my girl body sits in the nurse’s office
yellow room with blue cushioned seats that have arm rests that are too high
there isn’t a curtain to draw between the sick and the waiting
and I hate it ‘cause it makes me think
what is wrong with them what is wrong with me

they tell me I have to take the eye exam to prove it
but I’ve been telling them for months I am blind
and yes, I messed up bad
abandoning the boy in the woods
but I just couldn’t see him anywhere anymore
so it’s not my fault really that he died
it just happened like that

spend half the time ~zonin'~
the other half honin' skills
stack my thrills
******* laced
in your face
queens come first
but don't worry b,
you still a king to me
now sing for me
and trust me,
when I give love
it don't lack in lustin'
could be you me and cleo
folding out for a trio
now it's time to bust it
...

ohhhhhhhh

Red and blue have been blasting through my door
roaring and romping a mighty chorus
stomping through my days
both dying to feel me up
I feel hardy when they love
but they are not mine to keep.

They come to me as scarves and scales
as patches to post over my bodies
and lay
muddy and weak
myself to be seen.
These colors flash secrets of superficiality
savor the feeling of severed psyche
with puzzlingly pieced anatomy.

Blue boiling with my boyhood
my mind over smooth shoulders swells.
I stand beside my dad - his sharp eyes teach me
the game of absorption and receiving.

His eyes trap a moment
hold it up by its collar
(look dad, no hands!)
shake loose
collecting hidden tokens
fiddling,
flipping them in his fingers
a trophy of bladed knowledge.

But my father is color blind.
He does not know which threads to cut
when I plead
*help me detangle

My mind is tangled threads
my words are knots that choke your working fingers
I can't hear my thoughts
as you expand yourself from speakers
little box in your throat
reminds me of the time I had mono
swollen throat glands and the boy I was
with wore so much blue
it made me sea-sick

and it's all just a tape recorder rewind
I have heard this all before
before I ever heard this
life was flush with wonder
lush
thunderous
and I did not have to coo
or plead
for silence.

Released from expectations, obligations, complications, observations;
Capable - clear by daylight, clear by night;
A self illuminated.

Remove her charm,
Remove her front.
Relinquish the gilded guise,
Ridding the mark.

Some might find their heart to go for the sake of anger,
a selfish motive.
But love is not lacking in this new world:
An opening indefinable,
elation in every intentional step.

Recognize, fully,
the satisfaction on her cheeks,
as disregard of fright rushes through her mind -
Cleared to find the features of fret soften;
Hear a humming  worry no more.

Throw into this world of freedom,
stripped of symptoms from her most prominent loss
- a certain faith -
she now becomes a voice to trust.

I am heart-poundingly prepared
to dislodge from my memory,
the most fantastic moments of my day:
I swept back and forth, in between, and under,
dancing with seconds passing.
I waltzed airs of conversation into perking, prominent, eager ears.
I fell through warps of time that
pulled me from one place to a second,
which was very far off from the former.  
I felt my legs gasp and tug through each movement:
simplistic and fluid.

When rest came to me,
I thought deeply and heavily of a clear, figure:
audacious, ambitious, lean, and steadfast;
with words like sighs of peaceful content - breathy and whole;
laughter like an echoing crash cymbal - bright and robust.  

I feel sweet, with soaking bliss and broad, smile-stained cheeks!

Moment after bursting moment, I felt effusive fervor.
My hands felt hardy,
and ready,
and gripping.  
Stirring from my seat,
thighs heave,
holding sturdy body strong,
I walked wide and open into the night air.
The stars were flecked, yet flourishing.
What was left of the sun was a pink bashful streak,
coquettishly hiding behind clouds that stretched to the horizon.

*I feel whole and absolute!

I'm so in love, I feel it in every world I know.

In this world, at least I am whole and holy.
I know for a **** splintering fact that I am not important to the human race.
I am no disgrace, not a waste.
Just a face.

I seem pointless,
but by God I'll be ****** if my **** body was spineless:
I'm strong.

I face the people that I know don't want me,
I face the sobbing tear-streamed gazes
and see myself in their eyes,
looking long and lean and thin,
two sunken purple rims
and lips cracked,
showed the face of my sins.

I am a woman born free and falling deeper into the world she holds as her own.
These mazes of time splinter spokes and pierce the thick air.
We move as the molecules of water,
but no one seems to stop to bother seeing if the Now is alright
instead of waiting for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night.

