Life is where you leave yourself defenseless
before you are born.
By having eyes and a mouth and no truth to speak of...
save the tragedy of You...
And the Love.

no more Breakfast tumbling out of a Hornet's basket.
just soft thorns and gossamer wounds. only the ravens that kismet.
only the coffin cuff-links; and the splendid Pit.
only the margin for Errors beyond
your Religion...

and the woe of it.

Valentine's Day is how the mifflewarts expunge your good happy.
It dwells in the innermost fleem.
It has no fortunate rodentia, but scampers oblong
into  a sideways dream.
Lip-bitten. Our kites collapse in come-aparts to go *****.
prone upon the earth of our dim Ding*
when the Clock was gargling
Always.

my madness unfolds like a sordid towel drenched in mute figurines
dancing to a thread count of arbitrary rhythms.
a syncopation and a passion, woven into the marrow of my thoughts.
a crustacean on a star, swallowing it
whole.  

i never emerge as much as i descend.

then i ascend.

Tim had a chip on his shoulder that ate lead paint.
no accounting for taste; but the absolute trauma of having no words
for what You Really Are, has all the attributes -
of knowing nothing at all.

And that's how Tim fooled the Therapist.

Life is a threat full of puns.
squirming in the rictus of our every aspiration.
gasping for Yes.
A dormant gloom, gleefully dislodged from a Happy Place.
with a note from the Doctor
that ate your crucifix
to Fix you.

we All have Issues.

II


but the thorn in the rope
that you're knot
isn't exactly ' Not You '.
but it Isn't.

the way we sweep the stars into the black hole of our worry.
the way we seldom noble; how we choose to blunder terrific
and squander a horde of Time.
how we march Love
into Dust.

what we know
is not

what Is.