i find myself to be a contentious person
because my big mouth
never shuts
but there's a lot of good coming out
that just gets interlaced with some bad
well-meaning, albeit, not exactly thought out
thoughts
that get espoused before they're finished
i'm a rushed man
amid no rapids

There once was a ponderous piper Peter,
Whose arm burned off in a heater.
It's now hard to fit pipe,
But he doesn't gripe.
He's got one arm, a mouth, and his peter.

if it seems unclear
know that it is
no faces worn
an empty bottle
an uncertain smile
is all that needs to be bought
and sold
the bigger thoughts just
ambush your mind
it feels like I have been
stealing dawn's early demise
cover your face
with plastic bags...has it began to feel
like the audience had left
all those eyes
ears and mouths
I could not help
the darkest shadows and
the faltering lullabies
of your facade

Imagine, I'm laying in your bed. Beneath your covers.
On your pillow.
In your arms.
Imagine, you press your thumb to
my lower lip, and you can hear my heart
beating like a hammer.
You remake my ribcage with your fingertips, and
you teach me a new language with your mouth.
You touch me with intention.
Imagine, I let you. I uncurl.
Moonlight filters in through the window and pours over us. That silky-white illumination is reflected in your eyes and it touches
you so softly, I could scream.
And the exquisite truth of it all is,
that if you ever did get to touch me,
I think I would die.

The open gaping mouth of glass, looking in and looking out
The light refracting across the silent room
Everything is closed off; the blinds; the doors; the boxes
The glass eyes of the house muffling the sounds of the outside world

The inhabitant grown a slave to watching
The gaping mouth of glass, looking in and looking out
Stretching lines, darkening eyes, smiles turned hollow
She'll trace the filtered light with frozen desperate fingers

Her sounds are empty and echo like a dripping water from a faucet
The tiled floor is as cold as the snow that falls. Unseen
The open gaping mouth of glass, looking in and looking out
The wind seems to be whispering words she no longer yearns for

The blood is dancing with the cold
Warming the static embrace of her head and fingers
The inhabitant closes the blinds again, hiding the quiet scene
The open gaping mouth of glass, looking in and looking out

There was nowhere
left for her to turn,
after the rains
came and washed him away.

So she lay down
upon the softened meadow,
lost in a stream
of consciousness.

She tucked herself in
between the sheets of Ulysses
and dreamt with both eyes open,
eating lotus fruit and flowers
as the river widened its mouth.

The hour of the wolf calls
Cool dark sharp but calm
No moonlight howl or cry
Head down and focused frown

Pawns are pushed into place
The risks we trust to take
With good faith in calculus
These gods are among us

Energetic plight flickers
Spattered anger flouts
Dilated rage with white teeth out
To think beyond aloud
Funny how the face of a clown
can quickly change it's mouth

a word hasn’t been spoken since,
humble abode, you ever seem?
exchanging praises and jolly sins,
with a mouth full of lies
what does that mean?

I have a mouth and I must scream but I have nowhere to.
I have eyes that wants to shed tears but I have no shoulder to lean on.
I have a body that seeks warmth and solitude but all I get is emotional thrashing.

I have a mouth and I want to scream but I have nowhere to go to.
I have eyes that are tired and want to close forever but I cannot do so.
I have a mind that is drained but all I can muster is a grimace to show for it.

I have a roof on my head called a house but it rarely feels like home.
I am speaking loudly but it seems no one can hear me.
I have eaten with tears spilled on my cheeks but no one seems to think I am not okay.

There is nothing but confusion which rests on my worn body;
A tomb of my own turmoil, emotions gushing forth.
Words are not enough until they become the flowers that adorn my casket. And even then, no one seems to notice the intricacy that made them.

I am a hollow shell of my physical body,
A soul haunting the living world asking for somebody,
But there is no one except for silence.

I have crumbled here, left crumbs to hint to a destroyed temple,
But there never seems to be anyone willing to visit my shrine,
To light a candle for this wandering soul...


Where do I go from here?