Let's have positive visions,
Despite our limitations,
Pray for peace explosions,
Focus on today's wellbeing,
Looking for silver lining,
Then we'll be future ready,
Slow and steady, slow and steady,
On the web, neurons wire together,
Then we'll fire global amity better,
We'll unleash  our minds,
In today's ripple in time,
Earthlings' magnetic fusion,
Despite human limitations,
Today, have some positive visions!

I was a woman of water
A river for a body
to flow like a current.
I was meant only to sweep men off their feet.
But never do anything but slip through their hands.
Used only as something to mop up.
But I found a man made of fire.
That turned my voice into a voice.
It was no longer a trickle.
He took my rocky heartbeat.
And turned it into a heartbeat.
Then one day,
His flames turned into a fingertip.
One that caressed my jawline
And whispered to my riverside cheekbones
Telling me to become an ocean.
To drown.
Have a fierceness of a tidal wave.
To crash anyone who hurts me.
His hand touched me like a hand inside a wishing well
And I grew the size of the Atlantic.
I carried him with me, but his flames came back.
Turning me back into a river
A creek
A puddle
A girl.
I held hands with a campfire
Burnt my skin into submission
And evaporated.
Like I’m supposed to.

Photos, they say that a picture worths like a thousand words and that's
the reason we take photographs. They can capture a moment so much better than words.
If life was an album in time, how can we know that the best of them aren't captured yet.
If life is a test of multiple choice, in what quantity are the choices our own
and how much are they depended from other people choices?

My brain is a locked door
and I've misplaced the keys.
Nothing will go in and
nothing substantial will come out.
I've knocked and I've rung,
but all to no avail.
The only response is the letterbox
hurling out junk mail
and words I've used before.

I stop in my tracks,
          Listening

  A hollow clinking in the darkness.
In an alleyway, somewhat familiar,
Vacant and forgotten in the twilight hours
Except for the lingering cigarette smoke
And the scent of frigid, dehumanizing hate

  And a clink
Low and somehow beneath the dense, dank dark

  A sound disillusioning and honed to a fine point, like that of a blade meant to harvest death

  A clink
And another clink

                           There is a man sitting near the end of the alley
                           At the back of the throat of Hell itself
                           He has his head down
                           But through the thick black smudge of night
                           I can still see the base of a brown glass bottle tap the bottom of an upper row of teeth

He stops, and looks up at me with eyes that resemble mine a little too much for my comfort

                                    He brings the bottle down, and lowers his head, gazing at it as if for the first time
                                    Suddenly he snaps his eyes up to mine, instantly staring into the deep void of apathy that looks back.
                                    He smiles a knowing smile, and slams the bottle against his teeth.
  


              It does much more than *clink.

You are the
        window
              to my pain
  Cloudy with
            no chance of clarity
      I can see
               how far
away you are
                    Out of focus,
           still hurting me
                      *so easily