The wind slowly, but swiftly swaying
Against the petals of the pale lilac flower,
Beautiful yet fragile, only praying
For the storm to pass over the tall towers
Of the frightening city.
Its stem crawling closer and closer to its breaking point
As the water flows towards the river's edge; pity
On the sun's glory and shine. Disjointing
The flower's yellow belly from its furrowing leaves
As its life withers away, taken from the nature of thieves.

Thoughts
of you
twist
and
turn
like
the knife
in my
heart
disjointing
every
part
of
me

Hot and cold fight
for control
Neither winning
(for very long at least)
And that disjointing feeling
I have still
is in the forefront of my mind
I feel so less like normal and
wondering why my Head would
do This to me

disjointeddisjointeddisjointeddisjointed

A neat disjointing:

Frost pricked by heat
melts; the rut of stone
jags at the eye no more.

A universal harmony
creates unnumbered stems:
the earth was never ******.

Condoning the green
mutability of things, he corners
baby pheasants (**** and hen calloohing in the scrub),
twists at the neck. Their eyes
pop with surprise. The good earth
will maintain this spawn gone wrong two ways.

He does not hear the clapping wings,
the hawk big with the misery of things.

~




Mars flashed like a plane coming in
brightness and rotation of color
reminded me of stock footage
nuclear tests on an atoll
      reds and oranges play in blue hues

wisps of black cloud impeded my view
and I thought about young men in trenches
love and comradery I would never know
Mars peaked back into view
      I considered Russian and Chinese prophecy

my own heartbeat became a marching army
covering the land in mist and smoke
thunderous explosions disjointing doorframes
whimpering children under dusty grey rubble
       loudspeakers reassuring danger has passed

golden curtains  move with the wind fire creates
a scorched lawn with a twisted fence
Pennsylvania Avenue potholed and transient
beyond that the ghettos smolder  
a nation bleeds life back into poisoned soil
       a lone perched eagle surveys before soaring into the dawn    /

i am who they are not
first
and foremost we know
to stay on track is not to look back
bent necks are best
for what's worst to lack
success by fact
by way of
back
tracks
as cracked as i am
standing
where i now stand
i know how my legs lag
i can hear the echoes of mockery
from the sounds made by my dragging feet
disjointing me
but the shots they fire
never miss nor fail
to ignite my flame
or tame its tame
or take me anywhere
but where i find myself now
wearing burn marks that to my flesh
are as mutating as they are
to my head
enlightening

I pick apart
the scraps
and shards
of shattered hearts.

I clean the
bleached bones,
sweep the
stained sidewalks
that ragged strangers
call home,
where they
sleep alone
or together
in whatever
good or bad
weather
they are
dealing with.

I read the words
till my red eyes
dry up and burn
with the tension
of spending
too much time
on this
disjointing
internet
system,
this connected
form of
isolation.

I fight
a lazy battle
to find the
right way
to say
something
meaningful.

It is just
spurts of dust
to connect us.
Not much
of the junk
I write
at night
is viable
or will hold up
to the light
of space and time.

But, still I write.