a line divides us
on one side stands
       stacked all steadily
the things to which
    I hold close to heart
morals
ideals
promises
                     to myself
       to others

and I can see you
watching me across the way
a mess around your feet
and fire
           climbing to the sky
heat embracing you
just as you like it

chaos                  calm
             to       my

sometimes
opposites don’t attract
sometimes they explode

I won’t ask you to freeze in my arms
and you know I’ll never melt in yours

a line divides us
           so little
                    so long

If love can later turn into hate
Then the truth can later turn into lies.
*"There's a thin line between love and hate,
And a thin line between the truth and the lies."

Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.

Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.

His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”

Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.

Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.

He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.

The first whispers of the morning are sweetest when shared with you.

I live through the last lines in books. Thats where you could find me if you wanted to. Thats where I reside.

I don't mind the dust. In fact, I've grown to befriend the lonely particles as well as the dog-eared pages I used to despise.

But, still- If you want, you could find me. Only at the last line of books.

“Here, take my hand.” he said.
“I don't want it.” i said.
“Please, we can walk together.” he said with his charming smile.
“I'm sorry but I can't, are you not afraid?” i asked.
“I don't have something to be afraid of, so just take my hand.” he said once again.
“I'm sorry, I'm scared that I might lose it someday.” I tried to walk away.
“It's okay, I'm here.” he said.
“you don't know.” i ran.

A girl once went on a train with her father.
She asked;

"Where does the sadness go when you stop crying?"

He never gave her an answer.
Imagine how she'll grow up to realize
it never goes away.

I am sorry
grips and grows
when I was fun.
And I bore into you.

I bore you.

The endless throes
Leaving you with nothing to say
of the insatiable soul
at the end of the
like the solitary smell
your obligation

But I am sorry that
because of me
like the rip and the hole
you can't enjoy the sun,
and the silence binds
poor man's sole.

Dropped on the situation,
When the penny has
Leaving me clutching at straws.
You never knew me.
I could be sorry that
to your skin
of your family home
Misery sticks.