Joined like a limb to the bark
But sending petals up the breeze
Caught in the act but raveled ribbon with ease
Where's the red hands?
Well what's a couple less friends?
We're already upstate sipping wine
Finding time to bat each lash
Writing the numbers & counting the cash
What's a red herring?
Well why not live a life more daring?

Steel that nerve, put it on books
What's a feast without the cooks?

It’s all wanting, I only think I own these walls
So, in the end our visits are just hauntings
Left me with a wish I hadn’t met yet
Kept at bay like the signs say, “Exit”
Waiting for a ship or a slip or a chance to put fire to wick
Look at this: all wanting, no fix

That which inspires their poems, acts of love & science,
land you on a mantle melding trust and violence.
Can't tell what's worse: the karma or the trending.
Got us asking "who want what"? Which pigeon are you sending?

Force yourself to choose, as dark & honest as it gets.
She said, "I don't require you." with eyes that can't recognize regret.

Feverish like wicker man

Tough to reach like Mariana

Gorgeous, unsupportive

I would gladly follow you to slaughter

Know your water from your air,
The batted lashes from that gorgeous hair
Believe in those words & the way they fall
Trust the posture, don’t misread the sprawl

See your face in the trees on 95 east
Turn sand to glass, deep breath to a peak
All we ever want is to show ambition & will
Try to listen & grow, see the apex a thrill.

Tough talk,
if it hits the drain, bubbles just like gut rot.

Punk rock,
she was starved but survived when cut off.

Arrival of the fittest,
is that lion's growl or kitten's meow?

She of grace & grit, made a meal out of my nerve.
Said: "Goodbye's for other times,"
but I couldn't track the curve.

"Take care."
Always a taking, here or there
Take a ******, then take a wife
Take time from working to make a life
Take one you're loathed
Take a few, you strike a monster's pose

So we take take take
Some feel fear in the wake
I wait for what's worth taking
I wait, contemplate the shaking

What's in the cut, on the cusp?
She's like me and I’ve spied her
They'd let the keys rust
Change the locks, burn the home
He feels the itch, gathers the sticks
She kills the lights & hunts on her own

Awaken these old bones, remember who you've been
There's love, pain, poems to taste, to greet and dismiss
She says she knows I call them 'songs'
I know she calls them 'dregs'
And we can't go on for long,
as these lungs will not grow legs.

Turn the pages, hope it gives you space
They smell the anger & they love the taste
We have our ideas but we can't read text or tone
Turn the pages, take the turns too fast
I know your kin & know what shakes the mast
We have our knowledge but we can't call it our own.

I don't want to hurt you,
I just want to see what's inside

Pulsing, spinning, alive as the wind
Grinning as I explore the confines

They say you move like angels;
these doors must be closed

It's not going to hurt you,
you're only exposed.

On the east end, there's a chamber
where the weak end barely
a cut beyond Ms. Short;
can you blame her?

Vigilant as hawks, there's a scent
that the crowd gawks over
on their way to pay for ******;
here the filthiest repent.

On the pavement, there's a clue
as to another payment made
by loyal patron;
we're left to wonder, who?

In Whitechapel, there's a tale
of crimson gravel split
by thick-skinned knees;
their owner has since gone stale.