Maybe breathe, and see?

That there is beauty within me.

I hold the hands of  different lands,
but does that make me different from any other man?
Or woman, because I am both:
The sun and the moon are held within me.
Each *****.

I feel the scorching red and orange delight of day
while trying to keep night at bay.

But when the moon glides over crystal, violet sky,
there is no reason to hide.

Feel a howl rumble deep within and
smile a grumbling smile,
dark and biting the wolf chomps chatter,
cackling with master planned disaster.

And this I hold deep within my soul,
clenching tight a harbored goal to have a human
be a human
as once they were
just another **** species among many on Earth.

Salt on my tongue while I’m waiting for the gun.
Piecing together what little I have left to scream.
My coffee mocks me and the consistent coughing I expel just to try to say to her I have nothing left to tell.
There is no reason for explaining how she is pulling away from us.
There is nothing left to hold across this dingy diner table.

With something to lose in my back pocket,
I let her pull the trigger, keeping eye contact with her grinding, bearing teeth;
Lips a deep obsidian – as ominous as the cloak of Death -
Making her gums look more of a grey, watered-down pink.
No salty-sweet liquid smile spreads between those lips.
No more warming gesture left to give….

Deeply split:
Right through the skull.
I **** in air through my teeth.
Dead and shattered, I refuse the refill from the waiter.
I’ve got no stomach anyway.

She eats my brain, feasts on the memories, ripping them with her blood-black canines.
She tears my lips right off;
My face;
Giving me little room to say my piece.

I’m only now just starting to hate her.

Down her gullet goes my sight.
I’m blinded by the spit she threw into my eyes.

I really meant nothing to her anyway.

My body cripples under her steely knife talons.

I dream of Afterlife and what peace it has to offer:
A couch to myself.
Room and
Space and
Time.
No hidden, broken shards of her shoved into the crevices of my home.
Bare and
Abandoned.
Alone and
Undisturbed.

As I dream, her hands ravenously caress mine.
Luring her prey in, I see. Killing with saccharine kindness.

She still cares about me.
She hopes I can forgive her.
She still wishes for me to be there.

darling you just ate – no. ****. darling you just tore me into shreds.

She frowns.
Brow furrows.

Her blade finger nails drag away
leaving deep swelling, gashes on my hands.
Black nails.
Black lips.

I fleck the rust off my rage and it burns anew.
We have done this far too many times.

I never wanted to ******’ be here in the first place…. You brought me here. Remember that.

I need a ******’ cigarette. This coffee is *****.

She looks like she need a cigarette too.

She only smokes when I’m around, and since she’s trying to **** me off, she refuses my offer to dip outside to refresh our lungs with nicotine.

This diner air is still and
stale and
suffocating.

Hell, maybe I’ll die twice today. That would be something.

Her feet tap underneath us.
She is only waiting for me to say everything is alright.
That she is in the clear.
That I will just disappear from this very spot once she gets up to go.

Listen, I will gladly keep clear from your path, but do not, do not, keep breaking me to bits if it’s you who keeps needing me around. You want rid of me, you have to not need me. I have no control. It doesn’t work like that. I hardly think it’s fair th-



The old man in the corner slurping at his spoonful of soup, raised his eyes as he watch the lady in the dark cotton dress rush out of the dim-lit diner in a fuss. A swoosh of wind met her outside, causing her sleek, crimson scarf to almost catch in the closing door. He pitied the poor stranger. She had been sitting alone, looking frustrated and disoriented, speaking pleadingly into what he could only assume was a telephone headset. His wife had bought him one before he retired, but he barely ended up using it regardless. He felt it made him look to others as if he were talking to himself.

My mother splashed tea onto her hand as she throttled her body down into a crouch. She was silenced by the convulsion of her lungs. Her lips pressed tight to keep from spewing the recent gulp. I assumed it was tepid for she was not wincing in a pain of a burn. Her eyes were squinted shut and the heat of her laughter rose to her cheeks. She drove one hand to the floor, and with the soft thud of fingers and clinks of rings pressed themselves against the red-toned, chair leg scratched wood.  A sweet, wind of airs swept into her as she pulled her laughing into her throat, up from the bottom of her lungs. Groups of her black, wiry hair broke free from the bun, flowing like liquid coffee, out onto her nose. Placing the tea clumsily on the counter just above her head, her other hand slid down the handle, and clung to the surface's ledge. Sitting now, she slowly places her palms over her eyes. She swallowed loudly and then spurt out a cough-y breath of giggles. Her tremendous fit raged tears in her eyes as her cheer engulfed her completely.

