He is double-sided
and speaks with a second tongue
There are legions of him
sneaking out from under stones
casting spells
to win you over
would-be plasticized trophy

He will bamboozle you
with the nectar from his lips
He's no sir lancelot but
a shapeshifting
boogie man waiting to
kidnap you and
hang you on his wall

old light. there's
mold on your
information.

your me
is flipped through
photo album. i am

somewhere between
the solar spasms,
deleted and spatial,
****** off. holding

no grudge, i
just can't care
that hard anymore. all

i want is
soaring silent synths
and eyes, mine, closed,
holding vacuums on the lids.

The steeple penetrates
the puffy pink
clouds, and the
horizon squirts
sweet rain.
My face gets
sticky.