Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.

Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.

It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.

Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.

Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.

So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.

What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.

The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.

No one saw.

Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.

You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.

In many different tongues, each one love's manifestations,
Some even to me unknown until the very moment,expressed,
I keep talking to you, my divine lover,out of my passion,intense
For you brimming within. Distraught a bit, feeling left in the lurch
On pouring rain and thunder storm; but you know how firm I am!
I stood rooted here, lost all sense of time, queer, ever  felt you near.
Then a sharp pain hit weakening my heart ,but couldn't deter me,
I am a cat of nine love lives, a species so stubborn, thrives in trust.
Dead of night it is , I  keep vigil, perking up ears, eyeing  skywards,
How do I know from, where would my only love, to me speak?

My foggy mouth tries to hide behind rain-smacked glass.
She says goodbye with complacent stares
and with the sudden flash of an umbrella.

The red of her dress doesn't belong in my life.
Each of her strides carry my resentment and weariness,
alongside the melting grey of the Seattle skyline.
So, I don't yell for her or imagine our lives,
as the windshield wipers sweep her image, out of sight, but not out of my head.

I return home, the half I was for decades.
The tread of my shoe mashing bluegrass,
digging up seeds and insect carcass, with every step.
Storm-soaked magazine subscriptions lay on the porch,
and her name is tattooed on every one.

The dog lays on the carpet, ears and eyes perking up at me.
And he knows he's truly alone, because I'll depend on him.

Eggshell kitchen cabinets are jammed with her:
Vermilion, saffron, and burgundy glasses hold
half-empty hangings of golden flat draft,
keeping her day-old, dried saliva smothered on the edges,
like transparent ocean waves dying on a glass coast
and buried in the bottom of the sun-pierced vortex.

What I couldn't realize is that the cup was me:
marked in so many ways,
letting decaying memories burrow and stay.

I am sitting up in a bed of lace duvets, their yellowed hues glowing in the sunlight streaming through the curtains of the lone window. The room is musty, old, and smells faintly of the sea. As I tilt my head back and close my eyes, another scent, this time one of cherry blossoms and pears, fills my nostrils; this is my grandmother's bedroom. The walls are almost an off-white, a dull green tint the only memory of the color they once bore brightly. Birds are chirping, and I can hear the faint sound of fluttering outside the ancient window. A bluebird, perking up its feathers, sings its cheerful melody as it sits perched on the ledge. I smile at it, and it seems to bob its head, cocking its face towards me, as if in that one strange instant, it understood. The bluebird pauses for a moment before flitting away to his friends, eagerly feasting on the myriad of feeders hanging low on tree branches close by. Sighing, I lean back once again on the antique, yellowed bed frame, breathing in the familiar scent of the old white pillows. Slight violin music drifts in from the radio in the other room where my grandmother sits, silently knitting a surprise my sister will adore. The violin sings a song of a via dolorosa, of a crestfallen love that could never ensue, but still shone brilliantly. Tenderly, I pick up the book I'd been reading, carefully running my small fingers along its fragile spine, burying the aged pages in my nose, breathing in its rich aroma. The words take me to magical places, far-off worlds, daring adventures, the promise of mystery at every turn. For that is what a book is, is it not? A mystery waiting to be solved, a story that can transform the hearts of millions, a love that can spring up from even the driest of deserts...all that in the beautiful simplicity of words, words from the human soul itself, words that portray the depths in which the heart can swim against the coursing currents, the heights at which the soul can fly amidst the coming storm. I am flying now, on my way to Neverland, Oz, Camelot, The Hundred Acre Wood, 221B Baker Street, River Heights, Hong Kong, Camazotz, a secret garden.. I am the bluebird, flying high above everything else, traveling to unknown worlds of intoxicating adventure, experiencing
sorrow,
friendship,
love,
heartbreak,
joy,
death,
envy,
rage,
empathy,
horror,
romance,
terror,
and curiosity...
...all in time to be home for dinner.