When caught in questioning the validity of your thoughts and actions
that you need not to suffer over:

Let it be: as it is,
There is no past nor future in this.
Stick by your side
And feel the edge of the moment
Come to you.

What little a life you shall live
in submissive statures and spine-curled positions.
How large a world it can be
when you ask for what you need
and stretch through to the spaces before you.

How uncomfortable you must feel
with your mouth stitched tight
and your flushed, crushed knuckles,
resting under the weight of your body.
How luxurious shall you swoon
when ribbons flow from your hair
and bare feet glide over the dawn-dewed grass.

What powerlessness do you feel
when your voice is stolen
and words are said to be your thoughts
when coming from the lips of another.
How sturdy and turgid your reverberating voice booms
in the ears of plenty who can feel your Honest Tones.

Think not of those who shall drawn back from your truths,
But of those who are willing to exchange their own.

What to do with this brain, opposable thumbs, and time.
It always comes down to time.

Part of me says I have acres. The other part says I have feet.

Maybe time tonight should be spent in - cozy, calm;
Tomorrow, the roar of time will be able to shake my body; rattle my brain.

It is 10.
I am tired.
But somewhat fearful I am not doing anything -
not living life to the fullest.

But then I ask, is what you plan for these next hours fulfilling?
Party, chat, toast,
brag, ****, boast.
A rip, a drag, a shot, at most.
And what is it to bring me?

A fire aflame, "I don't know your names.
Who are you? Why us?"

God, **** this game.

Will it be expected,
my time to be held in their hands?

Or can it be rejected with the hope that time expands?

What are more moments,
How should they be spent?

How and why when I close my eyes does life seem so bent:
Twisted, obscure, impractically hidden.

What truth is there when no words forbidden?

What time can be lost in this truth
What can be erased?

How can everything be proof
When all I do is escape?

And last of all the questions, the last to remain,
The impossible,
irresistible
refrain:
What point is there in questioning if all remains unchanged?

Do you love me? She asked.
Of course. He replied.
No, I mean do you really love me?
Yes, I do.
I mean I know you love me, but do you love me?
Because I know you enough to realize you need touch. You need bodies, together, intertwined, bending, rubbing, friction, seeping deep, really feeeeling each other, but do you love me?  Not my hips, lips, thighs, rising chest, *******, teeth biting, tongue igniting the flame to the begin our acts of passion, fingers folding over shoulders, collar bones forced hollow with hollers of joy, eyes dancing, arms bracing, feet jolting up, down, sliding the sheets askew, back arching, pulling back, obscured view.

NO. DO YOU LOVE ME.

