...yawns...

Sluggish innuenedos
Crack and groan
Over-tired at the surplus
Of unspent torque

The oven yawns
I sense a flippant twist;
Raging below the layers
Is the vibrant apple
Looking to get cored.

Words step out
Adding curvature to thought
But more meaning eludes;

To read what I think.
To think what I feel..
To feel what I lack...
To lack what I need-
To need what I want

And to know I stay away
Restrained and aloof
To what I wish to dive into.

Stuck in mud.

This cracked earth widens
Like the brown leaves of Fall
I fall short of my mark,
To tap the bullseye-
In dedicated repetition.

Wrap

This box is drumming
The rumble of tubes
Glowing to attract
Brain waves slur
As imaginary tales form
Echoing of how legs beg to wrap.

Things To Look Past

Things to look past:

His status- deranged to be here, goading.
The air of that commitment- stifling.
The half-dozen + 1 structure-  impressive

What would a realignment incur
In the aftermath if, "I did"?

These slightly over-lapping worries
Have always turned a mental favor
A trick I am immune from attracting to

'Smashed up against
That blistering heat
The smell of whose build
Tumbles words onto linen
Where penstrokes smear and evaporate.
Streaks of ink
Pushed out of corners
As sharpest edges
Blur in momentum.
This tickling treaty
We have signed
Some eleventh grade year ago
When English  was mandatory
In the Land of Sixteen Candles.'

First. Last.

"...can you stand this...exotic angle..."

This is a sentiment born of instinct
One that knows the melting factor found
When sunk into another.

Euphoric delirium, not replicated elsewhere

This is carnal knowledge- swaddled in love
A feeling to buffer the gloriousness poured
When sweat earns the trust of a true pair.

"I remember my first love..." -McMorrow

Do you? Well, what about your last?

Monday...

Thinking... Feeling... Musing...
Document Life.

'Out...'

The murkier colors leach
They know my mannerisms
The utility I keep
The dedicated investigation into the blur

When a better life lived
Would be in divorcing the spoil of tolerance- turned.

The lure of detritus be damned
The old sun-baked bones belong locked in their de-calcified ruin
While I roam among the living-
Out of place. 

Negotiate

Contained.

Absorbed, fleeting though it has been
Intake is involuntary
How to sift through plausible trauma
Delivering the useful
As it zips past us in frenzied circles

Movement flows
Into the days as they face me
Negotiating nothing but what I choose to make mine
Owned.

Owing no one but this self of mine
The vast prowess of potential.

Fantasies, determining mood
Lingering round each ear, eyelash and elbow
Guiding nothing but the interesting whims that fascinate
And distract.

Detracting.
Protracting.
The instincts ricochet
When the err has been caught.
And I know, I know...I know.

These moves have made me
They are mine to hassle and moan
To hustle and groan.
To laugh in abandon
And love without limit.

Polish is evident
In the arena I cater to
Smoothest edges dance along
Infinite disappearing horizons

I laud those collectibles
That stand at attention
Proudly emanating their joy
A result- of my obvious pleasure.

O to be kind to these worn shoulders
To whisper of understanding
With words that wash indifference
Off the molded tomb of regret.

Broken stones maneuver outward
As brushed crumbs of insignificance
Become swept into nothingness
Alive with cleaned slates
Too numerous to mention.

Forgiveness is key,
To the lamentable heart
Beating beneath our own lapels.

Then so it is,
That we bow to tomorrow
And bid a hearty adieu to judgment
And the wistful, pointless reminiscing
Of events and days long gone.

I will lay in bed clean tonight
Washed of the history of what went wrong
And how I got there.
And dream no more of latent criticism
And bum-fucked Egypt.

Nudging instead, the nightfall
And the moon's whisper...
Of rest, rhythm... and reinvention.