I see the head
Atop the mirror
Nine tails out of ten
An exhale through tram
Steam
Red ******* up the dining room
Stairs colored bread

Not here
Not now
Theft knows
Not the proud
I am in love with the words

Feel the fingers itch
In Wait as time
Tries to peck at my skin
Like the Raven to roadkill
Laughing underneath
Black winged' beak
I am what I was born to be
Forever/Always/Fortuned to be Miss-fortuned
Destiny rapping on the doors of uninformed
Creative Productivity
A conveyor belt for our sins
Best Seller's and wine mules

I yawn
So to breathe
Feeding a mind
Whose only wish
Is to live
To continue
And to fold out
The creases

Glass atop tables
Conversation infused
Beer stains old rumors
A nod so the needy smoke
Wafts of  Freudian mistakes
Make-up for the dollops
Of misplaced rouge bright red
Mahogany & jet black purple;

The lie is not the fault, but
The natural fear

Of truth.