Not many will find absolute solace
beneath his truly marble stone
encased in
weather ridden
Chunks of ash
waiting for someone to pick it up and blow it into the wind

the stone shines when polished
and shines when thrown against the coral
it shatters what it contacts
and everyone blames the stone.

He stood during nights away from home
stood outside and petitioned strangers for a laugh
“I’m lonely” he says honestly
as they scurry past he sees pink
and sea foam blue
desiring to compress the color into statue.

Café
tantalizing aroma
evicts every other scent from my nasal cavity
remedy for self-diagnosed cranial narcolepsy
eyelid suspenders

bittersweet paramour
empty mug,
stirs my core
caramel and dark chocolate
micro-foam, group heads and caffeine
velvet layered cappuccino
espresso parts my thoughts

come sip with me

When I started to write, I sat.
seated, leaned, balanced, distributed, coordinated
To the chair.
the stool, the bed, floor, bar stool, couch, beached log
Under my *** cheeks with one freckle on the skin of the left side
petite and friendly
I am wherever I am.
Usually in my head, sometimes nowhere at all.
Thinking of word soundings fitting into the nonsensical particles of language.
Letters cue the stage curtains of Jedi mind tricks..and mostly only in my head does it sound the way Beethoven wanted his symphony no.9 to echo in his.
Out loud is so rambunctious and persuasive.
I don't want to persuade.
I mean to convince.
You cannot read my thoughts, but I know they are beautiful.

He holds smoke in the palms of his hands while he walks,
on backwards,
lying still,
pressure pulls the follicles of hair and rust to attention.
Strands turning on his spine.
Rolls, carols and carousels, sing harmony and charity, give me my due rights! I am poor you see!
Air and breathe discover time cards punched black and blue lungs
Inhale. Inhale! INHALE!... and through a straw you'll see my struggle to exhale............ and release the stress of the world's worst boss--
life.

I have seen the blood gallop from the cracks in people's souls. It leaks with intention and covers the ground. Dams break.
**** the flies. This way, that way, everywhere at one time. Charming, landing, indecisive , squirming, churning. Fragile. So annoying. Pester and land.
Bzzzzzz zztzz zzz zztzzz...
Always moving. DON'T STOP! If you do

--
stop.
Intention will bring the crossword puzzle reaper.

Live for the off chance you get a new pair of lungs
to exhale the fears of exclusion.
Tar sticks to the **** carpet stomach
and meatloaf liver blanketed with sauteed mushrooms and onions.
It rolls like babies arms, full of fresh fat, wine and indecision.
Rest your nose.
Let him lean against the wall,
if his hair refuses to touch the ground,
let him stagger more. He will survive
No one will know, as long as his two hole face keeps from falling,
how ****** he really is.
Snorting dust bunnies
and rosary prayers,
throws his head back 75degrees after
hallelujah, grace, amen!

Two things make sense to me more than most.
1) Coasters
2) Breath mints

Coffee table stains wreak havoc on the souls of the real housewives of orange county.
Luckily enough, at least they're round.
Round means it can fit in the flea circus act we put on with our climbing, lion taming, fire-breathing...elbows.
Lean only one and the stain strains to breath, draft both into the spots and still, it will not leave.
Lines skew thresholds built on years of careful photosynthesis and the apparent relapse of lumber Jack's axe.
Breath mints ease the minds of young lovers too ignorant to realize they'll smell like dreams and ******* anyways.
Like trying to turn a used diaper into a ****** trapped inside an enormous pastry. Directions: Bake at 450degrees for 30-35 minutes, remove and frost with cream.
Altiods and tic-tac gang wars. Keep your enemies close?
Well, see who makes it on the conveyor belt to my mud-hole mouth.
I do not buy them for myself, I buy them for YOU! precious 6th grade crush, if only you loved me for my peppermint fog.
I wish I had remembered to brush my teeth this morning.

I can't write with a pen...
Like an adolescent ivory deprived walrus, he can't parade his fingernail moons that protrude from his gums.
I will not scribe with a quill.
So many times he has taken and driven, smoked and deprived the scent of your breath from touching my throat, I want those words to be yours!
I have never used a keyboard
Too many times I mistake my pink tongue for page numbers and my eyes for the backspace bar. Whiteout works just as well.
It has never crossed my mind to use a sleeve of papyrus, stale and stagnant. But, trustworthy, like old yeller before rabies and rifles.
I prefer to write in pencil. impermanent and irresponsible.
Until the eraser runs off in the rain with the ink.