I rise, you fall. Vice Versa, or
one of the two— either way we
both land on our feet.

The music never dies, but
while you do, I live for what I know.

Darkness, ocean;
worlds apart, yet darkness
sleeps in everything,

and you are my favourite kind.
Deep down,
the ocean but a cloud,

its thickness intensifying your
stare, and, finally, we see clearer.

Creatures at the bottom doing more
good than harm.

Specks of light, sun and moon,
dashing about, as only tiny commits
can around one's head.

A love found in death, as well as
diffusion.

Impulse collapses—
adapting,

imperfection scales a
wide set of stairs,

growing thinner in
some places.

The same, yet
everything changes,

like poetry
gone fishing first

drop of bait,
calling on concepts

other attempts at
speech

have already
made.

Pink and greys
attacking grass and dirt,

collectively, retrieving
evening sustenance.

Rolling over; up and down
they jump.
Peck, peck bing ****.

Sunscape behind four,
thin palms.

I anticipate it's colour, an easy
kind of sadness.

Shades of red present
themselves upon shadowy clouds.

I relocate, half way round the lake,
where it's less obstructed.

Above a dozen pines.
Courage dies, and I don't know why.

Tales shared of the depraved,
I keep true,

dismaying my
own sore, lossless cries.

1.
Cold weather forcing me
to sweat.

Physically uncomfortable,
inspecting brand new streets,
forging my path.


                        2.
                        Drained beyond reason, of
                        all that is tender,

                        as I drink, and drink, while
                        her call remains on hold.

Have you ever
sensed the motion

of moving elsewhere,
to return home feeling
foreign;

was it humbling
to know you've found
a better place to rest,

or did it dawn on you
that you may have

forgotten where it was
you came from?

It took some
physical searching

before arriving here
tonight;

this old childhood
location.

(One of which
I'd thought vanished
years ago.)

Now I have grown,
and the ocean seems
to have done also.

Pondering it's
darkness, in a chair

positioned upon
shore,

at the  bottom of
a set of stairs,

left behind, for me
to find, this perfect
view of loneliness.

Despite
integrity

thoughts
remain wasted;

passion
non-exhibited.

A naked
face

on a false
body,

falling
backward,

with
nothing
to

descend
upon.