DO YOU LOVE HOW I TRIP OVER AIR, HOW I GO DOWNSTAIRS FOR ONE THING AND COME UP WITH FIVE OTHER THINGS THAT DIDN'T EVEN INCLUDE THE ORIGINAL, HOW I GET TONGUE TIED AND DROWSY EYED WHEN A DREAM DRAWS ITS BLANKET OVER ME AND I STRUGGLE TO STAY AWAKE TO FINISH THE MOVIE, HOW I SING WITH THE RADIO, KNOW ALL THE WORDS, MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR NOT, MAKE MISTAKES IN MY DRIVING, HAVE TERRIBLE DROOL STAINS WHEN I WAKE UP, CRY OVER ALMOST EVERYTHING, NEVER KNOW WHAT I WHERE I WANT TO EAT, TAKE EIGHT EXTRA MINUTES THAN THE AVERAGE PERSON TO DECIDE WHAT I WANT TO ORDER, AM A VEGETARIAN WHO IS AGAINST THE US METHOD OF MEAT PRODUCTION BUT WILL SOMETIMES ORDER A MEAL WITH MEAT IN IT JUST TO PICK IT OUT, HOW I LIKE TO BE LEFT ALONE SOMETIMES, HOW SOMETIMES I SAY STUPID THINGS, HOW I GET HOT AND EMBARRASSED WHEN I SAY SOMETHING STUPID, HOW I SAY I WANT TO DO A MILLION THINGS AND THEN NEVER DO THEM, WHEN I **** UP A BILLIARDS SHOT ACROSS THE BOARD, I WEAR THE SAME RINGS EVERYDAY, STRIVE FOR COMFORT OVER COUTURE, THE FACT THAT I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE COUTURE, THE WAY I WANT TO EAT EVERY SINGLE THING IN MY PATH, DO SO, THEN REGRET IT FOR FIVE HOURS, HOW MY BIGGEST UNEXPLAINABLE PET PEEVE IS FINDING LOOSE HAIRS, WHEN GET FAST SPOKEN AND SLAM DOORS WHEN IM STRESSED AND LATE AND SEARCHING, THE SHAMELESS PUBLIC DISPLAY OF INANITIES OF DANCING, SINGING, AND T-REX IMITATIONS, HOW I DIVE SO DEEP INTO THE MESSAGE OF A FILM THAT I TAP INTO MY 12TH GRADE ENGLISH ANALYTICAL SKILLS TO FIGURE OUT WHY THE DIRECTOR MADE THE CARPET YELLOW, HOW THE WORD FOR CAVING DIVING COMES OUT SURPKLUNKING, AND SPECIFIC IS PACIFIC, HOW I FINISH OFF AN ENTIRE LARGE POPCORN TO MYSELF, CAN’T STOP FIDGETING WHEN SITTING, SOMETIMES HATE THE THOUGHT OF MOVING, MAKE ORIGAMI WHEN I’M SAD, AM DEPRESSED AND BEAT MYSELF UP, MY SLIGHTLY-MAYBE-SORT-OF-SOMEWHAT-CRAZY OBSESSION WITH DOCTOR WHO, HOW SOMETIMES I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT MY HOBBIES ARE AND THEN TWO SECONDS LATER I WILL BE SIGNING UP FOR ART, COOKING, MARTIAL ARTS, WRITING, SEWING CLASSES, ALL FOR NEXT MONTH, HOW I REARRANGE THE ROOM ALMOST MONTHLY BECAUSE I GET BORED, THE WAY I SHIVER AFTER EATING FATTENING FOOD AND CALL IT A “FAT CHILL” BECAUSE I THINK MY WEIGHT INSTANTLY WENT UP 10 POUNDS, HOW SOME OF MY FAVORITE MOVIE CHARACTERS ARE VILLAINS BUT I VOLUNTEER ON SUNDAYS AND WANT TO HELP PEOPLE, HOW SOME WEEKS I JUST TAKE LIFE WAY TO SERIOUSLY AND OTHERS IM SO IRRESPONSIBLE I’LL FORGET WHAT SCHOOL IS AND DO NOTHING BUT LOUNGE, HOW I AM MORE THAN JUST A BODY
I am an individual.
Do you love me for me,
And no just what you want me to be?

The more I search for you,
The less of you I see.
The more I wait,
The longer time becomes.

I’ve lost half my body weight
Straight out through my eyes,
Pushing my fingers into my forehead
In attempts to hold it together.

It’s been a while since my lips were smooth.

My logic tells me to do things.
Go places.
See people.

My emotions say **** that.

My body says move.
Enjoy.
Dance.

My emotions say **** that, too.

Looking at myself from outside,
I’m a wreck.

And all my mind can say is:
No one like a wreck.

No one likes, disheveled hair, broken nails, chipped polish, tear swollen face, lazy thighs, slumping slouch posture, unkempt clothing. Sad eyes.

No one likes what sadness looks like.

Thinking of the glory days,
docked,
floating,
skin wrinkling,
pruning,
smiles, smiles, smiles, cracked fresh,
fresh; fruitful.

Fish with flesh,
tiny nubs of teeth nibbling on dead skinned feet.

I bathe.
I bathe in water liquid smooth skinned fluid flowing flown.

I fly.
I fly though atoms,
push hand-cupped chunks of doubled hydrogen, hidden oxygen
I cannot break, though I wish.
Oh how I wish.

I feel.
I feel rocks,
rotting logs,
small, stumbling, mushy soil,
kicked up by those smiles --- Summer.

Summer soaks through my skin, sweet liquid comfort caressing senses, slowing down, softening blows of structure, society, starvation, stagnation, sending me to a sanctuary, to pure sobriety, serenity.

Liquid licking flesh speeds up my sexuality, my simple slippery sensual seduction sliding slyly between the sunken valley sitting between my stems.

Water fuels me.

Summer.
***.
Summersex.

