Hope the sound of crickets
resting near your head
won’t wake up the bed
or want it?

just to tell you
now looking for a name
to call the day
that went the distance of three

I felt I did
I felt I slept
and shined through
and walked right at

I lost my breath
subtle hurts underneath
around my head
and heartily heartened

found a friend in friends
so talking their strange lingos
made me see the closeness
in the foreign truth

that carries
the
travelers
through

on-times so unusual
coincidental timing
and all the gones
how me, my zones

being alone
so moving, so home
near others
sleepwalking lovers

nervous panics
wordy freaks
one sided
broken line

still don't know today
the name
of ******* scattered
day

thus this scattered fragments,
my scatterline,
I just want to whisper
to your resting mind

while still smelling you
on structures of my skin,
sound tenderly
the creaks of crickets!

I’m a creepy girl
**** the world
I give you a strange feeling
You can’t describe
Is it yours or mine
It’s getting close to my bedtime

my eyes feel the day that I remember staring star
his scar spent talking playing starts
attention brought from book and brook and bought
calling for trapped forces of higher divorces wrought
and sought did I of reasonable talk
and with seasonable haunts did I stop
a planet costs him unseen causing
left the loft for softer crop, his beaten form did roam
some foam done gone for fun a song
the loamy earth he surely combed
for massive fixed evasive ticks that taught for thought
I wasted waited tasting fought
unraveled revealed rapacity forgot

Falling down like a rain drop
twenty-twenty but I’m blind.
Knowing that this must stop,
maybe tomorrow I’ll change my mind.

But maybe the fog has made me hazy,
no one will choose to save me,
write me off as crazy,
their judgements come too hasty.
Red flags planted to trace me
to the spot where I’ve been wasting
no help to do it myself,
I guess I’ve gotten lazy.
I vow to not continue with the crime,
maybe tomorrow or another time.

Tumbling around like dry leaves,
amazed by the colours you find.
Trading dry mouth for dry heaves,
maybe tomorrow I’ll change my mind.

Take notice that life as a poetess
feels kind of hopeless,
and as a bonus I’m under hypnosis.
I’ve been focused on picking myosotis
for my magnum opus,
better than roses
but less than autumn crocus.
I’ll watch them bloom in their prime,
maybe tomorrow or another time.

Lying on the ground as the concrete,
don’t mind the chalk as I’m outlined.
I think it’s due I get back on my feet,
maybe tomorrow I’ll change my mind.

Your silence
Drives me crazy,
Yet everything drives me crazy,
You are just one
Of everyday things.
Like the song that is in my head
Since this morning,
Over and over
Again.
I hate it, I hate you.
Your silence deafening my ideas
Making despair seem real.
I’ve learned to live with madness
In and out,
Love and hate,
Cats and dogs.
Madness of silence,
It doesn’t let me sleep;
The loud noise
Of my mind
Burning in flames of oblivion,
Indifference.
If you go quiet, I can’t hear myself
I don’t perceive,
Nor do I breathe,
I only hope hopelessly
For the silence
Of your voice
To end.

chasing hills beyond the glimpse
the glass has spilled its sour frost
lyrics bled by writers' heads
speech screeched positive red
catching captured charms of frame
sober melted peaks
blurred forbidden tainted progress
thumbs massive flashes glee

focused demands different notions
evidence mourned separate passions
stretching drama to brittle fond
an image of fame ruins kicking gone

fresh colors completely distantly constant
brother poet possibly gripping patience
smooth for ever eventually taking existence

a swallowed rolling branch of trouble
the blade expressed by monster eighty
compliantly shady driving a cracked creating whisper
bubbled rubble of weighty concern
does this hurt forget her it's Christmas, web surfer
a bloom adorned in restless praise
for tongues and lathes trail storms ablaze
lingered is west current laid
an unexpected place, for change