so faint,
this feeling,
concealing the self
the key, the gate.
this phantom of fate.


awake?
maybe... not "if seen more before."
how could life keel over so.
chore like choir,
shifting shore,
at core.
endure.
in door.
..snore.
hot magma.

still?


para-lapse.
"who's here"
-yelling like this
bathroom floor can  feel.

-hear, hear-

nothing .
the embrace....then death.
again till breath,
bleach white birth.
touching earth.

Suspense....

screams of systematic repetition

tuned to the key of C

rejuvenating the pulse

of the pulp on the floor



I found the time space continuum

on my back porch swing

stepping toward the screeching sirens

revealing the past scene by scene



Timing the sun in wrist-watch format

the liabilities not mine

the doormat said "welcome"



you catch my eyes glaring,

hastily waiting for your tears to run

your feet follow in suspended motion



Gunning for the hallway laundry chute

only to find the triggers on safety

the notion alone is enough



resetting the sun dials

with steady hands of anxiety

attacking the knobs at their fastens

My subtle brutality breaks


as

I awake on the kitchen floor

while the screeching of the sirens pull me in

"amusing isn't it?"

the angel sat back and laughed

the demon didn't get it

"how so?" he asked

"well you see those trees?

they feel so secure,

held in place,

like statues."



"yeah so?"

he scratched that spot.. on impulse… always on impulse



"well those statues. you see

have no idea

their being hurled through space,

and aren't very safe at all"