stars in my eyes
like headlights flashing
leaving me standing
like a deer in the street
its the things we see
through tear-webbed lashes
stretched out rays when i blink
and the wind picks up
if i were skinnier
id be a leaf in the breeze
but my solitude grounds me
land locks me
docks me like a boat at a pier
and there are no
stars tonight
just polyfill with spiders in them
just puffs of smoke and pollution
bringing whispers
bringing caresses
sprinkling the earth
and flooding my bathrooms

my right knee is ******
i'm not sure why?
it's too late now.

Not being the one to do the work
Of mowing my lawn every couple of weeks
Waking up or passing out to
Hands on a pushmower out my bedroom window
The landscapers scaping the land
At what feels like the crack of dawn
Waking up to a full compost bin
And a barren backyard
It’s a trip
Nothing inside is maintained
With the same aim to minimize clutter
And maximize space - open space
It’s like nothing is better to look at
Than thriving - expanding environments
Left to incorporate anything ready to grow
Refuse accepted as art as it piles up
Hoarding possibilities and information
And meaningful clutter
Gutting it isn’t just clean
It’s reductive

Coded messages, inscribed by the scars on my skin
Aspects of a secluded heart; as the line of tears, maps
Out the journey to a long sense of finding due healing

As the border between maturity and old youth, in a new attire;
Once the public uniform of coming in your, “Sunday best,”
Disguising all the vile of yourself- as we fashion ourselves to
Look like the most likable person; the scrap pieces of dripping water
From prior baptisms- as some of the sovereign believers are uncouth
To their God, wearing the many false skins, hunted in wickedness-
Their very own diplomacy of delighted barbarism  

Separate all of your self-gratifying creeds, and agreed to
Worship in love, pray together; coming as you are- as we are
All knitted together by familiar troubles, hurts, griefs, uproars-
To raise our voices, bringing life to this new body.

Lost in sombre details, of what really hangs around morals
-Crucifix, hanging around a sinner’s neck; so choked up
While the devil speaks on my livelihood with his demons
Parading as unwanted guests; foundations of personal griefs
I am unguarded; not well versed in a couple scripture verses

Versions of my weekly self- a relaxed stance, trying to have
Faith in a life of ease. Setting aside everything else, in the
Way of being by my bedside- faithfully praying on my knees

Still if my faith is loosely based on modern people’s commitment
To their faith and integrity, I might as well be faithless as them all-  
Seated in a church; behind on my many debts, sitting at the back
Listening to the loud laughs of the greatest hypocrites,
The usual Sunday gossip, sounding clearer than a church bell
Leaders who burnt me, quick to preach how I might go to Hell

As a failed sense of wholesome community in communal
Around church clicks of skin colour, for Sunday’s different cults
In what my conscious tries to say is a domicile sanctuary:
I’m a bit reluctant to fully agree with my own self

Styrofoam around my heart; a cardboard box around it,
To pack away memories of love. Crustacean lips, for every after
Taste of kissing; once of fishing for the one- that illusive catch
Still with the selfish desire to claim someone as my own, alone-
A greed like cigarettes staining fingers; crying only to myself
But never counting those tears in the broken mirror, of a bathroom

As this hubris of a man, is quite humorous;- truly starved of direction;
Yielded in such a dishonest method. A chance of, “shooting your shot,”
A posing act of perhaps creating your own weapon to **** yourself
Parlour tricks, for the conformality of society- a human preference
At this point. These unspoken rules, carefully set down: find someone,
Get married, do your purpose to multiply, work diligently to maintain
Appearance/experience memories together; as from finding love as
One being single, to leave those you loved mournfully single;
As only those set apart, ironically get to die together. Oh, how
Wonderful would such a pension to love be- but not often given freely.