Dear Strings,
Who’s sung?
And whose tune —
Beats in this ****** room?
When I could have just followed you,
hearing you out, your melody.
Tugging you closer to me.

Pulling on the string till I find your tail.
The long tail that has accompanied
My days,
fawning for attachment, belonging, company, distraction.

Four years pretending to escape,
and I still want to forget everything,
stop living slices of celluloid,
and become you.

I still struggle in the swirling current.
Yet, you’ll just wash up
on the salt water shore.

And under a weeping sun,
I’ll walk you from
The water.
The wrapping waves washing worries
That tossed you.
The froth
That cleansed us of our mind.

We left our soles wasting away on the shore.
All that is left: between our toes;
grains of golden sand.

Perfection can be found in electricity.
An artificial spark
running through wires,
exciting and exiting.

I much prefer nature.
No shock there, just life
sprouting from my mind
With roots that strengthen my bones
or sap my energy
eternally.

How lucky.
To hop over the furrowed faces.
Out-stretch legs;
Our heads interlocked.
Supporting rocks,

Not that we fit.
There are gaps to be filled;
Coarse horse hair.
Lover, break me.

Isn’t it hard to wish for a turn in the road?
Alas we must just tap our feet and return.

first, five syllables;
then use seven syllables;
back to five: easy!

Wrought to eject.
    Press red.
I unbutton my neck
    and fly—

    Oh Jesus, why did you follow!?
The flies that
    seductively sat on the
    blood-thirsty banks:
now everywhere;

Disturbed and angry—
now, they swarm us.
I cover my wounds,
my eyes, and
      walk.

Show us:
         swaying stories,
         softly storming.
She blew
         blossom, brushes
         forehead; farewell
fruit of flickering frames.

When we watch
and argue,
         (eyes smiling,
          this is me.)
Who wishes
for furtive false films?

“We will”
rectifies reeling reality.