Open myself up to you
Like a gentlemen grabbing the door
This felt so special
Things were perking up
Happy, had something to look forward to
Only to be let down by insecurities
Am I the only one who's strong
Must I carry the weight of my burdens and those around me
Must I guide you down the path, as if you didn't know
Must I answer questions before they are asked
Must I be 20 steps ahead, as if 10 wasn't enough
Must I be held to a standard of perfection
Must I
Apparently I must
My strength is shadowed by your fears
How much evidence is needed to show I'm different
What must I do
Tell me
Explain to me as if I've never heard before
Every detail, so I may tread softly
For I fear your insecurities may trap our growth
Poaching on our happiness
I've shown my selflessness, as if theses words don't paint that picture
I've been down to one knee as if you were royalty
In attempts to prove my loyalty
I need to be shown you feel the same
Blinded by your actions
You've let me down
Broken me down
But help me rebuild
Open your eyes, loosen your jaw and open your ears
Speak to me your ideas to rebuild the rubble at our feet
So we may protect ourselves from the elements of error and fear
Prove this to me
For I can't do this alone
Travel this two lane road with me
So we may reach our destination together

Her peals of laughter, gently rocks, wakes him up
takes away from a midnight dream's warm embrace,
one dream to the other, what she is up to, he feels bit cheated,
like many times before, bit weary of misleading senses,
they are friends of course, distractors too, if unaware of their penchant

Perking his ears he listens, wind whistling in the woods,
rain drops on leaves create sounds of soft laughter.
Every where she is, the nymph, the ethereal presence,
in dreams, in the spirited dance of clouds, in swirl of water
and waves, when the birds play flute from their perches,
in flights that seems meditative trances beyond mind.

She is tranquility incarnate, beauty that grabs mind's eyes
mother who consoles at the time of distress and pain.
The night is silent again, the rain clouds too left to rest
yellow clad moon peeps above the clouds, many gifts we
forget to enjoy, some times without being aware, one leaves

Reaching over your shoulder,
A boulder is about to crack.

The giraffes, dinosaurs and pesky bores that glance
see you react.
It’s about language,
posture and poise

Presenting oneself like a broken toy,
One stepped on
broken and junk,
now its neck is whack thanks to that Chunk.

A paroxysm of coughing makes that Adam’s apple show
Somehow this perking out makes one dominant over a ‘poor girl’,
For some reason you think you’re a Hunk

Mystery how that fact of the Forbidden Fruit can paralyze your neck,
also sets back your assurance and confidence

Wind keeps on
reminding the waves
something cryptic,
even the leaves
perking up their ears,
fail to grasp it!

Though wind
repeated it,
again and again,
leaves vacuously
rustled, remained silent.

The waves in a
spectacular pattern,
respond to wind,
desperately trying
to grab the truth.

Sitting on the shore,
between blue sea
and mountain peaks,
observing the grand play enchanting,
he feels excluded,
from this conversation,
that remains obscure;
unconsummated
between the wind and the waves.

"The meaning is right here,
but one hardly
gets it, unless
desire to attain it is overpowering"
in tears, she said
exasperated, not able to go beyond the shore.

"we are like waves and leaves,
give it a miss, get confused,
vision of ultimate truth is the crux,
unless the eyes are opened,
filled with light, one fails, has to repeat"
he replied, like one tasted failure many times.

"you've blindfolded
your eyes, willingly
and complain;
be patient
work on your
inner world,
let the light drive  away the night"
the master smiled as he said.

"Roaring wind and waves
fire, earth and space,
the secrets they hold
are within the inner world"

At the end of narrow path
is the placid pond
where water is still:
truth absolute is reflected.

**"Life after life,
one walks round and round
seeking that blue stillness,
where one would
see one's true self reflected,
when the moment arrives."

love is described as:
flowers blooming
sunlight shining
red lips perking
broken hearts mending

and maybe love is all that
but it can also be:

flowers sagging
rain clouds swarming
grey lips drooping
and the newly mended hearts
slowly
unstitching
themselves

like blood, it drips
the honey from your lips
running along
the gentle curve of your neck
the sharp edge of your collarbone
between the heart and ribs
down and further
pooling on Venus

the water swirls your hair
pearls on your silken skin
the love in your eyes
hooded, dilated
colors bursting from their seams
and hot as cold
violets blossoming in the night
rose buds perking, opening
as does the cave of your mouth

Come my dear take your fill
Fatigue will wait as no one else will
Cause I want you naked
Wet with desire

