It had the spirit of a deleted scene

in an awful film, whose overemphasis

showed why it went away.

It had nothing to do with the reality

it was portraying, that's how defeated

her statement was as she made it.

Unable to stand out, she couldn't

break a leg--relaying that her ex

insisted she was share-worthy.

A triangular feeding frenzy, swapping

possession for a piece.

As her lover thought to himself--she's

unfit to lower a bathroom seat for the

women he's been with.

It's something like,

Caution: Crucifixion Ahead.

The sign's up, but it's too

much effort.

I mean, it's only you afterall--

so poetry takes a whack here

& there.

Being misunderstood is

usually designated by

terrified little orbits.

It's not a state by any

means, that would

require their clearance.

They hate that you are

comfortable with being

far more than you let on.

That it's very intentional.

That they're not worth

explaining anything to,

that's when it's best to be

misunderstood.

They want to be thankful

for sure mystery, but are

not.

Darkness avoids absence to

keep from falling.

As the cold spots of roses turn

to purple irises, of distant royalty.

That curve the mirrors of trees,

which climb out of windows.

As grass lands between moon's,

cut by light drumming on a persian

rug.

One cat sees another first, as summer

pools a galaxy.

Her moving heightens the

golden-tiered sounds that outlie

sleep.

Just as her body calls him back to his

body, summer speaks into his ear.

A lizard flicks against the ground,

like: you saw right, I rock this clime.

A flat breakout pose to freeze his

break dance--scales popping like a

Queens fruit stand.

Scimming the brickwall of a Garden

Complex, whose plants were chosen

by a Board's retirees with hospice blues.

Hail-chaff sun drinking ***** with

desert abandon, lopsided kiddie pools

bungling shallows.

As the laying of blacktop gets behind the

sun.