(n) indulgence in aimless thought or dreamy imagining
Who can see me through this guise,
My poorly hidden pantomimes.
I’m looking at my overbite,
My worry lines, unsightly eyes.
And once I’ve beaten all the drums,
The meter’s set, my day is done,
They’ve taken off all at a run
And I’ll be here left in disquiet
Hot plate
She drinks Coffee Mate
While I passively expire
Inbred
She’ll soon be dead
Why don’t you come and join me by the fire
Timepiece
She’ll dress in fleece
I think I’ll go lie down awhile
Red letters
Her dress is tatters
I guess we’ll all go out in style
My mind speaks volumes
I won’t say a word
(Mama said she’d buy me a mockingbird)
Indentured to sickness
She won’t stand a chance
Bejeweled wings flutter a commonplace dance
(If that mockingbird don’t sing)
A value of equal to or less in stature than
Some thing left to squaller
I’ve muddled it, and,
(Mama said she’d buy me a diamond ring)
For too late I find, I’ve lost peace of mind,
And those thoughts are loud enough to ponder.
Balance among the storm clouds
Walk along the seams
Wander through the silhouettes,
Watch water turn to steam.
I’ll follow you up there, feelings liquid in my mouth,
Knowing, full well, that they’ll never let me out.
The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door
What is it for?
Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound
You know I’ll always be around
Until I’m not.
Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got
Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you
Liquid malnourishment
Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet
Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense
Innocence lost lost lost in every note
Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,
I’m too late.
I’m wandering through machinations, trepidations, my stipulations
Casting out hands like broken wings, taking flight through this suffering
She’s a little bird again, yes she
Her fragile heart wrought with ingenuity
My skin reacts to these attacks as each crack fissures an open wound
Oozing out these wanderings I’m wondering
Don’t I mean anything to you?
Broken, shifted, the pain is mended
Tied up with strings and sealing wax, it should have ended
And I’m struggling to write a tune.
Missing, missing, that sweet ache is missing
Her bleeding heart leaves a trail through this room
(Tomb)
They sing and I cry,
I dance and you sigh,
“I can’t see you again anytime soon, my love, no I can’t see you anytime soon.”
Wait.
Gone, now, all gone.
I move along,
And left on the floor behind me,
All tissue and muscle, steadily beating useless part,
Useless heart
Obsolete.
Woolgathering 