Some playful shrimps clean the octolord's suction cups. One of their antennae buzzes a message up one of his orange tentacles and registers in the Octolord's mind: the silly sun is playing! Another shrimp: what's that sun up to now? The Octolord opened his mighty eyehole lids. The sun! What's...
NOTHING

I heard the neighbor-lady through the wall, she said,
"... yes, mhm ... you don't have to ask me questions ...."
Getting hot, perspiring from the shirt, I hate
the itchiness and lifted up my shirt, There!
" ... I have to go ... I'll leave the door unlocked ...."
Then heard a shuffle, sheets and door hinges,
then maybe her step down the hallway.
An unlatched! apartment--I've coveted less--
this and all the pomp, pills, and condoms I've stole,
oh I was up already, zipped myself away,
making the way between diaries and ***** plates,
oh already up opening my door--you guessed?

The hallway was empty; I went right
and door 54, was it this? I put my weight
to it, fogged the eyehole with my breath.
Hand to the **** I turned and it opened.
Augh! The managers who've stopped me,
once I was even tackled by a security guard,
was handcuffed, was once called "heartless"--
if only every door opened like this.

I was shirtless still, in fact, my hand strayed
was raised to my breast and I kneaded
the skin and tugged the hair: I entered.
It was dark and I feared the honesty of light.
I had a step to the next and her kitchen
came upon me, I saw the shadows of her home.
I wandered further as if walking an antiverse;
someone else the same template.
I wanted to find where I lived in her home,
where I sat and heard her often call,
where I imagined she curled phone cords
or refused to snore now matter how hard
I pressed my ears to the wall.
This is it? This is her bedroom,
adjunct to mine, a wall to separate--
she sleeps here.
I've got breathlessness and my hand is groping.
Does she have a closet or dresser? I will see.
She calls a boy by name, is he coming?
When is he? Can I hide here, see him?
oh soon. I'll know too soon, too.

I open the door. And she is staring back.
Her hand against the wall, the spot,
where I rock my body awake from
nightmares. To reach through the
plaster and steal the socks. It was a,
a, a great shame to be so looked upon
so, an inanimate gaze like a mirror's
that maybe can't see me, dunno.
I want to move further, can't.
Can't say anything either.

Before,
I had
only
known
flaws
alone,
unaware
of the
clean,
aerial
grace
hidden
from
my
eyes,
I wore
these
blindfolds
within
the veiled
petals,
a voice
whispered,
“open your
heart”,
the words
came to me
In a dream,
I opened the
pages, and
began to
write every
little note
of my
memories
when
people
spoke of
softness
to me,
as the
rising
sun
of the
ocean,
the flower
of unseen
beauty
slowly
began
to open,
a man
emerges
from the
desert,
seeking
the ocean
of love,
I, the woman
appear to him
In a vision,
"you seek
the rain
and the
rain seeks
you",
the desert
parted
the depths
of the mist
whispering,
“why do
you wait,
and see
yourself
through
a eyehole,
when you
are the
thousands
of falling
stars
beyond?"
the petals
fall from
the heavens,
my hands
let the
pages close,
I am the artist,
and my heart
is a canvas
where I
paint the
masterpiece
of love

The doorbell rang at an unearthly hour
This was one of those things bizzare
He looked through the eyehole groggily
Only to find his love, nervous and scared
His stomach knotted as he prepared
To hear some troubled news foggily.

Her face was glowing with a celestial charm
Despite the situation she was unusually calm
Stepping in, she seemed undecided for a while
He held his breath for her to disclose
But her expression for infinity froze
Into a beautiful, angelic smile.

Despite her composed demeanor, he felt something amiss
But she seemed comforted in a heavenly bliss
Finally he relented to her tranquility contagious
They spoke to their hearts content till dawn
She subtly led him to bed, signaling a yawn
Where he finally drowned into several dreams delirious.

Waking up he remembered the night's events with a thrill
He looked for her throughout the house until
His eyes fell on the newspaper slid through the door
The headlines showed a fatal accident, the previous night
With her photo in plain sight
Silently he collapsed to the floor.

i am a hoarder of memories and monuments,
and lately i'm beginning to discover
i do the same with dreams

when i lay my head on the pillow at night
and enter the fitful in between
i often have 7 or 8 drifting through,
and the same affliction seems
to follow throughout my walking daze

i've always operated under the notion
that you're supposed to follow your dreams,
but the problem is this seems to ignite
a series of battles within that i like to
call the "this or thats"

to dive head first into this or that,
to give myself fully to this or that,
to let my passions lay with this or that,
this or that, this or that, THIS OR THAT

i wish that i had a telescope in my hands,
i would take it and shove it right into
the very center of my soul,
and i would lean forward and peek through
that eyehole and see the universe within,
after all,

we are all the moon and the stars

you see, i've lived a life so long in fear,
hands clasped over eyelids regardless
of whether the lights are turned on or off,
and now i must learn to pry each fingertip
loose, and with each digit dislodged
comes a lesson learned

i am proud to announce that with the
first came,

i am the moon and the stars