I want to rise and fall
Like phoenix feathers
Burning in my own ashes

Soft bottom pressed against
My thick throbbing flesh
Breast in hand
Though gently cupped
I barely brush the pink areoles
Perking them up to full pleasure position
Mouth upon thy neck
Tongue gently stroking
And moistening your flesh
Your ecstasy epileptic
As you almost swallow my tongue
I lunge inside to feel your wet warm thighs
And fill the wonderful caverns
Of your womanhood

Oh desire is a wretched beast
For you are far to far away from me
So stroke for stroke I fuel the furnace
Your full form in my mind’s eyes
I shoot high
Clinging to the long pillow
As if it was your warm body
And love you lonely from a long distance

The train sirens fell ill on my skin as the gates of waves descended upon the lowly burrows of 12th street and blew it straight into tomorrow's windy, lamenting unification of loneliness.  The plague it drew on the youth only rivaled the great hallow abyss in it's forthcoming nature. To the young it was the rotting, the sinister desecration of our world to come. I am only stunned by the great rivalry that seems to coincide in my generation's thoughts, capricious-now or wiseful-tomorrow. We strain to be in the eyes of our fathers and mothers and aunts and uncles, proving to our grandfather that we alone will carry the family name and legacy towards great and unimaginable heights, without the help of others and without the need for pity. Conger a frightful doe perking it's ears to every other sound it hears, that quiet din, it's last acquaintance before the grand, all-knowing silence takes over and surrounds it's being forever. Love thy harkening sorrow and writhe in heavy screams. All will pass but I see none with the sanctity to carry a soul farther than you have already; the seas spring longer and will soon swallow the world. Too many years will pass by before I can understand this with a sober mind. One day will come before I realize that drunken ravings of my night will see it's critical truth in the day by scholars and priests of common sense.

I'm opening my eyes,
I'm perking up my ears
I'm lifting up my nose,
I'm holding in the tears

I'm opening my hands
I'm reaching out to see
It's getting hard to stand
I've never been so free

Free of you and free of me
Free of this and all I see
I close my eyes slowly
My breath comes in rolling

Lifting my chest slightly
All this contemplating
Is ever so lightly
Reverberating

Slowly down
Deeply close
All this sound
Is so morose

Before I open my eyes
Can you promise me something
That I'll never hear you lie
Can you hear my heart drumming

May I see you for who you are
And not who you put on to be
May you be that thing so far
Away from all it is I see

May I never have to open
My eyes to see you that again
The old house we built is broken
My solitude may never end

It is time to build something new
Something that will stand so true
And hold us both and then you'll see
That you too my friend can be free

I promise you today
That if your tongue will stay
I can show you more
Than you've seen before

And as we continue on this path
Weaving something, hard to graft
I tell you it will last us long
Longer than the endless song

The one I hear when I see you,
Without the talking, just so true
As to show me more than words can say
And carry me somewhere today

Somewhere you have forgotten long
The melody to a drifting song
Coming from a far off place
Losing strength, losing pace

When I reach for you and hold
Your face in my hands I'm sold
But when it is all just up to you
Things start falling deep into

This endless chaos I feel right now
Is more than I can feel somehow
And when I'm happy you aren't here
To see that there is naught to fear

When all there is, is more than enough
Smoothing the face of once a rough
Mountainside made of stone
This sea has washed away the one

The one thing that I may have held
Closely to that drumming heart
May these words just be felt
For not an ending but the start

The start to something real and raw
Something breathing, pounding slowly
All of this, not what I saw
But what lives in me and is now growing

Like a sprout from winters ground
It has taken such a profound
Place in my heart a shining warmth
And never again will you feel torn

Never again will things just blur
When people talk as their words slurr
Just close your eyes and remember
That little sprout from that December

The part of me left cold and lifeless
Is now reaching out and making this
More than gold or something priceless
More than all that was, can be, or is

My eyes elude me as do you
May you both forget this sleuth
Someone who has found the truth
Lifting from all death a youth

You're face is made of frozen clay
Still it's not all I've to say
To be alone is to live
To stay with you is to give

My life for something small and fragile
My strife for someone falling and I'll
Never tell you yes, I say
Especially not today

Now you're gone my mind is free
The calm after a storm you see
Is better than the calm before
And more inviting still for sore

