giraffe paradise seems bleak on bright days
as neon fruit baskets dwell
beyond reach and

each leaf is the noose;
a repetitive pressure that gathers
around cervical vertebrae

it keeps delirious as
steel strings bind relative necks
to gates that don’t want to open

it is a constant struggle,
running trains to their edges and
withholding movement from cartographers/
whose only true love is
finding out

this movement;
nomadic sponsored dream
that denies being a symbol, or
having ever given up,
collapses on itself

pocketful of maps
but no stars, no compass

it is a viscous walk back and forth/
and as pacing substitutes
affirmative action, melting on the tracks
seems refreshing

We have gathered the sun-light on
cornered rooms with views
of pacific sun-lit erotica.

Stroked the corners raw, wearing thin
the after-glow of sun.

famished lychee
bent on treason

almost unknowingly furious/
dragging feet
all the way

to gather the fairest feathers,
now lumped under dreary
epitaphs.

it is very dread
when the chairs, chimeric,
sun an afternoon.

eclectic cats also
partake, but

as they sun;
their dread looks
upon the chairs

playing hard to get.
hard to play meek
against the rest.
playing hard against
boats full of sea-faring men.
leaving trails of dead;
sea-faring men behind
(full of sea/full of faring)
the rest are playing dead.

the lack of compatibility between this and that
continues to mock consistent instances
where left is what is

as two is prime,
and visionary stances
rest on average thighs
after pivoting lead to no-where