Blue tinted glasses
That you’ll never see
Properly through
Unless it’s a copper correction
Of the thinning stomach
Or the grey eyes
Grown salty and green
As the fruit salad
Frustration sloshed down
In twenty-five bites
Of thirty-two chews
And a thousand swallows
Singing over the exclamations
Your mother exerted
Over ten-thirty yoga exercises
Illuminated at three in the morning
On a half baked mind
And a restless spirit
Pining over insights
Realized over twice more
In the company
Of blue tinted glasses.

Shankar smiled as the waves crashed
To the drop of the bass we were
Alive and breathing subconsciously
Losing all air to the cry of peculiar felines
And there existed a flittering longing 
Once common perception returned.
My hair was threaded gold 
Beneath your fingertips.

I can still recall
The energy of your fingertips
Rolling off your salty tongue
Peppering my skin with the tingly arousal
Of your lonely eyes
Longing for human contact
In a ***** soaked sofa
At the breach of dawn.

Stomach full of liquid.

Black eyed peas

And obsession with relish

Finally paying off.

Trees

Collages

Dancing

Seductress.

Knowledge

Healing

­Three small boys dressed as their fathers

Playing checkers

Giggling

Marimba chops

Echoing

Twice stolen earphones

Volume control

Old south

1933

Shallow grave

Shallow sleep

Fresh cars

First to drive

Survive.

Sonic

Pescetarianism.

Cherry Lime-ade

Walking on the

Green grass

REM interrupted

Curious hands

Laced between

Fingers

Three sizes smaller

Sinking

unbiased truth

peeking an ugly face

around her corner.

Talk of mustaches and

****** orientation

The price of documentation.

Embrace

certainty within confusion.

Tuesday.

The rain
The hail
The tears
And you’re not in your bed
But in a wicker hut
In the middle of a rain forest
Like the ones from my third grade A.R. Reading time
You’ll feel my skin softer than before
And I’ll wonder what is different
And draw close to your unusual warmth
And you’ll ask me “what am I doing”
And we won’t fall asleep for 5.5 hours
I’ll envision spiders in array
Yellow jackets attached to the flowers I ring around skylers crown
And wonder where the hell I am
And why I feel so hot
Burning cash in the back of my throat

Of a bowl I never smoked

Remember the pitch of the leaky faucet

In the third floor restroom

Neither male

Nor female

Nor both.

Speaking in unison

That pitch

What was the ******* pitch

Dribbling eighth notes

Tears worth pinning on your wall

Next to your unused bottle of sunscreen

From the time we drank in your living room

And I realized you cared.

There is a star on my pocket

But I won’t remember it tomorrow

Nor will I remember why

I connected the six-petaled flower hole

To Afganistan. Sleek. Smooth.

I slid a straw through my ear

Gazing past the green disoperation

And noticed two formings of pimples beneath the right brow

But maybe I imagined that too

Along with the adrenaline and curiosity and false negativity.

Shooting through my ankles

Enveloping every muscle fiber

Every menacing footstep

I approach the door of Debussy

Wading deep into the kelly green

“Open” sign

Sharpied just so no one ever flips it.

Every frazzled hair follicle  executes

Frustration towards the poor soul

Entering doom.

Marracas from elementary

I whispered beneath my mustache

“Fancy seeing you here”

Lingering my capillaries over their stitching

A live animal in a dead environment.

Pink toes and the Sostenuto pedal

Beckon my return to civilization

I remember why I’m here.

I remember why I’m not.

It rained

I said goodbye

I noticed the red rims of your eyes

Turning away

I bought flowers and tore away rye with my teeth

And drove down the avoided road

Looping around to scare away sadness.

I found more happiness in this

Stomachache I slept away

Than the vine-wrapped walls where I presumed

Happiness lived.