I’ll rev you like a Porsche
Pressurize the clutch then
ease on the equipped brake
enrolling the steering wheel

On the highway as we sing
Tuning choruses eccentrically
apply the mascara and smile
put my flock on, swing like Bowie

Craze up in seismic grooves
Shift to a self expression culture
be so extreme that you glitter
I’ll desire your ambiguousness

Unarguably, I’ll hold your hand
An evolved zeitgeist in revolution
squeeze their prejudiced little heads
replicate, experiment your persona

Through beauty, you have spoiled me
And I run from life and death,
Hiding from foreign love.
Lest I pay for my sins,
******* in your bed,
Begging for the ropes to to cut through my acne - spotted skin.
Then in my bed,
With no arousal left to stain the sheets,
I let spill the tears,
From naive memories of the hands which touched me then.

Sonnets are post-modern confessional poetry,
And my love the subject of them all.
Like a sun,
Forgetting to light half of the moon,
Your unbuttoned shirt often slips my mind,
Slips into my mind during languid afternoons,
When I haven't quite digested my lunch,
Or your smile.

Can I leave?
But I am trapped,
The key in my pocket,
Rusting.

it’s quiet and i hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder
i hear nothing but the paper
burn as my inhale imitates the gust of
wind that guides the cold to shutter skin —
street lights sit above the lit, white-flowered flakes
as they dance to the ground as a group
that whisper soliloquies to the crimson
lobes that hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder,
a hazy fog covers the air before my face
as it sways from nostril to upper lip —
a sight down to an illuminating ash,
blinking to meet a lid to whited lash —
as the paper burns
the smokey sky is content
with silence and nothing more
than a look to the fields                             MJB

it’s 12 degrees outside
excluding the breeze, I hide
behind the rising smoke
of the cigarette just lit,
my fingers are falling off,
nails ripping to the marrow
a ****** stutter impairing speech,
a seizured grab to the fleeced pocket
leaves only the other hand to freeze,
such a sacrifice to something
old-me said I didn’t need,
I kick around snow
as my leather boots wear a
coat of white as I shiver
and inspire, throwing a black
coat over my lungs
“hey do you have a lighter?”
“yeah”
the ash sails down
and kisses the filter and a flick
collides the ember to exhale it’s final breath
to the frozen floor,                                                    
I step inside and
suddenly, I’m cold again.
                                                                               MJB

We sat aloft a dune
   peering over the ocean,
waves mesmerizing
  our inner turmoil,
grainy surf dimensions
    cut into psyche,
voices turned hazy
midst broiling sun
  washed back with
   salt water tears,
there was no lighthouse
  to guide the way
  nor save disparate crests  
no words reverberated the sound,
    just the floundering of
      gritty restless emotions
that once were blissed horizons
   before moon lost its balance
     to relentless torrential currents
      of neglectful destruction,
   drowning in ambiguous undertows

A poem without a feeling
When one is estrange from them self
A desire to want a want for desire
Convoluted and not yet acquired
It's not empty,
or missing.
A combination of both ?
The heart is there but absent.
The heart is a class,
but the feelings aren't there.

Have you ever sat in a room with someone
Knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt
That you’re sitting alone
And no amount of small talk, or discussion
Will change the fact that you’re both firmly ensconced
In a reality that can’t even be imagined in another world
At first it aches, the slow tearing of emotion
In long thin strips, like a piece of paper
Slowly destroyed by bored hands in a classroom,
Just waiting for the bell
Every interaction becomes a small game
Of who will care first
Care enough to leave, to put to rest the tired debate
Of why we’re here
The game just doesn’t end though
Always ambling back, refusing to accept
That earth and pluto only know each other in passing
A small wave to acknowledge the distance
With full understanding that
To meet
Is to invite the end of something precious