I feel
Liquid
all around.
I am floating through my summer;
Swimming through ***.
Swimming with.
With: in connection to; in sync.
Aside. Astride.

Summer; swimming.
Summer; ***.

Stroke, stroke, stroke. I float.

And where the hell did you go,
Where?
Now is when I need you most
to impress,
stress that, yes, I have one hell of a cultured mind.
And I cough and cough
And hope the stripes are stripped down in front of me.

But still there are times when those stripes must stay,
Solid,
Strong,
Standing,
Holding back his chest from propelling forward,
Latching onto my arm, waist,
Wrapping around my fingers,
Planting seeds in my pores.

Sometimes I don't want him here.

He is too immense and heavy for me to carry.
Too enormous for me to care.

But others he is small
And a comfort to hold close to my neck.
He fits perfectly in my collar bone,
Puddled in to crevices.

He fits.

And I finally understand “purple mountain majesties,”
as I sit here on my perch.

And behind me: that woman with the white hair,
like sails of the boats in the bay, or wings of the swans in my mind,
red pocketbook;
red lips dripping with hope.

I think someone forgot her.

Or maybe she is content.
Maybe she sees the world’s majesties, too….

But her swiveling head tells me otherwise.

I ask if she has a pen to lend me.
Her eyes become glass
as her third eye scrunches into an asterisk:

“No, dear, I’m so sorry. I don’t….”

My teeth and tongue lick the air with sympathy:
“No worries, ma’am. Thank you.”

I slide back to my rock and ask the slivered moon for her company.
I feel regret that everybody leaves with the sun,
as if the show is over.
But with skies still blue,
and moon always dancing,
it has only just begun.

I sniff the cold in.
Vicinity barren;
If I were to fall, nobody would know.
I would slip beyond this world
and find an orchestra of
silence in the sea.

I sit here wondering where the birds go.

Turning my head right
vertigo lops me upside the head.
The waves have rocked my mind to the point where I feel
I might
actually
fall.

Somehow,
that would be alright.
Somehow,
I would be okay.

Because maybe then
I won’t have to see
the vivid pained look in people’s eyes.
Like that beautiful abandoned woman
with the wing-white hair
and her hopeful red pocketbook.

Bouncing from thought to thought,
Acting sporadically,
Making sure my mind is as unstable as a committed patient,
Checking out with 5 more disorders that I had checking in....

Rotting meat
Rotting carrots
Stench of time gone wrong.

A venue of wasted decaying hours
Ringing gilded bells -

Itching, scratching wool;
Facades of bright crimson lights
And silly white doilies,
All to distract you from the rotting meat
That sits in your mouth.

And even the shopkeeper has rotted:
Eyes swollen, hay hair,
Stray hairs in the soup,
Solid fists,
Words with a lisp,
And teeth always ready to bite a penny.

And all for a stubborn old life
Who cannot even seem to claim her blame
For this decaying shop.

And if was a glorious rumpus
Of which we made merry,
Stowing each cherry pit of joy between our cheeks,
Hearing them rattle and click against our teeth;
Colliding with our violent fits of laughter.

I sang that song to him, and he smiled a waterfall of cherry seeds.

Snake eyed smile
foggy brain
tired pores
dripping
          dripping
                 dripping -
                                insane.

Feeling minute
minuscule
minimized -  tired.

This flower needs some water
this flower needs some sun
this flower need some soil,
this flower need everyone

And I am droning and droning and droning on
of withering plants,
scattering ants ...
pointless lines monotonous tones
scraping bones
bruising flesh
itching palms:
                      catching the rush.

Twitching twitching lights
dead trees with leaves in flourish
as I scamper home with my body to nourish.

and I will coo and comfort my mind
by letting myself know
there is sorrow
everywhere.

Perched up on stumps,
Weightless lumps:
Foul odored ogres,
Craving crazing vultures,
Picking eyes for pies,
Picking claws at jaws,
Ears for their fear
To hear their screeching;
Their cold blood sapping;
Soaking leaves;
Falling trees to steal their rings,
To **** their singing,
To end their scratching branched voices scrape the streaking air:
A current of palpable energy.

These ogres drain and gain one more breath.

One more- to be saved from death.
How tragic a sight to see
Is when the ogre becomes the tree heaving and wallowing,
Begging, crawling the earth in hope of breath or birth;
In hope of resurrection.

