Life is spent begging to be remembered. It’s like I don’t exist, really. I must convince others I am real or else I may just be a figment of my own imagination. And so here I am again, pen and paper; hoping these pages won’t disappear. The ink is there, existence of me alive in time. In the same way, I’ll look into your eyes begging you to remember every cave of dark green and pool of droughting blue. I speak whispers with my mouth near to you so that you can feel the warmth of my breath and remember the soft words I needed you to hear. Feel the uncalloused hands wrapping around yours, the hum of my car beneath us. I am real. I am here. And I love you. **If you ever remember me, just remember how I loved you. If I was ever real, it was because you believed I was.

bored in a beautiful palace
with waterfalls and hands uncalloused
was a bystander when it all happened
and in their happiness
they struggle to understand
me
hapless

there once was a time,
when her face was unlined.

her hands,unseamed
and uncalloused.

her eyes, bright and unclouded.

her *******, perky and full.

her back straight,
her stomach, tight and naturally, slightly concave.

and she had legs, that turned heads and a walk,
that created many,
a wolf whistle.

but then,

she had a life,

left her youth behind,

married,
badly, as time would tell.

had four children,
watched one die.

discovered,
she had married,
a selfish, gamblin man.

got a job
and then a second,
just, to feed her clan.

watched the love die.

then, watched him leave
with a resigned ,
yet  a relieved sigh.

raised,
two rambunctious boys
and a sickly, stubborn girl.

then, watched them leave.
launched them,
succesfully,
into the world...

now, the years,
have gone, bye the bye.

and with,aching back and teary eyes, she shuffles on
toward her demise.

with the memory of
times long gone,

and the echoes
of wolf-whistling guys,
legs long and lean
and her unlined face
with, eye catching smile.
giving her a sense of
inner grace....
that plays upon
her lined and crumpled face.

as she relives her youth
in her memories
as she finds that wonderous place, when once she was young.....and oh so beautiful.

Ringed of stone
Dark rocks from another time
Broken, shattered, replaced
By not by gnarled hands
Hands, uncalloused,
Delicate fingers, dragging
Unholy stones, upturned
Graves of creatures
Not meant to
Draw breath

Concentric rings, reinforced rituals
Blood, dried and fresh, decorate
Form intricate scrolls,
Forgotten languages
Of Masters, dead and still walking
Hailing dark forces, uncontrolled
Like forcing the seas from the beach
Standing at lowest tide
And bringing creatures
From it's depths
Caught now
In pools

Far from the oceans
Inland and unknown to those
Others, they bend and crawl
Broken of sanity and mind
Tentacled things, fanged
With inhuman strength
A disjointed symphony
From throats, forgotten
Words, gurgling
Choking on no language
For the era of man

Chained by the geometrical
Patterns they don't understand
They cringe and prostrate
In lies to which should
They but lunge, lashing out
Powers which slash through
Minds, bringing insanities
Destroying any that they touch

But rituals, forgotten even by them
Elders, Masters worship, Star Gods
Brought, mindless, from the Beyond
Shipwrecked in our oceans of Earth
Slumbering, shambling Others
Slaved to their wills, games
Bringing to bended knee
Captured to barest glimpse
Minds broken, eternal youth
Women as vessels to hybrid life

Birthed children, monstrosities each
Chained, insane, locked to those
Dark rocks, their shards show
Surrounding prisons ages, old
Centuries untold, legends, mythical
Undulating naked bodies, show
Dancing, sexually unbound
Oiled, aflame though unburnt
Soaking, basking in their power
As their scream break, carry the night
Quaking the Earth, shattering clouds
They seek return, the stars, the seas
To feast, again, on salted flesh
To worship their kraken
Father of them all

Her back displays a constellation, stars to navigate by.

As I grip on the controls so perfectly curved for my uncalloused hands,
   the undulation of her spine and the curve of her neck navigate our motion.

We travel together.

We bend space and time folding it for ourselves alone.

Her head turns. Her voice calls.  Her eyes open to encourage me.  I, in turn, respond.

The constellation, centered on her vertebrae, charts our course still.

You feel it at the moment
You breathe in your first breath
In the lasting memories
When Mama held your uncalloused hand

From the ever tender kiss
Placed on top your tiny head
When Daddy helped you say your prayers
Tucking you into bed

You feel it when it grabs you
In Elementary School
Knowing the full meaning when
You become its love struck fool

You find it unexpectantly
When you least expect
Feeling you've run out of time
And there is little left

It's in the warm embrace
When you are desperately in need
A family saying grace
That the good Lord keep

Between a husband and his bride
After all these many years
In both the joy and the hurt
Poured out in salty tears

You feel it when time draws near
To the ledge of eternity
As your family gathers round your bed
In the last ditch effort of comforting

It's in so many places
All at the same time
There's no other way to frame it
Love is seen world wide

Dancing and singing , on crystal toes
The fears are not gaudy the denials are not nare' aired by foes
Inside closest wheels of times spent and thoughts amalgamate
The spinning of virtues and the reclamation of virtue against hate
Dearest royalty these years we have shared in Sovreign disguise
For the valiant effort to live for betterment of all was posed as yours and mine
Together we acquired photos losing never a wonderous wealth of  thoughts to pass beyond our surface perimeters
As the vast driving honor passed between us, betwixt our souls and was made uncalloused for all to hear
Give me this notion to bless the day
As all dwell on the Heavens forthwith
That our eternal queen shall ascend and together her and I stay

The depth of your ineptitude--
Uncalloused skin is a lie.
The world is my callous,
And i am not so sensitive.

I know death like the back of my hand
For every disgusting swine that said i'm not cultured enough
I haven't read enough books
I haven't listened to enough of Gabriel's pointless rambling--
I know death like the back of my hand

And i am the master of this universe,
Not you,
Though you may be some high, or re-processed version of myself
You cannot be anything except me
Because i am everything

And if i have made you my *****
I have made myself my *****,
So *******.

I am the best poet here,
Though you may disagree,
I am also the only audience,
Though this may appear strange to me!

Karen will not be allowed
To speak to a manager
Because
She is not even real
A ***** in the Wind

I wake up hours before sunrise and stare at the silver stars
painted into the black ceiling of our bedroom.
They are now peeling, the falling sparkles  
covering my body;
creating a burning sensation
deep inside of me.

I have invested so much in space
exploration, computing the distance between life forms.
I notice our forms that once fit together
like Pangaea, are now drifting
between ever increasing expanses of blue.

Each night I play peek-a-***** into the abyss
alternately covering my eyes with the rapid movement of my mind;
skirting the topics of emptiness and happiness.

I sit on the edge, the outer edge, the very outer edge
of my bed
masquerading as the very outer edge of the universe
and I reach
for all that is larger than me, for all that is still
inside of me.

I stare into my hands, those tender uncalloused hands
that once held us together,
and watch as they float away.