impeccable artwork
splayed red anger
diffused dangerously
imminent explosion

take down your temper
ice it in silence
spread change
draw conclusions
inherent haste

find tranquility
in people places
abstract soliloquy
ethereal furnace

split skin  burnt moments
wanderer waking
in a strange place

stars foretell
insipid futures
we are destined
for another ice age?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11770244-zodiac-misfired.....-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.DX0­ajG0s.dpuf

I'm trapped in her memory
Like a hamster
Still spinning the wheel,
Every step
Digging into my feet
Like every second
Consumes time
Oxygen In a fire
Slowly being depleted,
But I'm still going
Thinking I'll escape somehow
But the familiar squeak
At every full turn
Snaps me back
A misfired rubber band
And the sting
Startles me awake
Like I'm still on the same bus
And I'm never going to arrive
At my destination,
Every instance I catch my breath
I release my will
To be freed,
Her love like a carrot
Just within reach
Eternally...

APAD13 - 144  © okpoet

You are as pretty as a moon-****

The moon
so heavy inside
Almost solid
Crashed into the Earth during its formation
Taking bits of the Earth with it

Then the Earth made oceans
And sky
Birthed life from the places inside of itself
So much color and movement
It did not need the sun for beauty
The Earth is even beautiful in the dark

And the moon
The moon watched
Spun full rotation
Keeping its face always looking directly at its skies


The moon cratered like acne
Scarred like someone without an atmosphere

Battered and beat up
But every crash
The moon did not let parts of itself go
There is no room for more moons here

And occasionally
With the calm cold rumble
Moonquake shiver
Shakes dust from its back
The sunlight stolen into white shimmer
Stars way too close to be real

Looks like the ******
Of a firework show
Only every cannon misfired but yours

The whole world was watching

And everyone said
What
was that?

What was that?

You are as pretty as a moon-****

I'm paying
for the careless laughs
I cast
at my poor mother in the past
when she would cringe
and turn away
as we sought edges
to enhance our play.
High trees and rooftops
cliffside walks -
whatever would extend the view
beyond the grim grey
granite grip we knew.
The humour lay
in knowing we were safe,
that these short frissons
were a break
between long stretches
of mundane and easy comfort,
free from pain.
Perhaps, we thought,
it does her good to gasp and shudder,
shout and blame -
she knows
that nothing's gained by shouting "Not too close!"
That just extends the game.
And then we're home
and she, once more, is sane.

That un-won wisdom
taunts me now.
The thought that fear was rare, somehow
that each new feat
of daring was a treat
the spice and colour
in a mother's life
which otherwise was dull.

Then, suddenly, my children,
you appear
and now I fear
that everything's
a crumbling clifftop
a wind-bent,
beetle-brittle branch
that you are twisted
in the fickle hands of chance
Your precious whims
your pale, glass-fragile skins
are buffeted by everything.
All ice is thin -
the wolves are real
it was not just the wind.

And even here
upon the edge of morning
misfired wires
inside your precious head
could make a storm-tossed life-raft
of your cozy bed
I stand beside you, out of reach
though long prepared
to meet the reason I am scared.
You curl and shrink
turn glassy eyes towards the wall

while I await the blow
that, thank God, doesn't fall,
this time
my youthful self
has found a cliff to climb
above a rocky beach
and cackles
at his mother's panicked call.

I need to find new ways to express
the same way I've felt year after year.
Unique combinations of perfect poetry
that somehow convey exactly what I go through on a day to day basis.

This is me once again trying to shoot that target,
even if I never get the chance to yell bullseye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I miss the sparks we had in every moment together, the ones that ignited our love to burn ferociously blue, not a gentle red.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

That was great but I think I missed, I'll give it another try.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is no remedy to prescribe for this disease of a life you left me lost in. All I can hope for now is that these words navigate their way onto your screen.

I design maps in every poem I jot down, with the illusion that someday you WILL find the path back to us.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

No... that one was accurate, but I'll try to be more precise.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I falsify myself anytime someone looks at me by wearing a mask that I'm not sure I can ever take off.

I don't have the courage to do that, because there's not a right way to explain how such permenant blemishes didn't start off as birthmarks.  They don't even look like scars, but rather lesions where you chose to purposely poison every inch of my being.   

My only method of eradicating you from my body was to turn my emotional pen and ink into something that I'm not embarrased to show the world.

