Sun comes up,
she goes down
on some upended main drag,
if i were an archaeologist
i still wouldn't dig this place,
every other day she dwells
in tedious, empty cafés,
but on the weekends she flashes
her "license and registration"
to oncoming traffic,
hoping for grifted furlough
to wear as silken, shiny beads,
and so we ride
this merry-go-round,
because moving in circles
is far better than being trapped in a square,
we've stopped climbing the calendar
in search of higher elevation,
she used to pour it on thick,
stirring drinks inside my head,
i used to shake
worries from her hair,
now with bitter orange marmalade
low in the sky, and stacked against us,
it's home before dark,
lest our eyes open wide to see
we are nothing more
but strangers at sundown.

The heart of time broke
Tears so tangible
Dry as sand

Tick tick
crack crack

Time
Broken

Pain, visceral
Endless.

Infinite.

who are you
to stand in my way so steadily
said the woodpecker
to the tree

This is the infant biting
a juicy lemon slice for the first time
life and all
its scandalous craziness rushing
into a hilarious expression
that seems to say,
this is life I'll
buy it

Aphrodite's halo
cast in stone
a marble Jar broken
mystical tokens
like Jimmy's guitar
essence of the soul
have spoken.

So you may Come or you Can go
the Choice is yours not the snow's.

On my windowsill,
of that indigo night
you took me,
and I haven't
been the same since.

Something about you
makes me want to
be a better man.
I've grown wings,
so I take to the sky.