Penny vase made from
the brown voided canyon rusting.
Friends that were made of waste,
they said time was simply turning,
the boat spoke back and said the depth of ones nature
could walk on water
But a deep voice
Was all that sprayed in pungent
aerosol and
displeasure.

Do we need to be on the same boat?
To drift into the beguiling surf?
Altogether
Better if we were dispersed
Dropped by the caving soft curve
Sliding through the unseen wash, watching your muddy glare.
Track the force in
blueberry motion
pulling and pushing us,
a sollen hand
and flying sleeve
The touch of flaunting fingertips and strings,
The fluttering wick
Swing and swished.

The chest of wonders beaming
Transmitting
a map
and lines like hay and wires
They were all exposed in the lines of her eyes
Maps

You frightened me that sleepy day
The dusted arsenal stick
Casted me on a rod made of hibiscus dew and syrup
A venomous hook that entangled my earrings
The push and her wave of desire,
Maps
To her treasure,
Reeled it now all over her wet webbed feet.
Caged,
Maps
and pressure
of the rocks falling against the time ticking
Hours away from the swaying shore.

In day,
I know
a burden.
A person,
should
never
be.

It's just,
my
expectations
outpace
my
empathy.

What is love,
but quotas
fulfilled?
Physical
and
emotional
gain?

In night,
I go
by Tri-Met.
Chinatown's
streets
beckon
me.

I hold
my
neck upright, tall
as I
can
possibly.

I left a
hollow husk/
body double,
sleeping on
my couch,
beside my
dead flame
and her bed.

Between the snoring,
and my black feet,
I escape easily.

What is love,
but quotas
fulfilled?
Physical
and
emotional
gain?

When I escape,
I can be who
I know I want to be.

So in the crisp night,
in the fresh rain,
I take a time slot,
so I can dance
away my pain.

I never knew
it was easy,
easy as this.

MY heart.  Speaking words
have crippled all letters.
A great passion explored.
  Destroying all rhyme
and meter.
  Is how my teeth have
  broken.
    Now mumbling.
  Babbling nonsense!

:: 10-15-2018 ::

listen.  Of hearts that sing --
wailing aside.  Better if eyes
could taste the color love
And in flight with bee
a passionate kiss from thee!

:: 10-15-2018 ::

Snowflakes scraped underneath fingernail tips
When the charcoal was pressed harder.
As often as the cheetah runs with the crocodiles by the nile
They do not look for each other.

As often as the bees sing
Only once could they muster poison and sting
With a clockwork, shelter and carpentry of honey.
The fruitness of a living body.

The sound that gets lost in the woods
Gets lost and carried
Flying through the whispers between the branches and twigs.
All the creatures are all but lost
Yet the striking fur
Shocks
Hunters into firing hot shells across
and the falcon fell.

A shouting cull
The silence that meant that wildly blooms have been collected.
A bouquet was calling the passing hours
Wrapped in the scraped white spirit of the wooden towers.

My wretched little life
Consumed by pity.
Trying to open my eyes,
I feel the weight.
Why bother standing
Here in this blistering cold?
My soul's worthless
Anyways,
Too old.
I'm always shivering,
Constantly battling
Deluded musings
And babblings.
Maybe I've gone sane,
Maybe I'm numb to the pain
Of normalcy.

Grumbling engine underground
Again
Rotates and repeats.
The echo
The steamy yawn
Mellow fiend unseen
Creeps
Bearing teeth in metallic joints.

A fat snake's yawn
Blows and bellows quietly.
Uncoloured ornament at ten feet
Floats through that crawling wind
Full from everything it could eat.

***** sand in the far east
Rustic in the sense of dripping spit.
The blue walls painted over the white plain
Are scratched
White walls slain.

Drilling ripple
In the black pool
Ink
Coloured the lonely riddle.
A cold under the sun
Blinds our noses
Disguising away our senses.