My tattoos are etched so that I can finally decide what I look like on the outside, the person I saw myself becoming before I met you. Although, even these painful shades I continue forcing myself to endure won't hide the knowledge I am left blinded by.
 
We both know the real ones were engraved a long time ago in spaces so buried, so bottomless that not even the busiest gravedigger could stumble upon them.

- - - - - - - - - -

That felt like a closer hit.

Next time I decide to load my handgun I'll make sure to take a deep breath and focus, maybe then can I actually shoot the center of these criminal emotions that ****** me time and time again.

I try to avoid the invasion of screams that bounce
towards me from wall to wall like loud angry
ghosts jumping on trampolines with rusty springs.

A stolen fan hums by the door of my childhood room to
create an addictive mechanical barrier of sound that is
haunted with the impatient voices of a static future.  

Quietly trapped in a dismal pile of broken wood where
brief escapes provide a hit of beautifully brutal knowledge.
Only to repeatedly return to this stagnant town.

Attempt to remain lost in the glow of this virtual reality.
Machines keep me connected at a distance so now I can
embrace the meaningless solitary moments with friends.

In this time of repair these lives have forever misfired as I
wait for that silence from hell that comes after the sun
evaporates the rivers dry.  It's almost time to leave.

i could go to the courtyard, if i wanted to.
i won't, but i'll pretend to, so i get the heady rush of possibility.
but i never told you why i love the smell of rain and you never told me why you love like rain
i guess we're even,
i guess we can't rely on karma to get by.
i think you should know that i love you, or used to love you, or will love you
i think you should know about the incisions. three over your heart and around it
and, and darling, is it too late to tell you about the fireplace? i hope not.
it's ashy and unused. we make a fine pair
you can be the puppeteer, if you want
i your perfect marionette (pale and pretty,
pearls at my throat)
your mind is racing. do you remember the cave, princess?
sorry, i know, you hate it when i call you that.
do you remember the blood on my hands? do you remember tipping my chin up, drinking it in
first the blood and then me
it was fast, but i understand. self control is a luxury
we can't all afford to be precise.
but, sweetheart, you misfired, didn't you? or didn't fire at all, meant to fire but forgot.
you don't like hospitals. you don't like orders and you don't like order
i know this. we both do.
(i know why you sit the way you do, back ramrod straight.
you're afraid of falling.)
you're afraid of your reflection
you ask me to paint you and when i'm finished
you bite your lip. "you look like your
father," i lie through my teeth
you couldn't be more different. i love this about you.
you listen to the same three albums on repeat
when i get tired of hearing them i ask you, measured
to please turn the volume down.
you turn it up,
smiling like you know a secret that i don't.
i stop asking you for things. it's okay,
this is normal.
you stopped answering me a long time ago, anyway.
when i turn to look at you, your fair hands are stained red. i do not breathe.
we stay like this, quiet and unsure
you filling the silence for me.
if you do love me, it's not in the way that everyone talks about
it's a hurricane love. this is not like breathing
it's like drowning
but you taught me to swim twelve years ago in a kiddie pool in the backyard
and i know i will never leave you. my strings are clutched too tight in your fists.
i move around but not beyond you. this is how it has always been.
when you kiss me, i taste metal on your tongue.
my mouth comes away red and i do not care
loving you is a blood sport anyway.
i will fold into you, become a bullet,
cry myself hoarse.
this is the only way i can be close to you.
i could go into the courtyard, if i wanted to, but you're there
and i don't want you to know about me.

It's fifteen years
since I let Jack fall.
I am unforgiven
by a wife who wasn't there,
who didn't see what happened
and who will never understand.

And nor will I, of course.
That slow-motion slip
from crested cliff to vanishing
replays before my desperate eyes
each night,
and each night I am as frozen
as on that wretched day.
A harmless walk gone awry
and a family forever shattered.

He was within my reach.
Another day I would have caught him,
effortlessly.
Another day I would have walked cliffside,
keeping him to the thrift-speckled verge,
soft and safe.
Another day we would have walked a woodland trail instead.

I don't know why that day
was the day I was distracted,
the day my reflex failed me.
I don't know why my brain misfired,
conscious enough to watch in horror
but not to propel me forward.
Sometimes we catch the cup as it topples,
sometimes we watch it spill to the floor.
Moments of blissful skill
followed by moments of dumb helplessness.

It was no cup that fell that day.

To her, though, there is no general flaw.
There is no explanation in biology,
no hormone or synapse to be blamed.
There is only me.  Her husband.
Jack's father.

