An Ocean Swell From Back Then.

I'm easily wounded.

Her eyeliner's the fur of the puma.

Dark like a cave.

I looked back and saw all that youth and wandering like something missing.

No cure for old noise.

Wonderful inside this cavern.

Brave brave brave.

This midnight hour telling as it is, a loss.

Traumatic though it may be.

Still I'm not willing to give it up.

Tin type, lead type, the alluring type.

Waiting for a reply while my heart yearns tired.

Sending desperate pleas across the wires.

Lovesick, homesick, in sickness and in health.

If it was, it'd be like a panic.

A gridwork within my veins that holds me like a web.

And those daggers, smart like mischief.

Mellow, drama.

The dim glimmer in the periphery like simple, elusive possibility.

Or needles...or pins...

Some sort of wreckage out there in the distance

cannot seem to rid myself of this feeling.

The Script Yearning.

She wears her dress like scripture. Falling to my knees, I've got nothing to offer but let me feel something. I keep writing it down but the words don't stick. I fail to save the tree and those twigs are brushing against me like stones across the flesh. They may hurt me and so do words. So do birds fly or do I? Am I falling? It's all a matter of context and the ground seems to be swimming ablur and teeming with crocodiles. And insurance salesmen, and professionals, and all of them just killing time so nicely. Their hours all sequestered in a microphone booth so you can hear them eke away slowly yet not feel their grip. Removed and out of sight but heard nonetheless. I read up on you and there is no salvation, only blood tinted teal and pandering to my naivete. And you wear a mask like a wrestler. And you wrestle with something unseen. And yes, I suppose I do learn something from reading your eyes. But nothing of your body language. And nothing of your dress keeps me thinking. Only wondering; does this thing we call the world just spin because of our wants? Because of our fears? Aspiration and admiration aside, I love the way you sway and fall and get back up again. They wrote it down for a reason.

Reading into the Daily Paper.

The racing is bleeding wrong. I'm most surely a fuck up, mewling about absence of heart and hope with a touch of humanity. The pacing's an impeding song. I'm frustrated and the sun goes down on another tirelessly adult and lonely night of sheets drawn cold. The sun stalks the tears away from my eyes, slapping my dry face with shine. I realize I'm barking up the wrong tree. I see she has her edges gilded with heartbreak. The safety nets are booby traps and the agents of the law beckon, drinking chartruese as they fall through the gaps. Vacancies. Who am I to listen to when I sense that my only tryst is one of shot up reason? I saw you once: the image of a piece of my heart falling into your palm refracted through tequila and whiskey. Each tin flask fills and empties with the sunrise running, bloodied by the sunset. Thus the truth: I see the malice of my heart writhing from blow after self-wrought, melodramatic blow. To say I built this mansion just to tear it down is an understatement. Understand rent and pay it. The dues are what come second. I feel the breeze of a personality history and it tickles painfully. Pins and needles.

My hairs are pointing at one another, deciding which of them will go gray next. The crowd is bristling aniticipation. Confetti twisting in the air; each piece aspin within a thin little orbit each their own. We are dancing this dance quietly yet the din is overwhelming.

Those that kinder warmth are all mixed up with those that want to: like blood. We draw from one another randomly. Strawberries and tar paper and the letting go of affections. We're sick to death of staring out at the pall of another inebriated set of circumstances. We are getting the sense that time is dwindling. We send messages in the dark while a quick shock dissolves under soil erosion disasters. There you are waving. Here I am debating. I'm just here and the one who's there gets no closer with the circling. I turn the hour glass. The birds swarm like flies. The grains of sand let me know of the slipping away. And there you are, my possibility: all beautiful amber avoidance. I'm here with your loss dropping off and I empty my pockets, shining white. These sheets drape about my body like a white flag of surrender.

Dream Review.

I see you out there. And I'm far away, there there. Just me who mouths, "where?" And time spars and stares. Because this is ridiculous, heeling to fictitious malignments. All drawn to the hilt frivolous, peeling fruit, vicious laments, tall fawn, a boon feels contagious. We are running softly upon pillows filling up with dead memories. Fighting amongst those weeping willows, I feel an empty tender release. I said what I did to walk into the woods without my lunch. I did what I did to let the lessor be known. I know what I know to keep the help at bay. I think what I think because I have no one to tell me otherwise. This four sided room has two ways out. No ceiling, no floor: up or down. I look laterally and each way is a dead end. It is either descent or ascent. An assessment of assents has me saying yes to this and no to that and getting a confused look on my life when I open my eyes and my body was there the whole time watching. It kept it's aches overnight. And I was drunk when I said I didn't believe and sober I feel an absence like nothing. I drive myself into a hole, a whole, a holy set of circumstances all my own. I drive myself into this.

Hands Up.

I can feel you sneaking around out there, anxiety. With dreary leaves plastered upon your face; those ones that fell from the trees after hanging on the entire year through warmth and death and the end of things. You lurk around every corner with vestigial faith pouring from your palms like kool-aid flavoring. Or like blood. And you fear yourself. It's so effervescent: your power is self effacing. You humble yourself with the way you tear everything down. I am wrapped up in you like the traces of a past spent losing oneself in manic drug intake and breathing techniques. We find ourselves on our last breath together in the diving bell looking into one anothers eyes saying in unison, No Need. No Need. No Need. There is no need for all of this confusion; this earnest yet tense desire. All of this unease scratching our wrists bloody as we climb rooftops in an electrical black out. All of this tiresome writhing in the blood speckled crawl space of this life we work together to pacify. We work together to convince ourselves of the woods and their looming darkness. We work together to haul up the mossy remains from the sapphire labyrinth of salt surrounding the land. We work together to make the wreckage come back together. But it won't will it? Until there is a defining crack of lightning across the lonely prairie where the cattle wander with bellies full of dust, the pieces won't join hands. Hacking and losing our tears in the once fertile soil, we won't bring it back together until we reason with one another that we must distance ourselves from one another. There is no need for us to hold eachother so tight. For intimacy of destruction begets goodbyes, and loss is a gaining of a future: There is no need to tell ourselves we are the same, anxiety.

Wasted for Nought.

Yes I will die faster than you. But I will live faster than you as well. I believe a degree of recklessness is needed to get through this life. And if it is not realized the whole thing will fall apart. We are alike because we lose ourselves all the time. But it takes loss to gain love. It takes and it takes over and over again. Cursing the sun as I do my duty. Telling it to just go down. Sitting here, stupid, feckless, pensive, taciturn and aligned. Sitting here gaining premium access to drawn lovely creation while the poor sick brothers cock their wrinkled brows whilst the camera shoots a mug shot inside this skull of mine. And I will find myself after a dozen tears and countless beers. They lap against me and I feel such freedom like shattered glass.

A Goodbye to the Past.

Inexhaustible space traversed like a waking dream.
And feeling the goodbyes well up from nowhere.
Back to the beginning after everything,
all cluttered is over here.
She offered so much,
my stolid refusal already smarts.
Where we leave our hearts is always a mystery.
Like this windswept city off the coast of Antarctica.
Dwelling all duty without and kindled clean.
I am reaching an end to means.
I am witnessing the endurance of the lonely.
I get up with pains and retire like a broken window.
Though taped up and shattered the battering subsides.
Another weekend and this homecoming of sorts:
really just the loss of another head.
A brain that calmly lets itself hold onto the past,
though it has just happened.
Forever out of reach,
the distance that lays,
enrapt and conversational.
Saying, "You found something there,
you had something there."
But as all temptations are,
the future is alluring.
We'll put you off as close as we can.
Yet you know not of your destination.
This kindly driver just winking.