There is a creek that runs through my neighborhood
It is *****
It is shallow
In the spring it overflows
Thrashing Spilling
Filling each clean corners’ crack and crevices
Stagnation stains the air
Wafting into each household

I like to think of when I was a child

I stood in the water
In all of its inconsequentiality
And looked longingly at the sun
As it swept me away from the sounds of mechanical inefficiencies grinding against the asphalt  
As I felt the soles of my shoes soak in filth
Seeping in-between the spaces dividing my toes

I fooled myself into believing this is what other children saw

Something pastoral

Where their rolling hills weren’t so different than my own

Where the stars bled through the skyline’s purple hue

But
I had the sun
The rushing salivation of water surrounding my ankles
The feeling of something gained and lost
A sanctuary
An appreciation amongst
All of that something
All of that nothing

There is a Creek that runs through my neighborhood
It is *****
It is Shallow
It is Mine

It's raining
Beastly thudding down on the warped iron
Time and universe spinning on the axes of doubt
And we dance like there was no other way out of it

It's raining
Slipping down the courtyard of breeze
Climbing the ascension to the mountains of the gods
Scaling the pits of our own little daemonium

It's raining
Ringing in my ears there are
Yellowed jackets and fighting roars
Decrepit words of the random past

It rains
Like thunder and lightning make no sense
Pouring into the concrete jungles and sealing
Sentience in its benevolent hands

Spiders grasp our flesh
Tear it apart
Who would say otherwise?
Take it and rend
Rend and grate

Whispers of the darkness
resound in my head.

I'm up at 5 a.m., and it's cold in the basement again despite the new summer heat. I am quiet.
You know, every morning, I choose a face. It doesn't matter which one I choose, it doesn't matter what place I have to go. It only matters that I have to constantly know that I have it on, and that however long I have to wear it, I'll be able to bear it because that is what's required of me.
I say, "This is today's face...the one that everyone will see." "Today's face is funny." or "Today's face is sad." or "Today's face says '*******' to everyone I pass."
Now, about the other day...just the way you said you hate it when I'm quiet.
I should tell you that I love you most when I'm quiet. Even though I know it bothers you, and I know you'll never buy it, It's the truth.
Because, though I've been doing it for a long time, and it's nothing new, putting on these faces often gets old.
So, even though I know it's 5 a.m. and it's cold,  I think I may need to stand up and be bold and demand that you accept me as I am, without any stipulations or a contingency plan, and without any reservations.
I want today's face to be me. I want it to be the face that you see when I am quiet, and at peace. The face you see when I am able to laugh as a child would. The one you see when I smile and kiss you, or when I crack into a good book, or ride a roller coaster.
As you and I get closer and closer I think it's more than fair that we should share who we really are with each other.
As we get to know one another, we become a part of something special that will be good for us both.
So think it out. Even though you have your doubts, you should think about it, and we should try it.
I'm willing if you are, and more than ready...If you can love me when I'm quiet.

As I turned to a familiar canine eared mark,
a sense of warmth stifled my breathing.

The skin on my thumbs became raw
Pulsated with the beat of my heart,
While rubbing against the worn paper.

The raised ink of each letter
Smoothed out softly
Underneath the pressure of my fingers.

The smell of old rain clinging to the dying foliage:

Intoxication.

The sounding of thunder drew my senses to attention.

Hairs and synapses standing, saluting at the ready all in neat formation

Memories and narrative flooded my mind with delusions of love, anger, and sorrow;

As only it could.

Only some things make sense.
Like full stops. No, they hardly make sense these days too.
The sun? No, not when you get down to it.
One tries not exaggerate,
but when the laws of physics
start to state
that the
only order is chaos
and that our Universe
for most of time
doesn't exist.
Or exists in different contexts
with different people
and different outcomes.
so either we exist in multiplicity
or not all.
One tends to exaggerate.
Why?

Saying nothing makes sense.
Sounds appropriate.
Sure.
We can function.
We know how to *******.
But that’s the thing,
We make sense through lacking

This is it
Entropy
The natural turn to chaos.
Makes sense,
When you try to hold the handle
It breaks,
And you’re stuck
Entropy.

When you
Saw
Heared
Smelled
Touched
Tasted
Her for the first time
Entropy.

You – I? – were too far gone
Entropy.
You’ve fallen into chaos
Interesting...
As opposed to falling in love?
Makes sense.
Many would say it’s not at all like that.

Some of us are a little damaged.
Bruised. Scratched. Broken.
We  don’t squeak.
We don’t light up.
We don’t walk.
A little damaged.
Some you can only hear the damage
When you shake them.
Broken bits are flung around.
Others, you hear nothing at all.

Full stops.
They use to make sense.
Now they look like commas.
Or exclamation points. Bang.

but yes if i flung my punctuation out
the window it would
not make sense as we
wouldntfunctionintheslightest
without the whitespace.

Let’s bring back the Universe
The sun
The nothing
The everything
The full stops
The periods

I’ll end my cryptic harangue
And step back from my rant.
It was grand to know you
And I’m ecstatic to consider
This:

Maybe in one of all those other
Universes,
It made sense
Rather that
Than not
Existing
At all.

Once, when my curls still tickled, only the tops of my ears,
Mum quietly ironed my daddy's pants - he ate his cold grits and eggs.

She thought I didn't see her see me watching the cat,
Claw at her leg - And so, I just asked,

"Why does déjà vu  only come too late, for me to know what I should do?"
She wrinkled her nose, instead of sayin' and,
Singed her spider-leg fingers.

--

So, I sat there.
Somewhat, unsure.

--

"Baby," she said, as she shook her head, "You shouldn't fret over things like that."
She continued her ironin' - the cat kept clawin',

--

And, I sat there.
Somewhat, unsure.

--

I asked my daddy earlier, yesterday, if he would work late, down at the office.
He began saying some words, but very few were heard,

My attention smelled -
So much -
Like grits.

I saw the wine bottle stolen and my cookies still frozen,
Yesterday,
But, in a way,
Soon after the airport.