~
Daydreams
in passing with the clouds,
and their weary structure,
and their idle loneliness,
and their struggle for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of an immense tree; satellites hanging from its branches like minacious ornaments; sending frightful messages to far out places; convincing us television is real but our lives are fake.

Nightmares
in passing with the shadows,
and their elusive silhouette,
and their active aggression,
and their march for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of a school bus sliding down into the ice...
~

it seems
the blue lights
drift ghostly
past the windows
more often
these days
each occasion
bringing with it
a momentary
fleeting interest
in where
the drama is
currently residing
at who's pillow
might be
tear-stained
through the night
at who's door
fear and anxiety
are being permitted
to step inside
at who's house
has become
a closed film set
waiting to be
stripped of content
until only
walls doors windows
and memories
remain
but
as commercials end
attention returns
once more
to a stronger
more constant
source of
blue light
and all present
are thankful that
at least
the banshees
that wailing of sirens
has been silenced
in time

modern monarchs, recorded in technicolor
think its real, but its cake
think its real, but its fake
under the guise of god’s fate
modern monarchs, makeshift mothers
desperation at stake
where are all the fathers
under the guise of god’s fate, we falter

Clearly it's snowing
In your heart.
You wish you thawed,
Still wish you to, though.
The cold of it keeps
Glowing you up,
The smartest streak
Of such a generous
Remark is showing
The obsessive drift:
Repetitive at nothing,
Novelty at stake.
It's where you are,
Still drifting there
As though
In cycles of the dark.
I wish you knew,
Let's hope it still is not too late.

I have left my soul unfed
I stare at 1's and 0's all alone
I live within my phone.

I have no words but empty ones.
I speak the same script as everyone.

Who sees me?
If I don't speak.
Who loves me?
If I am not here.

Everything is fine.
Is what I say all the time.

When cliff sides erode
it is nature changing, becoming new.
What will happen as I lose myself, bit by bit.
What is hiding behind my soul?