There are no two sides to my coin, now.
There is only the man who let him fall.
She stays: she is dutiful.
But I could catch every falling cup,
remember to lock every door,
make never another mistake,
and he will still be dead
because his father was a careless man.

Ten years before Jack fell,
I,
a cautious man, untutored in love,
saw a beautiful girl
and inexplicably threw caution to the wind.
Another day I would have turned aside.
Another day I would have stammered my invitation,
lost my nerve.
But for that mysterious moment
There would have been no Jack,
and we would never have experienced
a limitless, all consuming love
which all the pain in the universe
can never staunch
or dim.

Tis the season to be dying
Not too jolly are the lines I'm writing
The hymns mimic my weeping soul
A tune strung with a broken bow

Frail lullabies drenched in sorrow
Wilting with the fading greens
We inhale clouds of dusty air
Cold and fragile as my spine

Tingling numbness in my heart
Like frost bites from within
The finale of an orchestra
An epilogue of sorts

Wintry hails in my disturbed mind
Raining like misfired bullets
From a shoddy gun
Burning letters into my hands

The poetry I craft not pretty
Lacking tales of sugarcoated reality
Mostly **** and somewhat edgy
Infused with truth and too much realitys

It was nice finally hearing your voice again

The anticipation like staring down the barrel of a gun

Only to hear it jam

It is nice to know you are not some big bang

So that I may finally lay my weapons down

This shield was so heavy from the weight of your motion

My legs grew tired from keeping me faced in your direction

They spelled dizzy

In dirt brown cursive

The grooves I wore into the pavement

The siren’s song singing so heavy

Working the cotton

Pulling it lose

You are not some siren song

Or a stampede when I put my ear to the ground

You are breath and bone

And break

as easily as I do

So let me learn to regret your whisper

Teaching my tongue

The taste of the secret Braille

On your teeth

Breaking my pattern like dancing

With all 4 of our left feet

The distance it takes your voice to travel

Thins out the shape of your longing

I know you

I know you

Like the nights where I thought I could hold you

But then realized my arms

Could never meet the circumference of your pedestal

Until you taught me to hammer

Dull chisel tip to your armor

I’ve finally lain my weapons down

After your voice misfired I love you

You can see my scars

Like a runway sash

From the top of my shoulder

Down to the opposite hip

They say

This Was Supposed to be Beautiful

And let me tell you again

That shield

It was so heavy

Planets align in the black of the emptiness before I drive back sixty miles an hour into the mouth of the storm to face the rain on my own terms
My sister's voice cracks the radio static in a haunting southern ballad as my brother's drunken affections get the best of him again
He takes his penance where it is due and so must I
And if this be thy will then I go before history with inkwell lips and kiss the lines of our memory onto the grayed out page,
I kneel at the feet of a misused culture and offer my humbled blood as sacrifice - take me for your poet and I shall serve my sentence in full
From the scraps of suicide notes I will cut a deeper manifest, and I'll be honest about it this time,
Of the rise and relapse let me preach candid and cutting, of the love and the rage let me speak grateful and true,
Give me the bent form and let me keep it free, give me the blessed spirit and let it keep me warm
Give me the final movement and let it **** me, as I know it will someday
Keep a locket of my ashes for luck,
And do with the rest as you please
I am humble servant to the human soul,
Just let me rest when I am done
And allow me this, a humble prayer-
Blessed be the madmen, deformed seekers for a deformed truth,
Holy Crosen Holy Williams Holy King Holy as the bughouse patron saint on a throne soaked in red wine and deep rooted hatred
as the blondehairedredblooded fury of fire made flesh
as the ***** haired waste inhaling spirits by the dozen
Watching the slow death of the mind in star spangled entropy, as a nation weeps its forgotten angels
Serotonin drought to misfired synapse meltdown
To end times propaganda on the evening news
Wake the dead in the streets and do not ask them for mercy
Blessed be the wicked, castraters of moralities grown weak,
Holy Creager Holy Dahmer Holy Gacy Holy as the evil woken in the black soul of the tyrant
as the unmemorialized graves of the systematic slaughterhouse
as the twentyfourhourtwentyfourhourtwentyfourhour news coverage seven days a week year ******* round
Burning the ghettos and taking to the airwaves with implacable outrage at the stylized fall of the West, The South cannot even lift its arms up to hold a weapon let alone rise again

