See me, this one says, see me, look you
in the eye, eh, thinking,

spring, the season, the greening of
the playa's ancient shore, east of me,

east of my evergreen valley, barely
any bare gray wintery bushes and trees,

flash of magnificence once manifested,
on the shoulders of the priest-kings,
infectious proud flesh pomp and
circumstance, watch the war
god-man made glorious in
storied, seen once,
not invisioned, imaged
from tiny feathers, adhering
to a topological fabricated
RED FLAG FLASH
humming bird head
feathered serpent cape,
on a bright day signaled by the hummer
- see, I have returned,
- this is like heaven to me.

the one from now, same code, same init
see me, look, see, once this was the most

vibrant, slow mode, inspiring light imaged,

portrayed, cloaking the priest-king god-rep
more lustrous than any high summer
cathedral rood crossing patterns,
in undeniable beauty and artistical luc-if-ity

windborn grammarless, musical, meanings,
mid point, saddle points between waves
that reflect from hummingbird feathers,

indicating fair weather weathered the storms,

fretted not a second on the journey, yep
when I get to Pep's porch, there'll be
sugar in the feeder, two minutes later.

After I remind a mind is a many splendored thing,
but none more splendored in prophesy than making
sacred hopes formed from the fi NAND gated mythos,

whither men and hummingbirds mind meld, tune in,
to imagine the effort required, to tilt your head,

just right, to flash my muse. Let time pass.

Oh Big sky,

would you make me look pretty too?

Would my sickly veins be something of a golden hue?

Would my dim-lit soul be of an aura blue?

Circles—round a trip,
going all around the plains of plain thinking,
A blank mind; empty paper, ****** canvas,
As of the first I'll write: a masterpiece to create.

A shaking pen, a hold of my thoughts and emotions.
Dreams so unreal; feels so prohibited to a natural
thought. So I write them out in words.

Read through it, subtract, dissect,
read through it again; alter, adjust,
As many times, till I'm content with the piece.
But I'm never content; until the next piece,
the next piece, and next pieces after that.

Battling thoughts on whether to share or
archive for a later story. Post for likes, comments,
to please an ego—post for dispraise, inklings,
to better self, and writing capabilities.

For all-inclusive

I peel open sleepy lids and roll over,
As vision clears a thousand hours of 2 second dreams from my eyes my first thought; who are you?

I climb up from my bed, who’s soft embrace betrays the horrors that lay within, pull over my nightgown, thin. A silken touch of finery. A lie, a hope it would refine me.

Traipse, do I, through cold and lonely corridors, head tilted down, pushing through a gale of memories and half stories. Suddenly fascinated by my slippers.

I glance up briefly, look at the figure staring back at me. Sudden my mind a torrent, maelstrom, gyre. My soul a fire that burns a beacon to the figure, a funeral pyre of sorts.

I dip my head once more, a whisper;
‘Who are you?’

Familiarity brims at the corners of my mind, while tiny little insects chew away at the edges of my sanity. I dip my head again.

Vanity was never one of mine.

The door to the bathroom presents itself, a mahogany monolith, a sentinel of secrets guarding the smeared lines between fact and fiction.

‘You can do this’

A diction I utter, as I twist the **** and push to door.
Shatter the monolith.
The smeared lines become kaleidoscopes.
My vision blurs, my hands, they shake.
My slippers suddenly become riveting.
A trope, a day to day, nothing new.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

I step through the door, brace against the sink, raise my head and stare.
I stare at the eternal and never ending eyes of the stranger in front of me.

Their gaze burns through mine.

I steel myself, and look into my eyes.

‘Who am I?’

The glass shatters. The world falls away.

I knew this would happen.