Warm Sand.

Bury my feet into warm sand
Warm, inviting, squeezed.
Sunshine felt even in the overcast saloon of my mind
But why slice open and issue nothingness?
When the assumptions to be had work less in reverse-
And more into open.
Widen again this crevice, reveal an interior cortex, that
Lives in opulent boredom. A cerebral whiz
Waiting on the dumbfounded muscles of a doubting tom.
Foolish, fucked tom-foolery.
Noiseless and yet, so fucking loud.
Wiggling toes now find warm sand inviting,
Creating more down for the cortex to unwind
Relaxing as it undulates in perfect misconception.
I am wallowing in my wanderlust, feeling the evasion of time
And the punctured illusion of practicality.

I love and love and love so much. Too much. Not nearly fucking enough.
This skin is moaning with a conscience,
That despite all the proper notions and responsible alignment,
Finds madness looming in virtue.
Kantian ethics engrave a plaque that can, and eventually will
Hang in hell for the lost reprieve of ugly Golden Years.
Truth is, I know, I know, I know, I already know.
And yet, I make the same decisions, as the beast of other paths
Would create much worse.
Much worse a tomorrow than any mislead trade of today.
There will be a wonder, a backtracking orbit when the last dark hair gives in
And a gentle sigh for the path taken that led to cleaner slate.
Continue, continue, continue, the reward beaming out is far greater
Than all supposed woes that will greet me when the grey takes permanent root.

But I will still know sorrow, and the rancid odor of decayed lust.
I will still backpack into yesterdays when self-loathing kept the wolves away
Pheromones snuffed and swallowed in return for a memory of loathsome stagnancy.
In a time where matters are taken into my own hands
I push the svelte bitch that dared too much many thousands of hours ago
Push away and punched, her perpetual willingness to yet rise is unfailing
For now......................
Until 50, 55, 60. It is unknown, when the time will come and safely I can venture
Away from despondency and into companionship.
The richness of full-throttle maturity is indeed an emotionally lucrative prospect
But the dying skin that begs forgiveness yet writhes.
In agony, agony, in agonizing defeat.
Begging for a morsel of acknowledgment,
That somewhere on this incline to independence
There will be a detour into sexual hysteria once more
That land of Milk & Honey, oozing with Moan & Bone.
Earning more memories of the greatness of a good fuck
Adorned in every pliable decorum that the skin has to offer.

I am kidding nothing.
I am aware of all angles.
I boast of the high road, where lanterns never die out
As the intention of the 'best choices' wrangle free of wind that can diminish their light.
But too well I know the difference, between a wholesome goodbye and indifference.
And while I remain indifferent to the body's song 'for now'
I am ever-vigilant and dedicated beyond all fucking reasoning
To notice the tides of change.
Somewhere roaming in that hall of all my drive and ambition
Roams too, the decadent flow of unspent touch
Walking tall with all my 'best intentions' fastened tightly
The courageous heart will find a way,
To notice when time is of the essence.
And eventually, in no uncertain terms, pores will open and flush
Out and away all this body-wracking tension
Singing far into the night and its indigo wind, the sound of lovers voices
Made whole in their co-joined madness.

Until that time,
The smell of smoke, sweat and evaporating spirits
Penetrate a palette that delves deeper into its consistency
Laboring in the languor that lingers.

Gone?

The accumulation of waste is evident only to me
Stilled by my own blackness, waste, it is as I mentioned
Waste. Heavy. Burdened. Fucked.
The lighthouse in the woods is diminished...

Adopt

I am estranged
...from myself.
The generalization has found me
A statistic of one, in a sea of too many.
I have to get dirty here
To shake the disease once and for all.
To be found in this mosh pit of filth
I am sickened beyond description-
A dialogue I swore I'd never adopt.

Reticence

The day has slated me
I am deaf about the ears, again
To any reason that may float nearby.
No metaphor for cause
No drastic queue to prompt
Nothing but the numb
To bruise bruises that have grown stale
Ages and ages ago...
When the day was blue and floating,
Unlike the now, green with envy.

