Shadows Darken around me
Silence seeps from my mind
casting a shroud that none see
a sort of prison that only I feel,
and I'm so numb, feeling dumb.

Sort of glad to be here, it's surreal
a prism of light hidden for a time
sublime pleasure, and I feel it all
Just don't miss the vein, say again?

It will all be ok in the end....

What is there to believe?
Whats left? What's next?
Like a magician with a card up their sleeve
Everything that's important..
Ceases to matter to me.

So Fake; Make believe..

Pick a set of false memories
Make a book and read it thrice
Pick a destination and throw the dice

It's just, it's just this life...

Like a tendril of Avalon, coiled around an indifferent chivalry
our quests are jaded, and our gods Chimera.
We are all of us marching over horizons, but only the ones
the width of our eyes.
And merrily we surge into the shimmering fictions
of our most noble pariah.
as the devil sells candy to rock salt, for fun and profit.
but we know

He's just showing off.

But he's not lying.

the crown was heavy like an oil lamp bolted to a block of black marble, strapped to the surface of a neutron star
with a strand of hair from a severed head of Guinness
and all promises.
the king stared out into the palms of his hands
and cast his eyes upon the kingdom of misrule.
contemplating the arc of His royal arroz. mindful,
that for every grain of truth, a sack of arrowheads.
And for every bag of rice, a happy surf.

He lifts the embargo and now openly trades bards with competing Theaters of War and Peace. Boldly poaching inspired contradictions and holding court with renown arguments to the contrary; always feasting at a long, narrow table in an oblong chamber
of proprietary stars.

He lifts His Eldorado, and now
his back hurts.
Having never learned
to Bend The Knee
At the hinge of
His stride.

And now it's off to bed and goodnight.

I'm tired..
Need a long sleep
a few thousand years should do,
Sheepish lazy breed
Finniky writer
overdue on life
can't keep up
my head swims in drought
a wasteland..
smack dab in the center of an oasis.

Agatha Abernathy slapped clay on a wheel and spun with her bare hands all manner of things to hold in your mind. She slept through thunderstorms as if a storm front were a blanket. There was no such thing as too many cats; and marmalade was a condiment.

Agatha had nothing to say.... And nothing to keep to Herself.

Can't Push A Cloud With Your Hands

you can't walk out that door
and expect me
to stop loving you.

it doesn't end.
it just kills me.
endlessly.

you can't
push
a cloud
with your
hands.

even when you're
not into
me...

Love's Entropy...

Cleaved from the breast of a hydrophobic stone; I found solace
in disremembering. I stowed away on a barge of flotsam.
Carried the weight of my teeming delirium
all the way, to my tiresome revolt.

Like a Gunga Din... with a bucket
full of wishes. And a bucket
of holes.

I only slept when the dreams stopped.

As foretold.

I'd much rather wish you well than wish you luck.
love turns up dead but for some of Us... it's just Us.

II

Try as I might, the azaleas are doomed.
I slip through pumice and overripe plums
to only always, very nearly -
as I somewhat almost always....
however seldom
or merely.

III

Love is how you get from here to there
without killing a god.

while chewing on the sandwich i was given
i failed to notice the ruffage and the soil of my glamour
only the ludicrous measure of my apathy and passion.
only the girl of my memes and the maladaptive gnomes
of my moveable feast.

i saw through the aerosols and the Hindi.

i ate nothing but net.
i slept with a barstool and a comet.
and asked you " Why? ".

and said, Less.

just a sliver of cool whip-thin
and some sumptuous appraisal of our unbelievable
Love.

I cast the first things that happened to Us.
and kept the windy trinkets that mark things as for real -
to better be happy and something other than
a wish on a stick... and a mattress.

and Life is Laughing...

Asleep through all the nightmares i've been keeping.
Seems like a drug that I had a handle on
was slipping... I kept a bird in a cage
to evoke the sky to save me.
i had wings enough but nothing so much
as anything happening',
only the worst happiness
and a crap rapture.

II

" New York, can I call you? "
I'm sleeping through the windswept plains
with my filigree tucked in my boots
and all things strange, a whisper
in my Lager.. just a mumble
in the  dust
of my last
confession.

and a marvel

i told myself to leave me alone
in twelve languages.

i got the hint.