And then
I said,
"All my poetry
is not
fictional"
putting all
these short
little bursts
of inspiration
in a different
perspective

i have seen the shadows move
i have held hands with
the monster hiding under my bed
i cannot tell you its name,
only that it whispers in my ear
seconds before i sleep

i have heard the moon sigh
i have let its crescent mouth
laugh at my tears as i watch
silver clouds stream lazily
and a sole distant yellow star
blinks once, twice before it leaves

i have touched the velvet hide of the night
it is true, the world sits on the back
of a quick black cat and she runs
across time, never quite catching
the mouse she’s been chasing
for a while or forever

Tank running empty
Indifference feels like ice
Not much left to give

Trying to teach you that can't is a broken spell,
a collection of words smothered in a fist,
deprived of touching can, before its magic had its knell,

The progenitors of these phrases drown in its graces,
they become the it of their own undoing,
husband and wife to guttural utterances,

Cloaked is the mirror with a window on full display,
smiling through your reflection, praying through convection,
seeking the angel's wings buried in the ground,

It's all dirt beneath their lips,
give them a spear they fancy it a fork,
a hook for their purposes,

There is no can't besides what is in there eyes,

There is no can't and above the bird flies,

There is no can't and here we find ourselves in our minds,

The law to them is of designs,
the life is what they inscribe,
there is no can't, but they can't.

I like the word preternatural
It's like a bridge between
The achievable
And the functional impossible
What we all might do
Versus some Hellraiser ****
The step that says
I can't believe
You got away with it.

I thought we would be done by now.

But I keep finding more of you
between the lines
and more of me
between the letters.

You are my tangerine,
Brimming bitter-sour
Across the wretched, dusty room.

And you brought me
An orange touch of sun
Glitter glowing on my skin.

To wake wide in the morning,
Curtain dances with fresh air
Into my smoker's lungs.

Even to my deathbed remains
The scene of you that will
Leave me between the walls

Of longing and regret.
And to my morning sunlight,
I will never become better.

I say to you, my tangerine,
You are my very will to live,
And to die, if I cannot save you.