Life is cruel and unkind
Boiled over with wasted time
Count the hands of moments lost,
tick by seconds, minutes tossed

Temperature rises and hits the mark
A hundred degrees turns too stark
Bed of sand and heat wave sear
Weigh it down with constant fear

Mercury rises an internal kind
Cuts right through a melted mind
Turn it off, burn the fool
Anger mounts then its cool

~

Vibrations loosen
 the dust on my piano,
  releasing tiny particles
   into a rectangle sunbeam
    dancing about the glass,
     as I play compositions
      upon freeform keys,
       fingered imagination
        frantically moving
         levers in never before
          heard melodies
           with a locked
            sustain pedal
             holding each note
              to gradually
               evanesce
                into silence
                 as the dust
                  once
                        again
                                se­ttles

comfort was a long road that came to a dead
end abruptly. happiness and companionship
left suddenly with the clutch of solace. he
was left standing there in the rain, all senses
disdained. a seeing man now build to ease,
seeing the fellowship of someone that ties
knots in your throat; turns your obscurities
to seize.


                                  distraught



at this very moment the quest for clenches
to console surrounded him with the ignorance
his state of mind was unable to control.
seeking and searching began in the
bedsheets. he found loneliness and
regret; mistake after mistake, temporary impassion
chose what risks to take. drowning in seas of
duvets, suffocation on the stench of
frictioned flesh and smothered in the salinity
pasted on each others skin like the warpaint of
ephemeral happiness, he searched down an
unsearchable road and lost his direction in the
*******; forever ringing his ears with regret. each kiss
down his neck, each bite to his lip, each face-blanketing
exhale, he repents with the ignorance of finding the
will to live and love between the legs of someone who
feels the same way. the crimson crevices carved in his back
drip with remorse and sullen; hoping for once to life the
bedsheets and find an unawakened bundle of coiffure
and serenity and not calamities of regret and ****** suicide

Truth is.....

Since I was a child
a certain image has appeared in my mind
a guilty pleasure
a favorite pastime

Something so bitter yet sweet
a game of trick and treat
a forbidden fruit
I've always wanted to eat

It has never escaped me,
an original sin
that I've masked with many men
in my rainbow colored heart,

........Is where this secret has always been
from the very start.

Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.