cold. blurry blinking blue
back in light glistening iridescent white
crested waves crashing to a tide pulled under
quiet—

below the surface swimming
soft sway current sweeping shells
fishes bubble breathing
drifting.

mountainous shores sandy shallows
washed in crystal casper
and silk sails in the sky
soft laughter.

joy-filled jubilation
splashing smile simply bubbling
beckoning back to be beneath
the sea.

My troubled hands
trembling as I truss
trusted tricks
tried

Tragic tropes, tracks
Trampled trips and trippy trends

Trawlers tread
Trebles tremored
Trimmed but trackless

I      don't know  
what
this means anymore

Trump

You are the moon that is moored in the sky
And the moonshine that shimmers against Atlantis' cloak
So vivid, yet so pale
And I begin to wonder if you're alright
Up there, all alone atop the world.

Is it better to be carefully propped on a celestial pedestal for all men to indulge,
Or to be chaotically plunged
Into a sea of solitude and peace?

You are much wiser and older, my dear;
Is it true that
Beauty lies
In the eye
Of the beholder?

Blithering blather of bothering biting bothers that botherly blather their blantant blatherings of bumbling bemusings brought by bringing blue berries back by blue babaoons bumping beehives behind bubba bears big buggy before biggoted bums braving boorish battles

Beautiful bearings of broken bonds
Bound, bewildered and bitter.
Break backs of blind behemoths
Being better, beating backlash
Booming boldness, and bombs
Brains battle blighted beast
Bribery brews boiling blood
Building bastions buried by bombs
Brought by belief, but betrayal beckoned
Bastille bells burdened by beheadings
Behold beginnings birth bloom.

Salty tears
Slither like snakes in summer
Meandering moments of madness mused

Ratchet heart and rabid tongue retorts
Flimflam fluke fisticuffs fought

A mirrored mirage manically manifest
A parade of psychosis fevered pitch

Easy the embryo erased eternal
Gods grace given gone

Sanguine souls stand sequestered
A pitiful penitent they plead

A song of Solomon heralds
Cherubs on chariots
Carrying chalices crafted of gold

Seeks repentance refrained from sin

All souls suffer life myriad interpretations
And all
Must answer
In
The
End

Chalance is the quiver in your vivacious voice as you tell them you're fine.
The trepid tear you battle as you proclaim that you don't care anymore.
The leering lump in your throat as you scream indifference from the rooftops.
The murky melancholy you mask with the widest of smiles,
The sinful scars that lurk beneath your flawless ensemble.
The six strategic seconds you pause before you tell the universe you're nonchalant
The word chalant is only as non-existent as your nonchalance.