Entirely year
in direness
she rolled
over then
first light
at dawn
went to
horn to
fast and
time stood
with more
ready here
in context
as abduction
is slaughter
with objection
so nigh.

I don't have recurring dreams, but... right..., my dreams... recurring themes. And, if in-them, I've a ... "love-interest?" ... they've taken many shapes. The one, and-one-and-one more, who've shown up more than once, I could cough up, cry-out-over, and name. Only three come, through the old haunts, of my odd-head's hallway, Round-and-round-and-round trip. [redact] At least here, I dated her. In real-life, as-opposed, to the annals of [page 6] more depths-delusional. Did wrong [redact]. couldn't believe she was "glad I came." Care enough, to care. She couldn't-care-less. Middle-ground, Grey-areas, and misinterpretations make my skin crawl. Excepting another-day-in-April,

[big
redact]

and maybe if I sing it better this time she'll seeeeeeeeeeeeeee... "wait, Kay, Cee, and Ell?" I've noticed too, and it's cute, but a fluke. Not some-hidden-meaning. "Got a subconscious, on me," Freud couldn't pursue.

Silly, and I didn't mean to be serious, but you're starting to get a grip-on-it. The feelings may fade, but the drip-drop flow of dreams adds to the direness of my dilemma. Alas, around when she's leaving us-all, in Natick, [page 7] I began-becoming acquainted with another-animal-lover. "Any port in the storm?" Any pill, and a razorblade. "A penchant, for an interesting existence!" Next-door, the slowly-nailed-coffin! Where people are abandoning their unloved pets! She mentions Bertrand Russell, in-the-line to buy, more jet fuel.

 "(sung)Way down in the hoooooooooooooole..."

...

Grit grinding between molars
Gnashed against the biting wind
I feel myself clamp down
Chomping at the bit to be safely home
Warming damaged toes
Upon burning ******* –
Lighting up a *** and feeling gay
Will be the way in which I celebrate my arrival
No longer supping on sand particulates
Dining gleefully on grime caught on a breeze
Nay, only sweet goose juice and fine wine
In the shape of kool-aid and burritos –
Grasping at my tattered collar
Pulling it close to my neck and chest
Red skin screaming
Chapped and irritated
Desperate for cover
Perhaps a nice toddy
And some Telly –
Visions of peace and warmth egg me on
the direness of my current situation
a catalyst for movement and action
only death by exposure
awaits me here
fated to the elements
with only a distant porch light
glowing
leading me home –

sometimes I wonder how eyes could gleam
beneath the hell I tread that I should deem
beneath the pain I feel under one's own regime
sometimes I wonder how eyes could gleam

there might be strings that I could not see
moving muscles of faces that I would guarantee
smiling, frowning, blushing creation of these strings might be
there must be strings that I can't see

the blindness of my eyes corrupting my imagination
the hardness of my soul corrupting my perception
the direness of my time corrupting my obsession
the sourness of my hope corrupting my salvation

I don’t think you realize
The direness of this.
Do you realize what you’ve done?
I am a person,
Not paper.
But you ripped me to shreds anyway.