Hearts that float among debri
They may be gone but now they're free
And if it takes my heart to stay
I'll never do it, oh no way

I'll close my eyes and run away

Your hands are posed up in front of your body,
as if you are warding off bad things.
But your face is waiting.
Fingers come up to meet yours,
weaving themselves around you.
They are my own.
Our palms press against each other,
a fire igniting beneath us.
The white blue flames licking our toes.
How can a simple touch
feel so rewarding?
I lean in so the tip of my nose grazes the stubble,
stiff, but I can still feel the softness of skin
below your jaw.
I want to take that skin in between my teeth
and ****
and make you want me more.
But this isent about ***
No, this is so much more.
I inhale that intoxicating scent.
A scent that can't be described as anything but you.
Just a simple smell, so intense
that it wraps its self around my chest
and squeezes, until I release my breath.
Unable to hold on to it any longer.
Your arms move around my waist
and they are pulling me in closer.
But im drifting.
Blackness is consuming you
while my ears are perking,
ajusting to a horrible high pitched noise.
I roll over,
shifting under my stiff cold sheets.
A green 7:00am flashes in the dark
as I embark on another day without you.

Keys into the ignition
and fire it up with a rev.
Feed it some gas,
letting it warm-up preshift.
First you've got to put it in reverse
as we back it up to pull out.

Isn't it a pretty thing when she growls,
the way she bites back when you jump the shift?
That's what love is, you see it,
and sometimes it isn't so bad.

The two of you are moving on,
feeling the tires warming up on the road,
and ever so slowly you take it into second from first.
The wheels perking up at the sense of your touch,
knowing you need the trained response,
reciprocated by delicately working into third.

Its a beautiful thing when she growls,
the way she fights back when you jump the shift.
That's what love is, I know you see it,
and sometimes special, it isn't so bad.

Out on the road and gathering steam, in the gathering speed,
that transition from third to fourth can go kind of fast.
The two of you thinking as one, becoming one,
and in this harmony on the fourth you're wed.
Two beasts to one accelerating on,
finding unity and resolution in fifth.

Its a thing of beauty when she growls,
the way she talks back, saying, "Wait for the shift".
That's what love is, that's the way I see it,
and in those moments it's never bad.

The two of you flying solo around the track
the way you were made for each other.
The competition might as well not exist,
each dedicated to the other in perfection,
breeding the future generations to lead,
to pass on these important lessons of love.

Its the most amazing thing when she growls,
her little clips as she corrects the shift.
That's what love is,
and its never bad.

Even after countless laps around the track,
after you're both gone and broken down,
it's enough to stay true to one another
and to reminisce about the good old days.
You're still her guy, and she's still your gal,
from the first time you opened the door, treat her well.
"You know it, you know I will".

If she happens to growl,
if she bites every now and again,
just know that's what love is,
strong through the good and the bad.

When I’m dead like here and now.
Like before and present, as I’ll always be portrayed
wound within the fabric of my birth.
I'll stammer through the phantom beastly of society,
as I always have I will phase
beneath the day's skin,
flower and splatter
amongst the phantom passerbys
and click my blooming tongue
behind your blind ears.
And chant one lasting whisper
against the back bristles of your shivering neck,
my breath pluming against
and within your porous skin.
One lasting, one altering statement or phrase or acknowledgement
I give shackled in the chains of a gift wrapped present
within the corridors of your perking ears
and there to be unpacked.
You as every other soul will misplace my memory,
will forget as a ghost dissipates against the breeze.
I was never anchored here,
indistinguishly as the phantom I am composed of
I may sputter the words farewell,
farewell only to be met with farewell and forget.
Farewell as my pattered steps flutter within the distance,
dead as here and now,
dead as my unlasting memory.
I exist as but a farewell.

Air stained in a bitter salt hovered through a mist grasping the calming shore. My eyes squinting at the light spray of sea and wind curled as you, the figure fading in the mist, took to hollow steps as the sands, grey and moist, softened at my feet. The waves pounded as beats ragged, like drums chorusing behind my ribs. You the phantom, the girl lost at my company and forgotten within my reach was feet away. The sky a mass of gray and storm tore at my clinging feet. Footing gave way to pristine silence as I began to take to heaving steps clothed in a metal cloth.

