red lights
are not near sights.

I am told for color
shows meaning-
blue gleaming,
magenta
beaming
and a hue of orange
reminding me that existence is
okay.
For now.

How do you see color?
Is it that which stops you,
or that which sets you apart?

I'm fueled by
cheap cold cuts
and cracked cans
of beans,
of beers,
and being below
the line of uneven
distribution//////

retribution.

There's a bit of execution
in the way a anti-institution
peels of its mask
and reveals revolution.

I don't know why the prism
is cracked
but
the shattered shards
glimmer & commentate
why we
can only see shades.

There's an anchor.
It's pulling me
closer
and
further away.

There must be a way out.

Because one time,
there was just water.
There were
just molecules.

How they fit together so
anatomically.

And now
how can they divide
so promiscuously?

It's as if the door
has been sealed
with the visions of future.

It's as if
there was never
any way to be sure.

There can't be.

Beg, borrow, and steal.
There's many ways to conceal
the distorted image
life has shone
mystically.

This is all a mystery.
I don't know if audible waves
are what the ocean brings.

There are only things.

There are only those
who sting.

And for those that blindly sing,
there are only things.

Engulfed in the darkness of the night,
swept by the silence,
surrounded by endless thoughts,
each memory becomes more vivid as I lose my touch with reality.

As the city sleeps,
the feint sound of rain briefly brakes away the tranquility,
for a still moment I find my self,
in that temporary moment,
everything becomes one with the night.

Illuminated by the street lights,
that from a distance,
seem like stars, in a city long lost of its touch, forgotten by the coming of the dawn,
only a few are left to reminisce,
left to feel the depth
in unsettled nights, wide awake
while searching for answers,
answers that are extinct.

I am bound by
two brick strings
and a
receipt
of red ink.

There is nothing
about the future that presents this.
Only that which has occurred
to a stomached stirred
preventing any glimpse of bliss.

I'm only calling
the names in the distance.

There's a shift of relevance
and it's delicate.

Those who can't record
the revolution
are too busy
lighting the rooftops
ablaze.

I live in the past
Clinging to memories
The way your scent clung to my sweater
After spending the night.
It’s not that I’m afraid to let go,
I’m afraid for what lies
Ahead
That it wont compare to
You.

her Eyes?

her Eyes,
are like staring
into brand new millenniums
where not one
infinity is impossible
and she does this,
with just a simple flicker
of every blink she takes
opening up,
to an array of force fields,
and battles long lost
to one
I hope one day
to cross.