be face to face
and our soulless remains
can finally embrace.

If you could be with someone who actually loves you
leave me right now.

I am not an anchor tied to your ankle dragging you down,
drawing you into a sea of regrets
like overboard rice
taking on too much water and becoming mushed mash,
so even when you try to save them by throwing a line,
or holding out a stick,
they’re too far gone for you to get a grip.

You’ll go unfed and your soul will starve
when old age reveals it’s long awaited scars.

Same goes for me.

I’d leave in a heartbeat that beats twice
in two.

It has nothing to do with me and you.

But in my mind she still flattens the rice out,
even and nice…

Not undercooked
and still on board
waiting to be rolled cut and served.

To me maybe...

I do not know.

So I wait patiently
with the others in line,
while our opposites wave on bye,
waiting for two peaks to meet
and two valleys
to depart.

That is a certainty
of two caught eyes.

That is the key
to a victorious heart.

Was it all worth being
blown away,
floating on by,
captured in a ray,
and then invisible
without a taste?

The ghastly dark lit place
plays positives
that would not exist
without their counterparts,
or a nagging nuance
that’s overstayed
and welcomes in
yesterday.

You can not hear it
after it leaves,
but only within
a memories dream
where imagination kisses
the glitter of the stars
and their time to shine
is spent on speaking their minds.

I still haven’t thought of an answer
to a question that I had forgotten...
(was never asked)

Before opportunity breaks preparation
and luck flees forever,
leaving usurped substance
behind in an eternal void,
I see the wind changing direction
and what I thought was lost
comes back again to greet me…

Once more
I find the thought,
and then go on
with the rest of my plot.

Sipping inebriation to pass the time.

Desires of an almost,
but not quite,
criminal mind…

A mind of mine.

Thinking and thought out,
like the smoke screen that was blown about
by the atmosphere as it lifted off.

Finally a completed thought,
and it’s too late…

It’s stopped,
or not.

My mind returns to me in a song
that only I can sing along to.

Out of tune to you,
but in line with mine
and everything we all do.

I’ll sit while long ago should have been cut off takes my spot.

An engine turned on
leaves me to believe I’ve done wrong.

A thinking woman figures it out
and returns to remind me…

I’m a shell in my own personal hell
and everyone else knows better.

Remove a sweater
and lose the winter skin,
or hold onto and be tormented forever
in a city where if you know no one
you don’t know me,
and get lost in a world of infinite impossibilities,
and let the warmth surround me,
and breath the clean air…

The air where The Glitter Man
and I both agree.

And forever be free.

Here we are,
there we were,
watching matters
flutter by...

Without sight,
out of mind.
Closed off from the view
that we all carried…

With, or without me…

Or the line passed onto you.

I can see still
a place we have,
like looking back
at the stream we passed…

Laying down I’m taken back...

With a flash I see again…

With not a care
we float on by
on the ground
while in the sky.