Read between the lines
running theme
running in and out
and inbetween
moments in my life.
Taunting me is Miss Mystery
and her sweet moments of ecstacy
carry me
to questions of implied imagery.
The space between each line I
write and read;
each line I wait on, drive on;
each line I listen between;
each line spoken to and from me-

Endless misunderstanding
undertaking me.
Undertaken me!
We never say
We never sing
what we really mean.
We never reach a destination
on these lines driven between.

The answer is hiding
for her benefit.
The answer has
Nothing to do with you
Nothing to do with me
Us, barbaric human beings
being  arrogant with the lines
we speak.
Arrogance thriving between lines
paved with housing establishments
while the space between mountain ranges
sits vibrant,
patient.
All made of sunshine
All made of peace of mind

All made between the
thin line of atmosphere.
I actively disrupt her.
Mindlessly disregarding the
space between lines.
I act so possessively towards this
life of mine.

Yet, observant
I try to be.
Silent
I try to be.
And I try
to read between the lines
my mind project before my eyes.
My eyes: with lines protruding from all sides,
when I'm the least bit pleased.

Oh, least bit of knowledge I've gained
from these meditative rants that my
subconscious recalls only when there are
no designated lines to write between.

Lack of lines let's my subconscious free.
Selfish as each human being;
each human being free
I wait
more or less
patiently,
for someone to
read between my worn eye-lines
correctly.

Englightenment
I wait to
want me
or,
wait to
watch me.

I wait for the nameless to see me.

Desire's undertaking me,
Undertaken me!
I never say,
I never sing,
what I really mean.
Desire turned nameless me needy.

Me, the
Nameless human being
Nameless between
lines of Nameless Humans
being free,
being greedy.

Began at dusk and led us here swiftly.
Along with the wind springtime
blew in new found forms of folly.
Invested in life vests to
rid the sleeves for my heart
To beat upon.
The moon show through
pale blue.
The air reeked of butterfly
winged exhaust pipes.
The ins and outs of
Seasonal rotation.
Life and death as one.
To illustrate landscape stretches
created from scraps of string.

Silence

Says a million different

Things.

Watching a multitude of human
beings from a distance.

I’m distant

from any sort of recognition.
What’s an honor when
the honor is expected
spread evenly among a crowd
of strangers expecting
Futures.

Silence

Says I’m as unique as
classes of identical robe wearing
shower goers;
As unique as uniforms.

Birds know no boundaries
when it comes to bravery
trying to communicate

something to me,

as part of me worries
for their safety.

Freedom is beyond me.

Intuitively,

Silence

Speaks with me.
She's telling me
silent was the bravery feathers
upon impacting the tires packed with pressure
ready to burst at the seems
silent was the bravery upon bursting at her seems
in the rear view mirror I see
wing feather constellations
painting a reality portrait for
me.

Silence

tells me selfishness

is the root of everything.
Silence

tells me mystery

is the beneath the X marks
of all the treasure maps I
painted repeatedly.

Silence
soothes
me.

Inquest 
Is it better to have 
Loved and
Lost and
Learned the 
Lecture of 
Life; unavailing 

Or be it 
Simple and
Stay
Silent and
Survey the
Selfless shadow of solitary

I have
Yet to
Yield a
Yearning for
Yesterday; I am 
Young

Have you ever felt
The weight of the world crashing
Down upon your hopes?

I have never felt
The speed of the Earth turning,
Twisting up my thoughts

I have only felt
The depth of my mind racing
For understanding

If and when I can't shed tears, and
It happens now and then,
Through the years
That clear and harmless way to feed
Your bitter sodium pain to the floor
Nothing shed but flows instead
Through this pen I bleed
The ink might as well be red, it is
Black,
As my suffering,
As the ducts in the corners of my
Eyes so dry
But meaningless letters scratched onto blank slates
Are formed into shapes crafted only because of You
My wounded soul seeps through this
Ball point knife I removed from my back
You did it again, as well I knew You would

Call a                          doctor/ plumber/ priest
My heart is               broken/ leaking/ deceased
My life is                   worthless/ so much better/ over
I'm going to              **** myself/ tell your wife/ Dover
How could you         leave me/ not know/ lie?
I hope you                return my stuff/ come back/ die
I'll never                   forget you/ forgive you/ go away
I need                        closure/ a DNA test/ to tell you I'm gay
Your                           face/ crotch/ top of your back
Is                                so beautiful/ lumpy/ unusually slack
Your                           ex/ mother/ best friend from school
Always made me      great coffee/ feel inadequate/ drool
I will                           miss you/ **** you/ stalk you forever
That way we can      be friends/ get away with it/ be together
I'm sorry                   you did this/ I did this /we failed
I promise to               pay you/ dye it back/ get you bailed
Please don't               leave me/ show the Polaroids/ write or call

(*delete as appropriate, just delete it all.....)

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

He used to deliver
Groceries to Mrs
Ushmore as a kid and

She’d say, bring it into
The kitchen, Henry, and
Put it down on the side,

Why, you must be thirsty
After carrying that
Heavy load to my door,

And he’d go in with the
Groceries and lay them
Down where she had shown him

And looked around the place
Trying hard to avoid
Looking at young Mrs

Ushmore who was dressed in
The skimpiest of things
And pretended to be

Looking around at the
Shelves and gas cooker and
Out the large window.

What are you having, she
Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be
Fine, he replied, looking

Over her shoulder at
The wallpaper of bright
Yellow flowers. Have you

Seen my *****? She asked.
Miss Glissy, I call her.
Henry shook his head and

Looked briefly at her. No,
He replied, getting a
Quick glimpse of her *******,

Fighting to escape from
The black bra. Here, she said,
Have a Coke and don’t go

Rushing it now, don’t want
You to get the hiccups
And have your mother come

Over here telling me
Off. No, I won’t, he said,
Sipping the Coke, tasting

Each mouthful, letting it
Rest on his tongue. I love
My *****, she said, but

My husband, Clive, he has
Little to do with her,
Says she’s nothing to be

Too fussed about. Henry
Swallowed the small mouthful.
His eyes settled like small

Butterflies on her thighs,
Focussing where her black
Suspenders met the brown

Stockings and the skin stretched
Out there like nothing he’d
Seen before, not even

Amy Shortdove, showed him
That much for her two dimes.
Would you like to stroke Miss

Glissy? She asked, giving
Henry a wide-eyed stare.
No, I better be off,

Henry said gulping down
The last remaining Coke.
Mr Ashton don’t like

Me hanging around and
I’ve loads more to do and
Maybe another time,

Mrs Ushmore, I can
Stroke your *****. Sure, she
Said smiling, I’m sure she’d

Like that. Henry rode his
Bike away not looking
Back, not letting her see

He was interested,
Not letting her think he’d
Ever stroke Miss Glissy

In a thousand years let
Alone days or weeks,
And he never did see

Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s
*****, but he often
Dreamed he did and enjoyed

The dream, with him and Miss
Glissy purring and both
Of them licking the cream.