Tweeting thrushes twittering
Above our heads,
A certain thickness about the air
Which fills my lungs with ***** matter.
The heavens opening, scarring my scaled skin.
You talking.

Tulips
Fresh from a plot of
Lazily potted plants,
The stench garrotting me as I walk past,
And just as I do, you appear,
Talking.

I'm at best when I'm resting.
Stop pressing me I need this serenity,
This blank papyrus and
Sea sodded swimwear.
My only memento of you.
Stop talking.

You and I, You and I, You and I,
They said.
Why must they lie and ignore
Your tentative gaze?
My harboured farcical thoughts
Encroaching my mind,
Slowly metastasising through the hollow mould
Which is my body.

The noose lies still on the white-wash table.

We are together again.
Our  names imprinted on a boulder of soft, cold granite,
And beneath the dead tulips
And the heavy mud,
We stop talking.

I. centipede:
-
They come from both directions and it doesn't take long
for me to realize that they've figured me out.
My mind was fast, but not as swift as the hands
of five-hundred outreaching hands; one angry crowd.
Grabbing at limbs, low and high, they don't waste a second
before tearing me in every direction; at least the cardinal four.
My mind takes flight, leaves fancy, but not before
I get in one last swear, and one last spittle in their faces.

II. snake
-
Tail and head aren't in sync this morning, I tell ya.
No rattle, no bite, just a lot of traffic and heat shimmers
in the one place I don't need to be today.
The people here act like they don't know me,
but they still turn their noses up when I empty my mug.
The waitress answers when spoken to,
but just stares in the time in between wheezing breaths.
I've got to get out of this county, this state.

III. scorpion
-
Ronny hasn't been on a roof since a couple years after we got married.
He wrapped his ankle in some gutters and took a spill;
his thigh popped right out of it's socket and he just dangled
like some kind of prize in one of those crane games.
Doctor says he can still have kids, and I know he can still get it up
from how he watches that ****** **** on t.v.
But he wont touch me; hasn't in fifteen months, I've counted.
He's in for a surprise once the settlement clears.

IV. lizard
-
Wallflowers never get anywhere with their mouths sewn shut
and I cut my stitches well before my teens;
I got what I needed and I made sure of it.
But there is something to be gained from
basking in the naivety of youth and ignorance.
Trouble doesn't set in as well, and boredom comes
as some kind of waiting period, rather than the norm.
These bars are a reminder of why they don't let me make the rules.

V. toad
-
Invulnerable, incontestable, unphasable, archetype.
I listen for the right words to drop the shields,
but I'm only met with the silence that accompanies
asphyxiation through means of wet wax paper.
The touch of phantoms tingle along my skeleton's core
telling me the time for lollygagging has long since passed.
Stand up, giant, you're running hot and the moon
keeps calling out, "follow the lit road home".

some
    people
          throw
             around
                 words,
                      that
                          others
                               consider
                        ­             precious...

Wanderer of the night,
Wondering in day light
Jazzic winter nights I see sight.
My mind takes a flight to the promise a land.

An African whose day job is living in sands with no man hand , sure to get lost somewhere.

Nights make you think more about daylight

And daylight makes you think more about Nights.

End of the day ourselves is what we all got.

My head hot in the sun getting black as ever searching for night air.
me and sunlight should despair.

Three travellers
are walking side by side.
Says the first:
"This path is long and weary,
and my soul sickens
with every step.
All it shows us
is misery, disease, corruption and death.
This is the path of the ******!"

Says the second:
"No, my friend, you are wrong!
This path guides
my every golden step.
It draws me further
into the dazzling wonder
of this impossible world
and pulls me forward
with the promise of beautiful new horizons.
This path is truly blessed!"

Says the third:
"There is no path."

The first
and the second
are unmoved, however

For there is no third traveller.

If you could see me now,
guarded in conviction
and hidden along my own invisible trail
you would know all the immeasurable times your name rings like a melody through my mind
and your smile splattered on canvas in my thoughts

the cold days I burrow myself in bed and stare at the ceiling…
there is no nothingness more horrible than space without you
and no nothingness more pleasant than the comfortable silence as I’m along your side

If you could see me now,
I would be weeping at an unmarked tombstone
recalling fateful memories that never occurred
and with you, making the ones that were yet to happen

If you could see me now,
I’d hold you tight, fragile glass against my chest
and your soothing warmth would never escape my grasp again

If you could see me now,**
my eyes would be matched with that of yours
and I’d never look elsewhere again

I live in a place where the sky never gets very dark at night.
The city lights illuminate,
And they contrast with the deep black,
Creating the faint purple hue I always see before I sleep.
And I think to myself,
You and me, we made the color purple.
I, the mysterious, but misunderstood night.
And you, lighting me up with your joy, passion, and wit.
A bulb so full it could protect the dark from itself for eternity.
You embraced the dark,
And turned it into something far more than the shades of charcoal, ash, and ink.
But now the city light is gone,
And the sky is dim enough to see the stars that are my memories of you.
Constellations bursting from the frame of night,
Aligning to form the *** we made our favorite mac n cheese in,
And the obnoxious belt you bought me for my birthday that I still wear.
They stretch across the canvas of sheet-black,
And I think to myself,
Can the others see them too?
The stars for what they really are?
Because when the sky becomes black again,
All the stars are visible,
And I recall why I first cherished them.

The snowflakes have fallen on my cheek,
The time of year when the sun goes to sleep,
All is joyful,
All is white,
Except for the one who is alone,
Beneath the Christmas light.

Humming soft carols under the desolate tree,
Drinking cocoa by myself,
Walks through the town,
With no one else.

Winter has come,
And taken away,
All of the bliss in my days.

I see people hand in hand,
Mittens and jackets through the snowy wonderland,
It makes me see how solitary
I really am,
It makes me wonder,
What was God’s plan?