Just suppose,
you juxtapose
date and time…
early riser,
back home
before
you’re supposed
to go. A riot,
that it seems
my brain
pauses, supposes
it knows
everything,
but the calendar gleans
the truth,
the text reveals
I’m all
mixed up.
Most of the time,
I get it right,
but,
once in a while,
my brain
misfires,
however,
I’ll not fire
the old gal -
I’ve depended
on her
all
these years!
Be my Romeo, I can be your Juliet;
Then again, on second thought
let’s be a fairy tale not written yet;
Clipped by Cupid’s boomerang shot;
Arrow directed at someone else
clear target in perfect range,
but instead misfires and hits us;
Then our world is completely changed;
A connection no one can understand;
The final silence before a battle cry,
we won’t let go of each other’s hand;
No concept of the word ‘goodbye’
Cheek to cheek bound together,
a story to be held by the world forever.
Words
Words are weapons
I sharpen each
To cut the flesh from your bone
To cleve the atom from the soul
Words
Words are hard and soft
They protect or protest
They shape nations
I do all the rest
Words are like hammers
Hammering home the words
We use words as blunt force
We see words as healing balms
Words
Words are like weapons
Broken in trust
Misfires in lust
Words
Segregated solitude
misfires synaptic connections,
and I meander around spectre conversations
in autistim-like nightmares,
wondering if I can learn your language.
Memories are like ice,
reducing every day until only a puddle remains,
a mote of déjà vu, but no substance,
just damp resonance of a decaying thought.
I fight amnesia
without knowing the battle plans,
straining to hold that piece of land;
that piece of me.
Night’s siren calls,
lulling me to beguiling sleep,
where dreams are only darkness
and tomorrow erases today.
I drive an appetite that never tires;
A gaping heart engulfing all it seeks.
I own a will that constantly misfires;
A mind subverted by its own critiques.
I navigate the valleys and the peaks
Of life's complex terrain with clumsy cheer.
Not prone to many extroverted streaks
I am the man that likes to disappear.
The common coquetry that love requires
Imbues no flush of passion on my cheeks.
I need a discharge from the jolted wires
Of hunger, or a sparkle from mystique's.
Cosmetic valentines are dull antiques
Compared to appetence which has no peer.
I know the damage disappointment wreaks;
I am the man that likes to disappear.
In solitude the social self expires,
And something in that swathe of silence tweaks
My maddened matrix with judicious pliers
To harmonize the inner strife that shrieks.
As loneliness begins its pangs and creaks
Against the bars that keeps its cravings near,
Denial is the only guard that speaks.
I am the man that likes to disappear.
Sporadically a rare disclosure sneaks
Around this skilled, theatrical veneer.
The man I am appears in tiny peeks;
I am the man that likes to disappear.
The forest exploded,
fauns poured out
of a blue spigot sky.
They jumped so high
they brushed against Jesús's feet.
Brown streaks of lightning,
(wide alien eyed) so steady even in terror.........
Coyotes must have stirred them.
Little devils, would chase God into hell
if they could pan his golden DNA.
Black muzzles will come next,
with their plaid hearts and orange chests.
Slumped in highchairs made of icy rain.
Sipping chunky-cheap beer between bites of blank.
Dreaming of BROAD CHESTED sixteen pointers
"The wife" sitting home thinking,
I hope he misfires-keeps HIS crown molding promises.
Her wide alien eyes, so steady even in the deep soul
of black muzzled thoughts.