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.

I wish it weren’t so easy to write
Love poems.

Wandering hallways filled with
storm clouds
Crave the rain.
No black and white
Just gray.
Gray like smoke.
Where there’s smoke there’s fire
But which came first?
The cigarette smoker or the death desire?
Gray like lifetimes of retries.
With desire.
Just first dates and heart breaks.

I wish it weren’t so easy to write
Love poems.

I am more than my feelings
For the reality of
Rare chemistry.
Scientific equations remain unexplained
Within the hunger
in my veins.
Reactions create
flames and puffs of gray
Which came first?
The old age or the decision to retire?
I take a step backward
Towards the forest fortress
On fire.

I wish it weren’t so easy to write
Love poems.

Balancing act amongst smoke
Gray and black
Which came first
The casualty or the decision to attack?
Victory is idealistic
Affection selfish
Monotony is paradise
If desire should allow me
Just shotgun shells
And love letter confetti
We left one another
******
For the sake of trust retries
With the firey empire

I wish it weren’t so easy to write
Love poems

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.