Life wages on like an hour at a Time at War
With Emptiness. A brood apart from -
the usual suspects.  It folds space with it's teeth.
And carries on in lush meadows of perpetual.
happy as a dog up a bone tree.

there's not a ***
in the stew.
it's stew in a ***...
and that's the way
it always been,

we have scarcely more
than earplugs for a blindness
and all our numbered days
are slaughtered upon
the altar of oblivious -
as we squander our blight speck
of Eternity.

where Every minute lives.

I could change
if it didn't cost me my life.
I could bend to your will
and be perfectly out of my mind.
i could trade on my skin
for the surface you like.
and be ****** if i do -
and just your type.

it was like stitching the hem
of a catastrophe
and then - came -
a knock upon my door.
a strange thing
with a wonky compass.
a True North -
more Southern
than a lazy eye
and the tear
it wept
with.

just beneath the reason
you were there in the first place.
and exactly why
you left.

just yesterday, you smiled at me.
i caught a glimpse of your hair down
and a rampant
' Okay '.

you were ready to almost be
quite close
too happy.

and i can't help
but notice...

your carousel has fewer insane
horses.

your always striking camp with a riding crop... always off
on some quest that involved your deepest fears.
you tumble out of bed on a horse. and i, of course; head after you.
and long do i roam at the pleasure of your hasty retreat.
always on the go.