I wear my sweater
in ninety degree weather
Not a S.o.S, more a testament
to the hell I'm shepherding
Whether you care or not is irrelevant
The rain drops even If a bow
shows up to lasso the loose ends
Remember that the next time
you go to quote gold at the far end

I wanna swallow a hook
and direct it at the cork in my gut
conveniently corroding the courage
I mustered with a dump truck
Bottle it up let it fizzle then pop

Hello, my name is
The Turn of a Door ****,
The slam that comes after
when time runs faster than
your little legs could master

Nice to meet you
Don't mind my standoffishness
It happens when I feel threatened
A Defense mechanism assembled
by twelve children in a tantrum

If I knew how to strike up
a conversation I'd have stacked
matches to the sun set and back by now
so when you rose in the morning
you'd wake to find your name in the sky
But as it stands I am not the man
who created fire nor the one after
who dabbled in it's practice
No I am the one quietly admiring
the glow from afar yearning for it's warmth
Carefully masking my intent
by tossing acronyms to the wind
I'll play the failure eagerly
awaiting your approval

I want to experience
the chaos a butterfly feels
when it meets the windshield.

Nosy Knuckler, too tough
for the rugged, tugboat huffing
the mud puddle's summit.

Home-bound with that lighthouse
stumble; strapped to the grin
with a sailor's plummet.

He's white face like the page he evades; weighted down by the surplus day-to-day What's the race?

Buckle down inertia coupled
with Challenger assertion
ushers in a mind tripwire explosion
of tick-tack proportion.