The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.

Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.

Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.

Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.

Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.

Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.

Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.

~for lovejunkie~

"a watermark is a faint design made in some paper
during manufacture, which is visible when held
against the light and typically identifies the maker"

<•>

But you knew that...

in each, and *every poem,
intentional stains faint revealed

Here,
a 2:03am watermark,
a time stamping of time, place,
a self-notification of "you were here,"
hid under the writing wrist,
or in a favorite verse,
(invisibly interspersed, blinking a winking,)
the very now of this poems
incanting, decanting formation,
by the neo natal baby warmers,
heating filaments of glowing incandescence

Perhaps this one, to be completed, come the sabbath,
when the eastern suns rising glow
over the North Fork must, demands it,
de jure, by natural law,
provoke and parole my soul
unto confession,
ordering a performance review of my
yellowed journalism revelations,
by the halo's fresh sunlight,
revealing all the watermarks
of the scrivener

These words, these toyed crumbs,
these human droppings, what is remaindered,
post ablutions, pre-morning prayers
the washing away of the mid-of-night
cappuccino-colored night frights

To new day light,
hold up my skin to any and all effervescent sources,
even the electronic red light, low resolution room dots,
all to see if still yet,
the coursing river run red beneath the
blue veined body's arterial roadmap,
exposing the rents, the cracks,
where, yes, Rebecca,
"the light gets in,"
fresh tracks, new watermarks

This then,
best viewing time of the
impermeable, impermanent, perpetual moving
below and above watermarked inscriptions,
eclipsing, barely just visible
above the eye lined brow,
etchings upon the forehead,
like my Cousin Cain,
standing out outstandingly,
imprimis:

ex libris (from the library of)
the eyes now reading these verses

One of you a-muse-ds,
gave me this title,
one of you used by me,
you gave me the inspiration,
you undid me into this doing
of my undoing

Connecting the unworthy audience,
that's me,
to the masters of my poor souls survival,
that's you, all,
into admitting, rinsing, repeating,
for have I not once before
affirmed
my scores, my marks,
way back in '13

The heretofore
of all my flaws,
you call them scars,
I call them
my prima facie
needled watermarks,
my poems

When once I wrote:

I am both,
and nothing but,
addict and dealer,
a ****** poet...
a ****** poet ******

<•>
8/17/17 1:49am ~ 9/4/17 5:56am
Manhattan Isle ~ North Fork L.I.

<•>

i fell in love with a boy
who was fragile
like paper

in a way we were paper
together
i was falling apart
he was
sensitive
and vulnerable

this boy wasn't much
he was plain
save for a few typewriter smears
under his saddened eyes
and paperclip wings
adorning his back

we painted on each other

i covered him with strokes
of happiness
distractions
and a sense of
something
he was a brush upon me
reminding me of who we were
and what it meant to
know

he started to fall for me
the girl who was blown over
by a breeze
the girl who
thought eating was a bother
the girl who loved a boy
who was nothing more
than an intangible
whisper

then there we were
holding each other up
when the wind came
and took our painted bodies
ripped his paperclip wings from his back
tore our paper selves into shreds

we were blown into the world
strewn and lost

and apart

under tires
that tread terrible teeth
into our tiny pieces

stamped us into cement
and stole us
from what was

and now here we are
in what is

i can't pick myself up
because i don't know where i am
who i am
and where the paper boy i loved
has gone

out here is a world
where fragile love
and caring hearts
cannot bond
without loss
without being forgotten

just like
the paper boy
who smiled when he saw me
and who painted me into meaning

who saw
something
who
knew
who was
there
but now is
here

is

gone