Blessed be the fire with nowhere to burn but within
Blessed be the prophets powerless in their pulpits, and you may count my shaken voice among the paralyzed
Blessed be the ****** engineers of this brutal destiny -
This is all we know to do,
May we do the best we can with it
Amen

Standing on the ledge
Ready to fall
Thoughts of her
Pursuit across
Open channels
We were meant to be
As the old saying
Somehow
I mistaken everything
A fool
Whose life was misfired?
By a sure promise
She grace me in a manner
That seems special
Way beyond my childhood days
An adolescent
Caught in a web of shame
She embarrass me
In front of many associates
Trapped
Now I must contend
A love
With no motive
To intertwine
Dumbfounded
Crowds gathering to see
This unheraled act
Splat!!!!
Another soul
Given to the devil

I count down
Days on the calendar,
Each it's own reminder;
Rows of red X's march
Across April like
You must march each morning.

The possibility hangs
Like a cartoon piano overhead,
Waiting to plummet down
With its true crushing force.
Hear the clang of
Misfired keys,

And there will be no more
Wildflowers pressed,
Sent away in sealed packages
Alongside smiling photos
And handwritten postcards
Entailing sentiments that only offer

Temporary comfort.
There is no security
In the promise of return
When it's told from lips
That have lied this before;
No solace in hands

That deliver folded flags
To crying former wives
Who prayed like I do;
No hope in eyes
That have seen unspeakable,
In headlines shouting nightmares.

I am more than what the world sees,
More than just the sum of my parts,
I am composed of half-hearted dreams,
and built by misfired starts.

I am more than what you might hear,
If you listen close in the hall,
Rumours have teeth and words can bite,
But they dont really matter at all.

I am more than my mistakes,
More than choices I've made in the past,
The clock just threw on running shoes,
And thats why time flies by so fast.

I am more than imperfections,
Im worth more than all my flaws,
You can try and change the way i am,
But i wont put my life on pause.

I am more than a person,
Im someone worth fighting for,
Im everything I want to be,
I couldnt ask for more.

Pain unearned but still deserved
Served up as dessert
By her earthier friends
Laughing at her crying back
As she stumbles blindly home.

Ignorance is a crime
And sweet little puppies die all the time
But what makes them smile for a moment
Places her in confoundment
So sweet and remorseful
She takes her own life.

Bullies on the steps
Bullies on the curb
******* punks on the bus
Unexplained learning curves.

People are animals
Who can do better
If they want and are able
And not just something in the middle.

I wish she'd known me
Before she knew you
I can see you from miles away
She never understood public schools.

She needed an honest education
Never the misfired humiliation
But the streets run with rats
A fact we'll never get past.

Is social equality such an uneven street
That the fanciest of shoes might stumble
And the beasts ferociously feed?

A wake and a vigil
Candles burned for as long as boredom can stand
School bells ring
And it's business as usual.

Your eyes are the colour of the starry night sky; I close my eyes watching the
Fireworks of phosphenes
And in my vision I see your cold blue stare: warm, friendly, loving.
Too warm, too friendly, too loving.
My hands reached forth meeting a blistering nothing.
Our palms are two halves meant to be one, fingers intertwined and locked
Yet locked is your heart to which a key I have not.

My heart raced while watching you from afar
A spark ignited and soared into the black sky.
Exploding, it lit up the dark night and showered me with your warmth and fire
One I enveloped and was blinded by; I could not see the light
Fade into the stark starless nothingness
Instead, all I saw was you (and the life I wanted with you)

Countless, fruitless attempts of baring my soul to you made me question
Perhaps Cupid misfired, made me askew, and still I yearn for you.
I am afraid, you know. Yet, a sliver of light slipped between the crack of the closet door
Do I grasp it or do I leave the light be?
(laughs) Forgive me. To be or not to be, wasn't the crux, was it?

Staring at you from across the room, I've come to realize
Hard truths never fail to fall even the strongest—you only have eyes for Others
Cause after all, norms are meant to be adhered to
And the sky is never always a clear blue. Fireworks don't last forever,
Do they?
In the darkness I stand watching them fade. I clutch at my heart, fire ablaze. It shall stay ablaze

For all eternity.

Am I depressed?

Or am I just the reflection of everyone else.

Feeling as though I've just lost the meaning to it all. A cavity like I had it all grasped so tight and yet... Here I am again in this sludgy bucket of depressed feelings.

