My Kingdom
is a builder,s yard.

A Bethlehem
of measurement
of plasterboard and timbering.
An interwoven sepulchre
of garrulous vernacular.

Expletive-laden badinage,
our handle of the hardstand
is the character of companies
I keep.

And unto these
my time is priced,
my soul is planed,
my name is signed...

but
in the dark
of winter evenings,
watching ancient planets rise,

I contemplate the other lives
another me, might live...

conventional ideation of where consent ends
and timbering begins.
intertwine your lips with my thoughts and call me friend,
your edging is the cruelest of all your sins
pull my contentment by the collar and let me know i’m still alive
****** my peace like a rug beneath my feet, begging for your intervention,
your blatant apathy is not furthering my goal to survive.

Wild winds whistling
Timbering trees toppling
Fierce fires flaming
Mourning mountains melting
Relentless rain rushing
Hypnotic hurricanes hovering
Eroding earthquakes emerging
Overwhelmed oceans overflowing
Scorching storms stirring
Loathsome lightning lamenting
Aggravated avalanches agonizing
Panicked precipitation pounding
Ghostly gravity grieving
Chaotic cliffs corroding
Broken bones bending
Daunting darkness destroying

Without you, my world falls apart.