A gregarious culture
connected to a stream,
an electric herding
of mediocre self esteems.

A network of fringe
for the modern conformity.
A new breed of introverts
plugging antisocial irony.

To be poor is to go back in time
I have eaten dandelions out of the backyard
And contemplated the guillotine
The revolution of a coin
Skittering to a stop.

pony-tailed playmate
head tucked in her shirt
gazing steadily down
at her toes in the dirt

chaos tiptoes around her
naive oblivion
journeys in far away lands
just west of the meridian

watercolor fairy tales
bleeding outside the lines
unaware of the danger
unaware of the signs

let me sit with you, darling
in the dampened flower beds
and paint a new world
for us in our heads

Love is a tidal wave
that one alone
cannot brave.

Unless it's a boat for two,
then the ocean is made
for the both of you.

You burn
So softly, almost
As if your light
Flickered and fought
But dimmed,
And bled towards the night,
Amidst the broken undertones
Of burning plumes  
Puffing
Lost desires.

Somehow,
the niches of the world
bled into a disarray
of unfulfilled dreams ,
it was as if grief himself
melted into the
subdued shades of
blue
caught within
the sky.

she glanced at the fragments
of herself
her
lost memories
danced
within the blurred tones
of loss