The threads of nostalgia bind me to this patchwork blanket
of soy farms and swamp land horizons.
This region has birthed me from her soil,
and in Midwestern arms I am sheltered.

Throw me to the ground
I want rise up like a sprout in the fresh rain
and breathe the same air that you do
I want to shed this skin and know that I’m finally alive again
and not some brittle nymph shell
Forget everything and let’s rewrite it all

Chance is a flippant mistress

Yet, she has blessed me with vision

Eyes to rebind the seams

Of two souls victim to division

I see her coming through the fog

With lips that could speak words past the grave

I see her march to the rhythms

Of the winds, the earth, and the waves

I’m nothing but a monolith of ice and gravel.

Stuck in these wintry doldrums.

Waiting, waiting for the time

when the birds return home and

Sol’s warm light puts life back in these bones of permafrost.

It is then she’ll come dancing and singing

like the days when we were young.

A silver glow lines your delicate form

as we dance to the hymns of the new summer’s crickets.

-

The grass trembles beneath your nimble feet

when you spin in the smoky wind.

-

I will nestle in the long tresses of your ruby hair

and hide from time’s watchful eye.

-

Moths circle in flocks, for they see our yearning as it really is;

a spout of light pouring into the on looking stars. (The shining embers that mark our youth)

-

They cling to us. Cloaks of spores, flowing like creeks,

cascading in the wisps of campfire.

-

We abandon our carved idols and earthly trinkets,

stumbling, wild-eyed in the dark.

-

Tonight is for the neverlasting present,

and the merry circles we spin in its guise.

-

Her faun eyes were gleaming.

I am but a simple creature. (Oh, go running again little boy)

-

Spin me a cocoon

and tonight let the sleep come lightly.

The warning bell sounded, and heads did spin

In a full on exorcist twist.

Hearts and lungs on overdrive.

Max gear ***** race, go!

Eyes meeting, hardly a greeting.

Run for the horizon, little darling daredevils.

-

His legs are burning, her lungs are burning.

Can’t stop, can’t stop, won’t stop.

She sees the results and snickers.

Surrounded by searchers and sirens.

The schooling facility, a funeral pyre,

a gasoline catalyst. “All the same, stupid”.

-

Endless lines of lockers filled to limit.

Echoes of “run along to class!”.

Chunks of charcoal - Chambers of change.

Left on Fairview, right on King.

Watch out for Pauly’s pit bulls barking!

-

Down the hill on University avenue - Dead End.

Train tracks up the hillside, so climb!

View of the evidence;

Matchstick Mayhem Miracle Man.

Gasoline Gal, so elegant.

Smoke cloud, smoke cloud, our little secret.

Impress the granite impressions

Blue and black anti-reflections

Marbles flicked and jacks are scooped

Like the games we lose in endless loops

Hardly pass any standard detection

-

You haven’t heard the lover’s truth?

Dialed in from the last phone booth

In a town that has gone all mobile

Begging for a title so proud and noble

So they can sip their gin and Vermouth

-

Mass-printed art for bath room walls

So raised noses can judge while ******* in stalls

They only care for tags and brands

And they never stop to wash their hands

When they’re dressed to impress at the local mall

-

This is hardly a truth - hardly a lie

A middle ground opinion to make snarky girls cry

They say “He’s so enigmatic! What a beautiful soul!”

But deep down inside they just want my pole

Their improper word usage squeezes from me a sigh

-

You think tumblr is neato? You like showing your ****?

The lies flow like tar from primordial pits

Slowly creeping to the surface, but unending below

The smell catches hold before the obvious show

This is a pageant for show offs, not a battle of wits

-

But here I am still, begging for your love

A click or nice word is like a sign from above

Opinions that drive me off of the nearest cliff

A glance or a compliment to get me all stiff

Your nothing, save ignorant, but you fit like a glove