i’m that isolato-type. alright,
i get jagged sometimes
but, i don’t much.

instead, i’d rather be,
sinews sub sinews
bold and parlous:
oh what a multifaceted physique
you bought for me!

        i used to be
        fire and forget
        victual and fleshy
        as you crafted me

^tears^. i’m not that thewy,
draft, and unconscious,
blind in your mask! but,
in your plasma i am warm—
security fails me. ^yeah!^
cop-out post cop-out
i’m passive like that.

        but here’s the catch:
        like a sensitive plant—i’ll curl up
                        by just one touch.

        and here’s the fix:
        my self-consciousness is lost in lull
                        and that’s my fall.

                                     !i can’t take it anymore!
                                                        !!!

~

Crimson clover round the bend
Parted of a sorrowed tool
Planting phrase on what is said
Who now stands the empty fool

In this garden, sheer delight
Wilted from the summer heat
Fenced in by a stone of white
Destined to be incomplete

Oh the beauty it hath lost
When your eyes did cast away
Counting change amidst the cost
Of this bloom now gone astray

On this bench of marble form
Headless statues bid adieu
I shall sit her in the storm
Clinging to the thought of you

For this rain shall find my weep
Fills the puddles of despair
Deep within their hollows keep
Nothing less that I’m aware

Loneliness, this garden seed
Found of hedges twist and turn
Taken from the soiled need
Am I ever soon to learn

Here behind an iron gate
Draped in vines so long now dead
Brittle touches prove too late
Of the love my heart has bled

As the sun does set the field
Now as darkness comes to play
Time I find my fate is sealed
Lonely gardens I will stay

Girls walk by
while i, inside,
desire the words, the smile,
the way
to their delicate pillow place of dreams.

A fawn pounds
dewy ground
fleeting feet
defeat deamons
made of concrete
and plaster
running faster
escaping gaping
holes in ozone
cell phone rings
birds singing
silence swallows
kin from within
the womb and crust
inside the skin
of earth below
moving slow
tectonic plates
sway
the arms of the moon
cocoon fragile fibers
from trees and leaves
but the sun set again
like last Tuesday
and the winter before
marked with blood
on the door
moving on
shaking sun
the sea will always
reach the shore
and move on

it was sometime in November
amid caffeine, books,
and fermented spirits
we laid parallel
as the morning sang a hymn
welcoming the new day
the air was between
crisp and warm
you could hear
the crunch of fallen blades
as pupils rush
to their next shift
transfixed in wonder
of who will give in
to the morning
our bodies
navigating  an endless sea
of tangled cloth
trying not to cross
into lands that border our own
even though these exquisite
properties became one
in the dark before last
it was sometime in November
you turned over in graceful play
and smiled
with nervous blinks
that complimented
the lingering sentiment
of autumn

If my life is like a tightrope
and I'm toeing down the the line
then the world is my audience
they're all waiting for different things
to see me fall
fail
take the big nose dive of suspense
others are just curious
as to the nature of the whole spectacle
and an odd couple hundred of people
want to see me make to the other side
smiling and laughing
ecstatic in the ecstasy of my success
and the way I see it
that makes my Dad
a safety net made out of green backs
and my Mum
the harness I use to get back up
when i inevitably fall off