I used to spend
A considerable amount of time
Editing, revisiting, and revising
Now I just throw it against the wall
To see if it sticks
Like a noodle

The ceiling fan
Perpetually revolves
With dust on it's blades
I meant to take care of that
Several days ago
****.

There used to be an arcade here
'til it caught fire
Some said arson
Some said faulty wires

But nobody knows for sure
And we may never learn
We just know the machines
Lit up when they burned

My survival manual
Has accumulated dust
It's worn, and
Badly used
Like combat boots
Or a poorly-folded
Roadmap

My psyche,
Heavy, and encumbered
I need to unpack a few things
And wondered,
If I could grab a beer,
Maybe occupy an ear?

Your reflection
Sits on the surface of the water
Glimmering, and still
Like an unlit oil lamp, or
The fraction of the moon
That feels sociable

Though, I know
You share more in common
With it's depth
Dark, cold, and
Full
of
Wonder
I have a strange impulse
To dive in
Dome first

Though, I fear
I would fail
To navigate your depths
Burden you
With shallow grievances
Or worse
Drain
You

I often wonder
If my best lines
Ended up in the wastebasket
Or perhaps, forgotten
Because I was on city transit
Or
the toilet,
A nautical mile away
From the nearest
Functional
Pen

I am a novice
of ink & love
(an expert at illusion)
Sweep you off of your feet
&
under-the-rug,
leaving behind no contusion