The ***** water ripples,
and darkens
as grey clouds of diffusion
are cleaned from the brush.

Paints put away
the artist changes his pace
as the pointed quill
is dipped in,
and pulled from
the ornate glass vessel.

Deep dreams are drawn
as parchment feels the imprint
of this writer’s full intent.

Reality unfolds transcendent
as all dreams and philosophies
are finally released on these
small scraps of transient things.

Who knows
what wonder grows
waiting to explode
from those who show
no signs outward?

Who knows what pains
burn from within,
what sick shames
stirs her or him
to inflict suffering
on themselves
or cause ****
for others who
never deserved it?

Who can read
beneath the flesh
that they see
and find depths
of ****** reds,
of wretched raw
tears that claw
at the surface,
raging for revenge
against those who
hurt us?

Who knows?

Lured by the slurred
word that she heard
which plied with lies
that made her hum and purr.

Late for her classes
she moved like molasses
and stopped at a hot mud spot,
to sit in the slop
letting the filth
flow from the bottom
of where she was squatting
up to fill each crack and crevice.

She thought the wet dirt
would only hurt her white skirt
as the slick liquid was sliding
up and down her body.
In that moment writhing,
She had the feeling akin
to being pleasurably pig skinned.

How strange the change
as her belly engorged
and her limbs grew short.
Then from her lacy drawers
a corkscrew tail emerged.

How weird was it
when she heard
squeals of concern
spew from her snout.

She began to doubt
her humanness
as her dress
vanished
and she was grabbed
by a drab brute
with skoal breath
and lots of flab.

Pork patties were made
of this maiden led astray
by the wiles of a worthless
**** that made a feast of her
soft pork belly.

They are a bright curly few
who come swirling through
the beautiful light blue
daylight hue I was trying to view.

These camera caught clouds,
were finally brought down
and captured in clicking rhythm
as I took and sent them
to a digital prison,
only to be released
for creative behavior
on the social media site
I was designing for later.

Could it be
sweet dreams of thee
that break me
from the shell
and take me
from the hell
of ignorance.

As merry sprites
split in two
and come together
again in view
like night lights
or those flickering few
glow bug butts that
fly crookedly in the air.

Could it be soft stirrings
that bequeath
a wreath of
rapturous love.

As Puck surveys
a sunny to
rainy blue
beautiful day,
preparing
for the sharing
of tricks
he plans to play.

As cold skin
starts heating
with lust’s
full intent
and the furies
are tame
compared to
the passion
I bring you.

Oh Ariel
what a tempest,
in a midsummer’s dream.

As golden strands
of fantastic plans
unfurl,
I see the girl
who could be
my whole world
but she is
as imaginary
as all of Shakespeare’s’
strange characters.

Time to put the pen away.
To take off the coat and unlace
those shoes that you will not use
anymore.

Time to lay down on the ground,
let the soft mud become
the bed you lay in resting
until you are fully numb.

No more running.
No more pretending
that the pain is ending
cause there is some meaning.

This is the chapter of my
repeated defeat
where I fall asleep
and no dreams keep me
breathing happily.

Time to retreat;
You all win.
This is the end
that you were pursuing
abusing those who
told the truth to you.

So, I give away my last
fast single finger salute,
one final ***** you to
all those who
made this world a little darker.

I got no more sparkle,
and I am just really ******* tired.
So, it is time for the dreamer in me
to finally retire
and take up video games.

Do not seek me
beneath the willow tree
that once bequeathed
her leaves generously,
the browning birthed from earth
that used to be a beautiful green sheen.

She is gone recently
and I am still grieving
the loss made by those thieving
loggers.

You may look in old books,
and find my essence in
the sentences therein,
such sweet blessings
that sang my mind into being.

But do not search the loud
obnoxious crowds
of crowing fools
who act like tools.
I will not be one among
them.

While they are sleeping,
I am awake dreaming,
and thinking;
Elusive to this abusive world.
So, you might as well
go find yourselves,
cause I prefer
to be an introvert.

She is a lost wisp of a lover’s wish,
a forgotten whisper that lingers on
his cracked dry lips
in the desert heated hazy distance,
that one foolish man dreams of.

A serene scene set in-between
fantastic fantasies of cosmic entities
and domestic tranquility.

A tranquil bay reflecting white light rays
while one heart falters, falling before
he could help the whole human race.

As her echo dies in space
the rest of this human mess
is left to witness
his heartbreaking losses
as hope departs
his beautiful heart
and he is struck dumb
succumbing to
the numbing view
of a flowerless reality.