i keep on thinking,
and grasping,
and clawing for

words
and words
and words
upon more words
stacking on, or attacking
this stagnance of mind,

unintentionally filling
this nothing
with thoughts
of your memory:

a sunsetclad feather
locked in a safebox
in the corner of the basement
of a mossy cottage
resting on a flowered hill
in some faraway place
recurring
in my sleep's sleep.

(somewhere
i long to belong to
but may never reach.)

do you travel there, too?

you are the home for my strings,
the things that sting, it's the venom
in the vessels,
like the one that you carry
under your muscles,
structures built to give character.
they ache from the weight of
the rocks compiled in a safebox,
it hold the glow of the liquid
savior that could someday find you.
they act like weights,
heavy on your shoulders,
boulders on your toes.
i'm sorry i left like that
i just needed to catch my knees
from hitting rock bottom.
i guess sometimes it's better to leave it
alone than to dig it back up,
but you and i know that
lock boxes can keep you from
opening up, the key is
stuck in the mechanics
like a child too curious
for its own good.

phrasesfaceplantmufflyduffledinafluffypillow
you hear so obviously
what I utter in mutters under my breath is a bridge
shaded from view where the hobo's live
when they don't want to be bothered

I pilgramaged to the top of a mountain
to loose my whispers in the wind lost forever
bleached, torn and fraying bits of a flag that lost the war
But you picked them up like so many scraps of paper
fluttered and jumbled to reconstruct and decipher,
I MEANT TO THROW THEM AWAY
but all you notice are
keys to my safebox, in the garbage can
making a jingle jangle ruckus in their silence

Though I must have laryngitis still your receptors
never picked up the signal so clearly as when
I venture to get away, erase what I wrote in white noise dust
as if I had shouted my carefully guarded secrets
from rooftops

Sometimes I fathom you can even hear my thoughts