I was needed by one person.
They used me to clean up their mess,
to protect others from seeing.
I absorbed their blood, their mood swings,
everything about them that others hated
but I loved.

They tossed me, without a second thought,
on the street for others to laugh at.
Without knowing whose blood stained me,
they saw someone used up to the point
of being nothing but a disgrace to the public eye.

After everything I did for you,
you simply used me and left me to be judged
like a ****** on the sidewalk.

She leaned over
her concrete canvas,
       --The canvas
       that wasn't
       a canvas until
       the smile
       behind her smile
       made it
       So.

Ready for color-

She danced with
frozen rainbow
brushes
      --Solid/liquid fun
      that leapt
      and pirouetted,
      deliquescing in
      her hands
      . . . seemingly.

Made for making.

He watched her
steps, in their
       -Beginninglessness;
       projected-threw
       newborn light of
       old consciousness
       in motion
       Speaking.

Gestures of love-

Drawing together their
formlessly-aligned
intentions,
     -His two left feet
     tripping
     over her lack
     of back-
     facing eyes,
     that are
     without
     Purpose

when life is lived
by the living-
who do not try to
fold fate into
        tiny
        shapes
        of
        futility
  --Other than
        Themselves--

But prefer (rather)
to gambol with
existence
       in the fleeting
       endlessness
       of
       selfless
       company.

I looked like I would pounce
Over the sidewalks I bounce

Making sure to avoid the cracks
Like they were sticky, hot wax

Or a never ending gaping hole
that would eat my soul

Or, like the rhyme says,
Break my mother's back in a ways

I would come so close
but I froze

I kept jumping
and never touching

Why did I never hit the crack
if I knew it would never attack

Why do I still never touch the crack
Why do I always keep myself back

From just walking without fear
When I can just be clear?

Look into my atomic shadow.
In my purple and reds.

Drop in my subsonic dream.
In my orange and greens.

Walk in my sidewalk shoes.
In my midnight blacks.

Look at my shadows.
Drop in my dreams.
Walk in my shoes.

See my darkness.

A few months ago
I found comfort in walking
dangerous streets
alone
drunk
tired
upset

I could have walked
for hours
because the feeling
of something possibly going wrong
soothed me

Perhaps whatever I may have met
on those dangerous streets
would have been more real
more terrifying
than the monsters I faced
with closed eyes
and a clenched jaw
each night
and every morning

I no longer
see those streets
with blurred vision
but instead eyes
that cannot look in as many directions
as I would like
because that gum wrapper
might not be
what I think it is

Maybe my fears are fading,
no longer stored inside
where no one can see them

Maybe my walls have broken
and I feel too vulnerable
to face anyone I may encounter
because I am not confident
that anyone else
would come
to my rescue

We walk
Down the
Sidewalk until
The concrete
Runs out