But how tragic it is an ogre must
Break so many backs to gain it back;
To strive to live when their lives are
Less than nothing.

And the eager ogres cry crimes;
Lay in lies;
Drip through time:
Vultures circling,
Craving,
Crazing,
To feed their need,
To give to a life not worth a strand.

Can we talk?
Because I feel like I'm suffocating you.

The stars are pretty,
But you are stunning.

Light the candles,
Night is coming.
It drips and coils around the earth,
While hills of pearls form under our shirts.

White canvas scratched
By black beads,
Red lips dripping
Ecstasy.

Torn pages below
As chests quiver,
And eyes glow.

Tremors and trembles echo above
As you sink deep and deeper into my cove.

Lights flicker,
All dulled out.
A piece of you hangs from my eyelids;
I cry.

I have missed you for all these years,
An you still cannot call me daughter;
Nor I, you: father.
So I cry.

And as lights fade,
Shadows breath;
Heave, haunt:
Heavily tease; taunt.

And as I cry,
You walk, inch past my world,
Sliding ever so slightly;
Off and away.

And it hurts.
Because I have missed you all these years.
I still cannot call you my father.

It is all defined
With our fingers entwined,
Our feet aligned,
When out soft brown eyes
Methodize.
My head is foggy and mesmerized.
Your smile enraptures me,
I hold my breath and count to three,
I start to restrain, then disagree.
I let go of all my doubt,
This is all my thoughts revolve about,
The body urge to belt it out.
So what is this,
If not bliss?
This sweet felicity of your kiss….

My soul yearns to give you the world,
But all she can give is this brown-eyed girl.
Her beauty was dim,
She was barely slim.
Her home got cold,
Her sayings- old.
Her future was full,
Of colors dull.
Her life was gray,
Until one day.
The light leapt,
Promises kept.
Blues blooms,
Reds swoon,
Grays in the gutter,
She opened the shutters,
Let the earth spill in:
Her world begins.
My soul presents you with this brown-eyed girl,
And hopes that she will become your world.

In our hearts we may burn,
But soon sizzle clean.
Our ashes blown
Into the unseen.
Our misty foil flaws,
Since beneath the cracks.
Our past and our sins,
No longer burden our backs.

Meatless;
Mindless.
Beat-less;
Bind-less.

Our palms wear down our minds
Our bones collide,
Tears are taunting
All set aside.
Whispers woven
Through our cheeks.
Covered by contentment,
Our limbs we speak.

A love aside of
A love forgotten.
Bite until our teeth have rotten.

Drop of a hate
Top hat;
Knitted cap;
Russian hat:
Pink *****;
Skulled bandanna -
Red; grey stitches;
Wool yarn -
Head itches;
Black slouching,
Sides pouting,
Hair sticking out,
Color picking: in;
Bear face;
Crochet lace;
leather paper boy;
Pirate toys;
**** mask,
Hold the wax;
Zebra print,
Purple ink;
Furried hood,
"understood;"
Thrift store cat,
Drop of a hat
I am yours:
There will be more.

Enrages silence combs through bleak feeble hair strands.
Frore weather fidgets through thick coat threads,
Licking flesh;
Penetrating bones with piercing, ridged fangs.

Mere rustles scream.

Breath escaping from lips so close
In rhythm and tone, they seem to be harmonic.
Limbs erode from manipulative
Promises of divinity.

Forceful whirlwinds of mania
Sweeps across raw, exposed fervor.
Eternally caught in tremors of avidity.

We lavish in our intertwined fantasia.

And you lay down your armor,
your shield,
sword,
stripped of assurance,
debriefed of all promises of security,
killing all chance of defense;
offense:

And you lay down your amour,
your loyalty,
promises,
giving unconditional passion,
killing all chance of betrayal;
keeping all chance of pure bliss.

It's just a constant fit of unnecessary flicking on the skull of humans
Who struggle to be free.
The drums drum:
To run, to run;
To dig graves,
To suffocate these earsplitting languages.
My shovel sings a shaky, muffled dirge
Between soil crumbles
And screeching pebbles.
I'll bury your mud puddle minds in order
To grow a farm of brain stems.
Maybe then you'll sip my truth
Sloppily down your gullet,
Instead of choking from disgust
When your lips sweep the cups ridge.

I have never felt such longing for ignorance than I have on this night
On which I have read the script that inscribes the ghastly when
And where or eight deaths.