Feet away you the ghost, shimmering in paling skin and flowing hair, halted as my steps grew. My sand cloaked hand flew toward your image begging you to succeed to move, to walk from the shadows and dimming mist. Your paper face reveled within the erupting mist, like a frightened child trapped at safety’s door. The shadowing waves grew ravaged fangs at the tip, and bristles at the turn.

Refreshing mist choked out the sky like a blizzard smothered in ash. Our cries reverberated within a starling chaos, trialing as your eyes grew blue, and my heart dripped black. Our arms met like birds lost at storm and sea, as echoes ravaged between you and me. Arms shielded backs as hands gripped shoulders. Our faces buried within each other’s skin, as death’s silhouette sailed through the flowing mass of black sea and pale sand. Your frantic skin shook at death’s chilling touch, his hand wrapped at your shoulder was still as the moon gapping in the sky. His form moved as the mist and his lips whispered silence into your perking ear as the rain. Nerves softened as arms withdrew and, like a phantom heading in the mist, death left me and took you.

My grandfather often tells me
“follow silently in the wood”
they, the timber and fauna listen
for heavy steps and cracks
and with one careless fumble
they fade into the limbs
he said “tread lightly and listen”
perking his ear to the wind
only then, if your silent
peaceful beauty will emerge

If you know that she will surely break your heart
Break it off
Do not just take a break, break ranks
Break it off
For she will surely tear you apart
Break it off
Well...
Maybe one last time
For that 'thanks' and 'goodbye'
She can get it, take it off
But seriously
If you feel like it isn't working, feel that heartbreak lurking...
Around the corner
You can feel it
See it
Smell it
Taste it
Hear it...
Your ears... they are perking
When you can sense it, the universe sending you a message
No one will blame you if you send her packing
For you were both aware that you wouldn't be there for long
Flash parking
This morning, I needed to write something
So, here's some advice for you, from me... for free
Ladies, as you read this
Feel free to replace 'she' with 'he'.

I watch the way
your paws swing at
every moving thing,
Your eyes darting
to and fro-
back and forth
between every stimulus.

The birds chirping
catches your attention
and the window becomes
your throne, staring longingly
into unexplored territory.
A passing car
turns your head,
perking ears, and
curiosity on your
sandpaper tongue.

As a small, young kitten
every thing is new.
You look around at
each passing object,
and each one excites you anew.

You entertain yourself
with hanging window strings,
and chew on the zippers
of my backpack,
ignorant to the existence
of "school."

When I was ignorant of school
and every passing thing
excited me-
I was a child, young,
innocent.
You are a child, young,
innocent.

I dangle your fluffy
purple, jingling toy in front
of your small cat eyes,
praying the day that
it doesn't excite you
never comes.

I am heart-poundingly prepared
to dislodge from my memory,
the most fantastic moments of my day:
I swept back and forth, in between, and under,
dancing with seconds passing.
I waltzed airs of conversation into perking, prominent, eager ears.
I fell through warps of time that
pulled me from one place to a second,
which was very far off from the former.  
I felt my legs gasp and tug through each movement:
simplistic and fluid.

When rest came to me,
I thought deeply and heavily of a clear, figure:
audacious, ambitious, lean, and steadfast;
with words like sighs of peaceful content - breathy and whole;
laughter like an echoing crash cymbal - bright and robust.  

I feel sweet, with soaking bliss and broad, smile-stained cheeks!

Moment after bursting moment, I felt effusive fervor.
My hands felt hardy,
and ready,
and gripping.  
Stirring from my seat,
thighs heave,
holding sturdy body strong,
I walked wide and open into the night air.
The stars were flecked, yet flourishing.
What was left of the sun was a pink bashful streak,
coquettishly hiding behind clouds that stretched to the horizon.

*I feel whole and absolute!

Man 'flu
man blue
who knew
that?

back at the flat
flat on my back
sneezing and wheezing
and Captain Morgan is
teasing me,
yo ** **.

I want a refund

this one day malady
is leaving me
and it's only been sixteen hours

cutbacks I suppose
even the runny nose
walks.