It's a hopeless feeling. One like I just lost my sense of purpose. But the most dulling of all is the epiphany that you never had any to start.

It's almost enough to drive a new spark like a drained battery. A momentum, a motivation but only momentarily.

What is it I'm doing here on earth? Where am I heading? Is it enough to just make a goal; a plan to be somewhere. Or maybe just scraping through university. What is it that will without a doubt fill me with life long satisfaction.

Is there anything? Anyone?

I worry about where we are going as people. How we're all just a lost bunch of misfired projectiles. Even those that miraculously slide out of the barrel and experience the updrafts of life always find dirt.

We are just stimulating the illusion of freedom. Inside the prison of each of our own making.

Crashing before me, hysteria grows, gripping me tightly, deep in its throes.
Ripping and gnashing, its teeth shining white, killing my sanity, swift with one bight.
Splitting apart, my seams at each stitch, something misfired, must be a glitch.
Faster, still growing, this hysteria prides itself for knowing the  insanity it guides.

Was I told this to comfort, to quiet or placate or pacify me, was I told this to soften, to butter me up, or just shut me out?
Why do I feel like a cats toy, your amusement when boredom sets in?
Why did you say those things you said, those  things I have so long wanted to hear since discovering this new side of myself.
Since being able to show this side of myself. Since being able to be open and honest with myself. And isnt that what everyone tells everyone, whenever someone is dealing with what I am going through, what we are going through? Dont they always say "you have to be honest with yourself"?
Well this is me being honest with me. I aint tryin to hide how I feel inside, about what I read and this aint in my head, cause I saw what I saw in your eyes what was in your head when I read what you said. You said to me, my one and only you want me to be, my slave, your Master you want for me.
Why did you, would you, how could you say that if you didnt mean it?
Why did I, would I, how could I feel that if I didnt mean it?
Because felt it profound, the words all around, in my head the things that you said, that reaction to the  words that I read. It took my breath away, faint felt I, to be sure.
And now Im chewed up and spit out. I get to have a new reaction to what my eyes were given to glean. This aint putting my hysteria at bay, I feel this, this blur, a smudge of yesterday.

Sanity slipping quickly away, for fear of loosing, I can not stay.
Hear I have, things I never wanted to know.
Now Im thinking clear. I guess I should just go.
Didnt think it mattered, this hysteria scattered . I just wish I knew, How the **** do I feel according to you.
This is not normal, these hysterics I sheath, holding so tightly I can not breath.
Twisting and churning, deep down inside, nor running away from the feelings I hide.
I so enjoy being toyed with, its so fun for you. These things running around these things that I see.
I got everything told me completely twisted up, cause it didnt mean **** thing you silly pup.
I just let out the thing that I hid and wish I didnt feel what I did.
Now I guess Im supposed to pretend, I felt nothing from what was said in the end.

Her mouth
Enveloped me
Saturated this intimate glow
Inside of me
Touched every corner
Traced the lines
That I let no one see

Her mouth kissed
The bruised
Bandaged the wires
Defused the misfired

Her lips
I stare
For hours

She was the missing piece

When I do meet the gun that will not fire,
I cross the trigger that has yet to rest.
My heart yearns for the ear of a liar,
a dark cipher and gnawed gold in his breast,
as fingers ache for the truth in his eye,
gilded guiles, a world he keeps private.
In a dream he shot me sweet as a sigh
with a touch fatal as any bullet,
but dreams melt like red and blue to purple,
creating a world of passion and pain --
he is a chained ankle and an angel,
a cold-shouldered knave and soft summer rain,
     a night vision of hope and black regret:
     a misfired gun I will not forget.

Synapses roll off the tongue,
Stutter and glitch
Stut-t-t-ter and glitch
Repeat....Re...p-p-peat
Misfired.
You a broken doll
With your bright brilliance.

Talk not of people how very sane;
They tear and burn, they droop inflame
Figure not how soon, they drift away
They were not yours, they go astray
How fine the fickle minded brain !
It tickles, turns and rocks and rains
Inferring merely in whims and charms
Reckoning unknowing at a single disarm
Misfired flames that bring to ruins
The gentle laughter into heckled fumes
Fuming rage that never could ****
Yet, had enough to sincerely reveal
Displaced prejudice or hurtful losses
Not the flower, that I knew apostle
Sincere my wishes, apologies true
I beg, conclude and give in to you

Today I am drawn to Picasso's blue period.
looking for beach-side tragedies in grey fog,
seeing backs where I should see faces.
Everything is askew, backwards, sad.
There is no reason, just rhythm, a muffled drumbeat reminder:
You don't belong here.

