your different teeth scarred a whisper
upon my upper lip, and i'm alone again.
like i knew i'd eventually be.
still wondering if you're living
in that world you couldn't see, smell or taste and your
only existing trace of life was felt in a delicate touch.
something that meant much more
than we could understand:
like why crossing lines
are lived through the palms of our hands
and why the lovely moments
seem to always have familiar memories of pain buried nearby;
dug awful deep in a garden of life, i knew i couldn't keep.
because the roots from…

it's 4:45, I'm deadly stiff and you're stretched out, fully alive.
stunned that we oddly equate to a lengthy and even feeling of dread.
but this exciting intellect
has put unique thoughts in our ordinary heads.
Maybe to be properly used or purposely abused.

we ignored the gift and took a trip instead.
we navigate our resilient appendages through your last, towering gate.
but we entered your home with a divided conflict.
that yells and always originates, a reason to arrogantly dictate.

I crawled my consideration underneath your bed.
scratching and peeling back those honest words; stuck to your tranquil…

see, "the time is never ripe
and my words,
well they're never quite right".
i'm in a constant state of revision.
dragging the brush on the canvas
in inebriated strokes,
painting this picture for him
God, I hope the message is clear
but these feet are dragging too.
i'm full of doubt and mire and tearing
at the seams with frustrated gestures
signal flares bursting
in light-polluted skies
faint little fires distant and dim and
illegible like my intentions.
revise revise revise revise until i'm just tired,
exasperated and unsatisfied.
nothing's good enough.
that's the mantra i chant,
like some…

health is a fickle and friendly creature; by far the strangest.
i have attempted amends with my neurons and synapses
and tried to shake hands with the reddest of blood cells
this heart palpitates at a fast pace on an unhappy track
towards death; and i try to be as kind as possible, measuring
staccato beats with glimpses of worldly beauty and a few good
books. to repay kindness is a gift and life - the happy accident.

i have fiddled around with the nerves and nodes and
stayed up all night agonizing with the bacteria. the narrowest
bones lend…

Let’s start wearing dream-catcher earrings
And fall asleep in tanning-beds.
Let’s start tearing wings from books
And paste minimalistic rips from yore-
(A bulimic lighter interrupts with its flickering anxiety;
making the stream of consciousness respond.
Making it melt like a celluloid song
that’s been left out to float up to the sun.)
We are an army of captains.
We are extroverted scarecrows
That pepper our self-important bilge
With hyphens and metaphysical peripherals.
Meta-hip, self-aware oeuvres:
This indulgence is your hors d'oeuvre.
Existentialism is for cool cats,
But it’s oft as genuine and convenient as mythozoophilia.

This should be an imperfect silence
not unlike dreams tranquilized by fear
of irreverent romance, some kind of love-lust
like a cloud's purple patching of a half-moon sky
its fleeting streams of reptilian form
a great scar scaling weathered night
while the tired mutt traces steps
of tiny animal trails
refuse of the day's frivolities
and life is such
that the less of form
tan in the effulgence of perfection
while complexity crawls
on battered serpent legs
masking ghosts of a tear
echoing the triumph of failure
with parched and crackled tune
arrows targeting less than megalomanian desire
but ending…

HE BROAD-BACKED hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The ’potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions…