SPIT

 "Light me up again..."

Powered. Pressed. Heavy. 

Nocturnal contrast

Of night, and white sheets. 

Pushed, 

Internally, your words

Traveling throughout. 

Wreaking havoc between my

Tendons and skin

Looking to be pushed out

By way of You. 

Hoisted to a spit

And set to burn at a slow roast

For coveting the idea, 

Of You. 

Blood boiled,

Night boom 

Switched to perform

Solo.

Balmy day, no recompense 

From the unslept night.

The grind of restraint wears down layers

Chewing away epidermis.

These tools enacted 

Stand in defense of the unspoken spoil 

Drifting without deadlines

To an X on the map of Never Reached. 

Soot

I Am 

Hunting to improve

Methodology. 

Digging into philosophy

Studying what it is that I trade

For my time, 

And how I feel and assign

Meaning. 

Ghosted. 

Words tacked down yesterday

Blown. 

This, a known pattern. 

He. 

Touched down, and

For a moment, pumped me enough

To strangle inactivity

And wake sleeping lions from their

Comatose dens.

How many more years will pass

Until the imagined inhalation

Turns to empty soot?

At 60, the action, I imagine, reaches delirium. 

The brakes won't matter, 

There'll be nothing to pump. 

Delirium without recourse 

Is a maggot ridden steak

Rippled with the rotting promise

Of loss. 

Boise

Pen up

Dropped.

Pen held, 

 ...down. 

Words lost 

Months on months on end

Then You. 

Pen up, mind drawn. 

Layers, ripped 

Decay, chipped

You

Blasting me

Blaring me

Loading my barrel. 

You. 

Potency, regaled to all senses

A decade deep

Our Love, entrepreneurial 

Ever young, ever fervent, ever engaged

It is the absence of our skins 

That stay put the sins

Preserving the mint

Of when first, We were 'coined'.