exhalations within the confines of my keratin flavour
faded red, no match for your deep mahogany
i'm red. you're brown.
we should get together and have one little, two little, three little
indians.
i digress. time gets fast, everything gets slow.
we just started from a different point of view.
there's little honesty in lying between the lines.
so give me time, or stop sitting there.asking your watch the time.
if i read anymore plath i'll never be able to string more than
one cohesive sentence together.
or ever one coherent phrase. give me a sign. time is of the essence.
an hour here. a few there. not nearly enough to say what's in fine print.
my nuerons are fine printing too much for comprehension.
it's hard to read it without bifocals.

Patterns in the leaf jacket,
Nature plays Jackyl and Hyde with the weather.
I wouldn't mind if light didn't light me like a sun-candle, distant star to others, and dark didn't mean I didn't mind death.
Preferred it, even.
Somewhere in the Dubai of the modern mind, the good still dwells,
And so does an earthy spirit.

I fell in love with a girl who holds me when I'm  crumble-glass and when I'm rock,
No image institutes the angel in her coronary thump,
Poised to be the psychic reading cards inside my nuerons,
The UVic hoodie she's draped in is what I'd like to see her wear nothing but
On a warm Northwest beach,
And more than anyone she is a dream come true
I just hope I have the strength to believe
That dreams really do come true.

As of late I've been dead, but she woke me with a start
Translated into poems
I would usually never read,
Let alone write with the confidence of an overdose gone fixed.

your brain is a book
waiting to be opened
most of us will just get into the intro
but continue reading
and you'll find yourself
flipping pages that were once unread
your head will become your escape
and the world will become your playground
the miracle of life
is yet to be touched
and yes it can be touched
if you just shut up
and listen
open the book
the ******
is not in death
but in life
ride the wave
let your nuerons attack the voice
of your not good enough or smart enough
your better then your brain even knows
fingers toes
wiggling
brain
shooting thoughts and ideas into your mouth
speak
dont swallow your words
because those thoughts
could save us all

Tearing apart your room, she fervently searches for memories, laid bare
on pages; of laughs crystallised over molten carbon and unspoken words breathed on sages.

Clasping her hands, I fumble
to help, pondering over the drizzling
helplessness down her cheeks, as you sit
on that rocking chair, wondering
who is she.

I stroke your daughter's back, while    
you peacefully swim in apostasy.
The piquant river of syllables streaming
from your mouth, a far distant fantasy.

Your nuerons , capable of discoveries
and tragedies, now trapped between tangles and plaques , as you observe
blank eyed, your daughter, a woman following your track. Your failing
nerves, dragging you farther back than
you would ever go, to distant memories, decades old.

Your daughter's memories expunged
from your brain and your age too. And
as you grow tired of the two women, blubbering on the floor, you walk away, whispering, "Where's Dandelion?" , trying to find your wife, who passed twelve years ago.

But catching a glimpse in the mirror,
of a face you can't remember, I see
you stand horrified to find laugh lines
and wrinkles, tracing stories that now daunt your heart, as it thumps faster to remember who you even are.

yesterday i chose love
but then it swung.

emerging
from
the throat
of grided
anthropos,

i found

a view
distant.

it skipped
over waters which
merely glinted
at first,

but then i
looked
out of
the corner
of my eye and

the water
swam

in the harbor.
it carved
out

a kind of
geometry; i felt
short little
liquid daggers
stop these
hard eyes:

sea birds
glide and
dip along
air currents, making
roundabout
hemispherics
and landing in the water
with this
grace that
was like
accurate
solemn
play; then they

would dive deep
to fish (?) i counted
46 seconds for one;
62 for another. i wondered
if they got anything,
or if they were just
trying to see how
far down
they could go..

the breeze
was cooled.
it felt so
right. and i
could feel - i mean -
actually ******* feel. and
the nuerons on
my mouth
spoke to
my head.

but then my
parabola
dropped and

retraced its
steps back
to the grids
of them,
the cut slab
of have.

ppl not
walking but
more like
falling on their
legs. feet rooting or
cutting deep into brick,
staring at thine
rectangle pocket entity,
vectoring
destinations
efficient, dressed
in their conquerer’s best,
layered up,
shiny and
brand new. it was

as if
their father’s
father’s
sword had
undergone mitotic
division and
whetted the face to

the
nines.

i could
smell
their fate.

it was
then that

i heard the
saprophytes
that will
eat me
call my
other name; the one
that i have long
shut-up in a box whose
label is unintelligible

i then
ate pizza
with
cheese and
pepperoni,
making
my
bed
for them