You were never whole and don't know what that's like.
Where you are marching,
something at the edge pulls you toward
something else
and that's why you chase it.

My father says we are all part of the same hand.
The distance is nothing.
He pulls his fingertips together, pads kissing the tip of the thumb.
Separateness is an illusion, he says.
It can disappear in an instant.

I am the missing finger
the one lost in a thresher or blown off by a misfired gun.
There isn't even bleeding anymore.
I'm the itching ghost where the finger used to be.
What can you do?
Piece together a life, as if it matters.
Put one foot in front of the other.
March, march, march
Until the moment it slips.

Soften the focus, dim the lights
and maybe you're not such a ghost anymore.
It's that other life, the one on the other side,
and all you have to do is fall.

Ha No body Cares. Just sayin. It's all about you. Take it or leave it fool flushed *****... If they bring you down, leave'um, if they bring you up conceive them.. but move on. Stagnace, is debilitating...just branch out and grow. You wanna stay the same fine, peace be with your soul. I'm getting mine fast or slow. Each person I meet plays an important roll. I honor that because I love me and whatever I attract  or detest says something.. speaks volume in this life of misfired garbage. I'm here and now. I want the simple finer things. But your all hung up on these deformed ideals...getting wasted away like zombies.. Is it Armageddon? The end of the world where you choose to eat the shinny fruit, cause your all *******. Don't wanna get your hands ***** so you eat of a mans filthy riches.. and in the parameters of the English language I've got run in sentences... And whatever else stumps you from the truth. **** structure **** taught belief.. **** ***** for ***** sake.. forget word and spoken reason. Words are discrimination. Words can't even touch true evolution. But we all try so hard to make them work... And I'm done you silly *** folk. I stay silent and a loaf since the rest of the word is just living to stay a float.

POST

Nothing I can say
If you complain
I came all the way
Say you this
I am trying my luck
Despite my trials
Which are misfired
A magical spell
Which has 1 4 and 3 (143)
I wouldn't say it is best
Proposal ever
I Love You
Dear
And now I am free
Holding this line
From few years
These days I felt like
Sitting on a land mine
And now I am set free
Waiting for your reply

I did not engineer

Nor attempt to construct

The human soul

No

Not I



The mere idea seemed frivolous

Damnably gelatinous and

Above all else

Impossible to comprehend

How silly it might turn out

Indeed I thought this



I did attempt however

To make a spicy jam

One evening at the

End of Winter I believe

Lovely time

When this,

What I consider the beginning of a debacle,

Began



I threw together

Bits, and things, and twigs,

And professional spices,

And Illicit words, and

Brown sugar,

And old tea,

And harmless fun

And Puppy Dog Tails,

And I’m allergic to snails,

And something that I called Steve



It could have been Tom

But it looked like a Steve to me

Despite its arguments that it was

A Barbra through and through



I stirred and fiddled and sang

To this black and thin glop

I indeed attempted to call

A spiced jam concoction

That was tap-dancing in circles

On my stovetop without permission



When, no I know, the usual happened

I became bored

Yes

Yes Indeed I did

Bored

Thoroughly

Bored

Bored

Bored



Where was I?

Oh yes.

Bored



Bored of this

Damnable,

Jammable,

Fred Astaire

Not spicy jam



So I left what would become

The self-engineering diluent,

Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing

That would become the human soul

On the back burner  

While I cooked some pasta instead



I prefer pasta

It is delicious

Not like that mistake of mine

It continued to be a mistake of mine

It was not pasta,

It was not spiced jam,

And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin

Whoops



For a year

I believe

It could have been a week

A very long and tiring week

Or seven years

When I heard the back burning

Singing back to me

About apples with a crisp bite

About fireworks that misfired

About drug needles used to sew together sanity

Was this too spicy?



With its two voices of

Hospital dust

And

Captive applause



Oh my,

This couldn't possibly

Taste good

I believe whatever this has

Festered into without

Adult supervision,

I believe it might be beginning to turn

Like milk and wine



I bottled it in a wooden bottle

And left it on the stoop of an orphanage

To find a good home

I wonder if this not spiced jam

Has found a good home

Last I heard

They all went from it to They

And attended Engineering School.