The First Property Sold was the Garden of Eden.......
The Snake Hanging in the Tree full of Fruit...sold the First Subdivision,
As a Real Esssssssssssstate Developer, Slick fork tongued Sales Pitch,
Here have a nice Fruit snack, while we go over Sums and Figures Involved.
Next Time Bring your Husband By,
We can fill Him in on the details, if all else fails.
We can Show him,  the School System,
Filled with Newly Founded Knowledge.
Here in Eden Falls, we are a gaited Community.
Proud of the Fact We are Crime Free.

At first the Residence was a dream,
But as time Passed by things began to fall down
The BBQ grill quit working, Coffee percalator stopped Perking,
And Brown Green Algae Ran Rampant from the,
French Pewter Faucets over Sunken Marble Sinks.
The Aquafer water Shed Clause in the Contract,
Revealed a way to Dump this Site.
But we found S.Atan real Essssstate Deviliment,
Had closed up and ran off in the Night.
Taking off  with all our Cash, Which Commited,
The First Crime in Eden Falls, as Told by God
Its nothing but just glorified Real Esssssstate Fraud
........................................ by JMF 10/2/14

I sticky glued my fingers
A scratchy callous feeling remaining
We watch film after film
I wave cutely in the audience
At the mention of my name
Photographers perking up
I study old hollywood movie stars
Make business phone calls in alley ways at work
I don't know what anything is gonna look like.

I'm working on this endeavor
Called really truly loving myself
Self care coupled with giving the utmost support
Active attention and love
To those around me
And I've found the feasibleness of that act
Becomes more profound
The less inner turmoil
You, yourself own.

Even if life whizzes and purrs
In a multitude of chaotic circles and squares
Around you, this is the face we have
This is the body we control
The mind we bare witness to
And the heart we give
Take care of it
Hold it tenderly
But also

Let go.

you are the brew
        perking
        steaming
        
morning mix cuppa java
dawn that pours on you like lava

Honestly, I was paralysed
Quick breathed, chest choking kind
That numbs to the tips of fingers
And the bottom of the heart,
Feet spread wide apart as if I ever stood a chance of taking the blow.
Its stings,
bleary eyed I'm blinking and rubbing at the skin, massage the redness away;
All that nasty shame and the ridiculous burn of guilt
That has me wilting round my shadow.
I think I might have seen something,
Hints bleeding into the beauty of blissfull ignorance and dulling the gleam,
Blinkers just a little skew-wiff
To let the light in and shine on your bare ***
Going to town between someone else's legs.
You dont look half as nice now,
Your flesh is pale and hair curls darkly
And its gross, like those meaty moans
That make you sound like a boar.
I can't call her a *****, not really,
But shes enjoying herself with the lie of one
Screaming obscenities to God
As if hed take time out of his
Busy schedule to fulfil her voyeristic fantasies,
Deity bowing his head to watch
You smash into her and smash us to pieces.
You're shuddering and shes faking those screams
There"s no glee in her eyes, just the simpering emptiness of making you feel like a man.
But your not, you're a coward
Who's **** is fond of flattery,
chases it like a puppy, perking up hopefully to be petted.
I dont think I'm upset anymore.
I'm out the door and rain falls cool on the ground
I'm crunching down the gravel,
shedding my committment,
It's has a satisfying sound that dies
Beaneath my boot as you stumble after me.
'It's not what you think'
It's funny because I honestly
Hadn't thought anything except
I'd never never seem you like that before;
Not so raw and pasty
And ugly.
Maybe you'll meander back into my mind
As divine as you have been before
But right now I deplore the memory.
I dont love you
Because I dont know who you are.

The rocks!
They will protect me.
They have shown me their mossy skin!
And brought me warmth rooted within their
stony souls.

They love me too.

I look to the left
and remember the Mountain glowing light yellow aside a purple land.
It was the Father speaking to me.
He told me quietly to pay attention.
He is more strict than my mountain
perking up sharp
slicing the sky of blue.
And the cars continue to move,
Ignoring the Sun
however awed without knowing.
The birds can feel the discomfort-
though they harmonize with it anyway.

I pretend there are no people
just me
making them as ghosts
and earth Angles
I am ghostly to them too.

-Sweet cold chills-

*I am not wanted here anymore.
I leave the whole scene
slicing air
that I came through.

Sometimes it strikes me
the beautiful things have such fragility
the dog's ear perking up
clouds close to the mountain
pulses keeping our eyes open