*****.

Twirling like the devil's baton
a cyclic cul de sac
'round the positronic menagerie,
speared from stem to stern, floor to ceiling,
arched bowed bent backs saddled ridden tools
adolescent ne'er-do-wells and prepubescent fools
all desiring to sit nowhere but by me,
by me, by me-

My friend of cosmic dawn, take my hand and
traipse like a runner in a blind alley.
Lead me to my quiet stead, walk and stamp about,
my cloven-hoofed associate, sarcastically devout,
and show me that everything in this whole world
is presented via legerdemain, deceitful cleverness,
but it cannot cure my lightheadedness, felt by me,
by me, by me...

A:
Claw at the satin ceiling. Being
buried alive
is a ***** detail
best left to jealous lovers.
B:
Insert your index finger
through the fabric of the lid
and tear.
C:
Taste the tepid soil and tell yourself
the sunrise waits for you.
You are the giant squid, meandering through
the velvet ovens of dirt.
D:
Each digit on your flailing fist
is a fleshy flower in concert
with your wrists. Protrude.
E:
Read your stone-etched name
aloud. Sound out each etched sound.
Each syllable.
Trace it with your fingers.
F:
Shield your brow from the brilliance
of irony as you begin to crawl back in.

If you would permit me, I'd like to close the blinds, for
in only twenty minutes the sun is due to rise.
It tends to taunt the people
lamenting your position,
so if you would permit me,
I'd like to close the blinds.

If you would permit me, I'd like to sit a spell, and
wait until your eyelids close, and whisper, "Do farewell."
The love: Your veins are guiding to your heart,
to insulate its rooms,
so if you would permit me,
I'd like to sit a spell.

If you would permit me, I'd like to calm your nerves, for
excitement does accelerate, at least I have observed.
So please, for you, and yes, for me too,
just rest and close your eyes.
So if you would permit me,
I'd like to calm your nerves.

If you would permit me, I'd like to bid you tidings, for
no longer in these hallowed halls will your body be residing.
What seems like ending might not be so bleak,
for this galaxy cannot hold you.
So if you would permit me,
I'd like to bid you tidings.

speaking only
through moves;
we are playing games
of chosen mad-libs
and retracing Uno steps
to find ourselves,
to return back looking
for multiple axes
so you or maybe I can
call bingo!

but I move, without you seeing
you return to reprise tension
lessening these enveloped expectations

rolling single digits
i'll fall behind, though you follow
this trend we seem to allow

hoping to land
on the same space
so that piece of you
may continue

I hang my failures
Like ***** sneakers from
An old oak tree
In someone else's yard

I sneak in around two in the morning
Just when the shouting stops
And the man leaves the second story room
With the pink walls

Sometimes when I am sneaking away
I can hear her crying
And I hang another failure on the tree
For safekeeping