I fell very much in love with a girl of the 20th century,
Her curled hair
Four outfits.
The silver band on her ring finger
And her driven passion for writing.
He devote bravery
Tantalizing sarcasm that made smiles crack the days hardened face of mine.

I fell in love with her strong sense of self
And unfathomable ability to say every piece  
Of every idea that trickled into her mind
And out through her lips.
Her value of words
Knowledge,
Writing,
Experience
Match that of my own,
Glimmering gracefully in her eyes.
I applaud her every wish to travel,
To live,
Not in vain,
But freely
And to not become a married woman
Who is forgotten like a draft
Through cracks in a window.

I fell in love with this girl
Who changed so horrendously into a woman
As I am before my very eyes.
Her ******* formed;
In angst of questionable hormonal
And ****** thoughts that throbbed in her mind.

I fell in love with this young,
Graceful woman,
But on this same night,
I mourned her death
And the passing of seven others.

Oh how this pain comforts me
In ways so delirious;
Oh how I would love to bask in the ignorance
Of a heart so full and whole and complete.
Oh, how I wish I never found my hero,
Because with a hero comes heartbreak.

Everything I do right is minimized,
Scrutinized,
Commercialized.
                        
                                                                ­                                                     Everything I do wrong is amplified
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                  monster-size,
                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­         humanized,
                                             ­                                                                 ­                                              punctuated,
       ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                     fluctuated,                                 ­                                                                 ­          And blown up, into the shape of a halo.

Turmeric stained fingers,
Spine stained from cracked bones,
Coiling down -
Around bitter words,
Spewing slurs-

Your harmony is a harm to me
As these stained fingers twitch to aid
The rebirth,
The renewed version of myself.

But they're fighting and fidgeting a fingerly fight,
As my neck curls below your bellowing blows.

I could say it is so precious,
But then I would be lying.

I could say we are all lucky;
Everyone would believe me.

I could pull that microphone up to my chin,
Curl my lips around the thirty different voices,
Repeat it over and over,
Year after year after year.

No matter how much I ate at that microphone,
I would still go to Hell
For all the lies I told the world,
About itself.

I've cried out canker sores
Pulled the drain from the bath of smoke
Slip into a sea of walloping wolves.
Shortly awake from a screeching call
Stumble into my worn down soles
Float along the cherry wood floors
Still caught in a web of dreams
Scoop a spoonful of bloated cereal
Swish it through my teeth
Hopscotch into a familiar car
The strangers seem so distant
A slip of the lip
A twist of the tongue
And I already wish I used my feet.
My mind sinks into thoughts of absence.
I sit and slurp a cup of tea
Conversations with snow monkeys and tigers
Invade my morning
It is I who play the symbols,
Jump through rings.
I cough my day out of my throat
Vandalize the home of dust specks
Sing a cackling song
Taste copper pennies in my cheeks
Engulf my dinner
Sink back out of my soul
Let it rest,
As my body recharges
For the next day to come.

As I sat there searching for a lingering ghost of us,
The mist wrapped around my *******,
Clenching my fingers,
Caressing my neck;

The sweat was pulled from my body
As the moon pulled at the clouds.

Every moment by that bog was sublime.

As the wind choked the reeds,
Every shadow passed over my lids
And it was then
I knew I should have died.

You are my fuse,
My idol,
My muse.

My dreams,
My tears,
My pain that seers.

My fingers,
My pores,
My sun shot sores,

My pen,
My brush,
My cheeks that flush.

My pans,
My pots,
And monthly shots.

My legs that shook;
Denied school books.

The hymn I hum,
The song I sing,
My dove,
My love,
My everything.

All his thoughts lie under that coffee mug.
He speak his dreams only to the mahogany table
And prays for her to come back,
To sit with him on those lonely Monday mornings.

Could I **** a man
whose heart has rotten anyhow?

I find myself in a fantastic imaginative infatuation
With a particular boy whom I scarcely know.
And I will continue to pine for this boy,
Who's voice I cannot conjure;
His face I fumble to recall.

He seems to be the utmost intolerable desired vision in my mind.
Over a mere amount of seconds to converse.
I could scream a symphony about his glory
And yet his smiles are only
Reflections in the corner of my mind.

Curiosity will certainly finish me,
Conjuring every nerve in my body;
Forcefully shaking me
'Til my very hands fall past my quaking knees
And shatter around my trembling toes.