Becoming...

Happiness, a condition
Transient to our exposure to sound
What does this mean for fluid filled beings
For we can no sooner control the content approaching
Than the random degrees of the sun.

Screws, Remixed.

Today, I daydream of gravel and warm sun
Barefoot when I wasn't, amidst the smell of soapstone, lakewater
and driftwood.

I am wearing Frahm on my skin
Trickling, drizzling, imbued...my ears, channeling
Negotiating a truce
To rectify recent months, and flush them into the land of 'lost'.

Southwest breezes have found me, commitment to memory endures
Black-eyed Susan's and bumble bees punctuate peripheral memory
I live high in this time of transported bliss, recompense the tenseness
Muscles, relax.

Screws, 'remixed' has folded itself in firmly
Cells inside me are bumping, liquid smooth in this relaxed cognition
The mind of my interior is collaborating with the health of happier thoughts
Flushing, frisking, burning off the scabs.

Third Day...

Intricate. Involved. Invertebrate
Skipping down each plate, each bone,
Every chip of calcium inlayed machinery
Echoing marks of detailed consequence
Stained effortlessly along the way of choice.
Instinctual understanding
No ignorance can excuse what comes next.
Choice.
Choice is a privilege.
A risk.
A dare without an audience
Unaware of opinion
Oblivious to care.

Choice.
A privilege.

'...life and the night...'

The dark night holds many memories of a love- supreme.
Of skin, two shades- mixing, melding, melting
Low voices kindling high burn
As disheveled limbs murmur amongst the contortion of sweat.
Who were we in that corner room
At the house on Wintergardens?
Even now, the rhetoric blames my initiative.

Loose, twinkling stars bring back an avalanche of needs
That were once fulfilled by the steam of his ghost..
Yes, for even then, that presence we shared stopped time
Feasting on the cataclysmic source of our magnetism.
So many secrets fill these lines,
The girth of these aged memories bulge
Beneath the weight of one 'still living' heart
Grieving at the loss of its partner.

How many ways can I recant this desolation when it hits?
Hissing above the tidal wave of that touch laid to rest...
The moon is cold and without redemption
When I look up into the blank stare of black sky.
Out there among cloudless heavens
The quiet call echoes like a mountain lion's growl.
He's hunting in memory for more time
To fill the coffers of all we generated between us.

Torn by a burr-laden whip, ripping pores away
From the translucent outline of musculature gone south.
The movement of youth was deliberate and starved
Feeding without regard of temporal gluttony
For who can say in the aftermath of decades lost
That such dining came at too heavy a cost?

Would that I could embolden the rupture of such reminiscing
Into something far more lenient in nature
But in doing so, such transactions would diminish the ardent meaning
Of love locked in time, locked in fortitude, locked in grandeur
Robbing us both of the music we choreographed
When life and the night were yet young.

Double-fisted.

Strong in my strength
Or strength in weakness?
Which have I invested?
Catering to this idea
The morning is moot.

Breathe in between notions,
As the lingo here seems to lack
Notions? Having labeled as such
Importance careens South
Outward, as neglect rejects worth.

How much more indecision will I swallow?
Swallowing, swallowing, always swallowing.
Divisive fevers infect esteem
Sanity, poked until pressure
Captures the flag of focus

I want to hide everything in riddles
Camouflage the quotient to falter
When I know the potential for greatness
Continues to wait in patient graciousness
Fuck this abhor-able proficiency

Broken behavior must be bashed
Beaten until the willingness to challenge restraint
Yields a more controlled vessel
I've been told to focus on what is good
And here I sit, in continual denial.

I am bored with all the words I use,
There is restlessness seeping out
Exhalation drags repugnance to every exit
Somewhere, the fighter in me skids to look back,
Dying to beat hesitation with both fists.

How many fuckin ways can I elaborate
The fuckin toxicity that engulfs me?
And I want to fuck it into oblivion
Fuck. I want all my 'F' words close
Because there is no greater fucking emphasis

He keeps telling me to see what he sees.
How much longer will I stay blind?
Let us not jade ourselves here into thinking that
The only one I'm fucking
Is myself.

Placeholders...

Eloquence, finding its way back again
Applying the ardor needed to flex kinder, sweeter muscles
Than the dismay and gore of recent weeks.
The room to dream has budged
Heard, from a distance, that vibrating tenor of choice
Verbatim, words in the ether flow back, and in candor - we love.

Time does not stand still for love, or rather it does
It holds its place and grows, and even the minutiae glows true.
We are woven in to the tune of all we chant
Together; abroad, continent..sky... and the sea.
Consummate to the memories of all we have 'supposed'.
Existence, can it be paralleled?

If yes, so what.. if no... who cares?
There is uniformity in the fluidity of even the unpredictable
And if it doesn't make sense, then let it.
Let it because... love is also madness.
What is meant to be understood finds its way into the grooves of grey matter
What is meant to remain an enigma, must.

Intuitive lure is the heroin of lovers
Pumping each other full by needle, song, and smoke
Inhaling the galactic notion that eventually, the raw needs of night
Will land gracefully onto the laps that have done their time
Laboring in the languishing heat of all that desire can 'suppose'
And yes.. yes.. a thousand times Yes, to that moment, I am open...