Fornication of inanimate objects
In its senseless adverbial prison
Seems a likelier conclusion
To this yesterday that I bid adieu.
'Yesterday', I speak of it as though it has passed
Not, in all the welcome of tomorrow is that coming
Thursday, twice past holds no greater value than my now.
The crutch of this pause holds me fast
I am revolting in lurid form, yet without gain.

What then, I ask, is this questionable attitude forming?
Why, when the rotted expiration has come and gone and still
De-oxygenated flesh moves on, as if to harbor hope
Hope in longing.

Hope in longing, yes.
It is there that I roam; soft, warm, still breathing
Half-moon eyelids at rest, as another imaginary pulse lingers.
Who knew the flavor of waste would become so addictive?
The bane of existence has been clutched close
To an untouched breast that lays in dormant haste-
Or waste.
The distinction in today is futile
For the knowledge of tomorrow is had;
I am still miles away from that awakening
When senses long dulled by the heroin of loneliness,
Drink again from a cup; a cup strong, potent, worthy.

Crooked are these assumptions, to push forward in virtuous haste
Relying on a tomorrow that can never guarantee
Absolution from the stinging cause of going without.
There is reticence everywhere
Swimming in the deep water of all my refluent thought.

Held...

Wading in again, hoping for something more
To be courageous enough to push away from the safe, loose gravel
Multicolored and forgiving in its camouflage
The delicately rippling surface is sending secrets
I look away as though to promise myself that I am unaware
But all too well, I know the routine; I'm here for hope.
I sift through the unknown as well as I do any known comfort
Kissing whispers into the path they form, unscripted and free

That tall, thick and solid hum is vibrating in its chest
Patiently awaiting the nothing that anticipation brings-
Seeking instead, the constant quote of self:
Truth in waves, further and further they lap against shores unseen
Clean air comes with penned reminders of who is living here
What shadow cast leaves room for assumptions? None,
For within the collected down of ostrich strokes
Parchment sings of many years yet to be written upon
And of love that grows deeper even in the absence of a nest.

The smell of something close and trusted
The warm crook of a wise and understanding yesterday
A yesterday that smiles longer in the evening, as memories stretch and yawn.
Love turns darker shades within the aged moonrise
The midnight clouds travel slowly,
Painting portraits in the glow of its soft focus
Naked reprieve has taken this lifetime,
Allow these tumbling limbs the long flex of relax
 As muscles unfold, skin composes sonnets
Too rich with longing and filled with need, poetic justice is a mime

I like this place, where gravity carries a comprehensive role
I'm jettisoned in quietest haste, and with eyes adjusted to the indigo moon
I feel energy that imbues a concerto of reward
A payoff that leaves me lathered in a care so great,
The skeletal region need no longer exist to uphold the soul inside
Tendons renewed and relaced, into a muscular system that now pumps in perfection
Renewed in the soaking of Springs that carried the high quality of standards held.

Acknowledgements.

I am concubine to the proper
No longer even entertaining the idea
Of expenditure into games that serve to destruct
And it is evangelical to perch and preach within
Growing sickly by the hour in my refuge towards- Virtue.
I don't have even the will to transcribe
All the eloquence of treasured energy
For it seems in days of old, such action proved little
By way of honoring the heart and not the hole.
I am aware now of so many faults
Why now do I wish to abandon my kindness?
I loved so much in weakened states,
Thinking that to tear down rough exteriors
I would earn their reverent favor...
But there was none to be found.
It did not exist, in laying waste to preservation
I gave away my own fortitude
In the now I flail like a pathetic waif
Begging back the strong arm that once suited me:
Muscles that once swore to protect
All that the child in me held dear.
When I was that young,
I learned too early about the slow ache of resistance
Ever wishing under constant duress,
For self-esteem to conquer sensitivity.
This Winter coat is thickening
Reinforcing bitter chill
Bowing back into the sinews,
That leak from darkened corners.
No sense in shying away from dark matter
For t'is irreverent abuse that's sure to follow
Ignorance has nevermore meant bliss
To swill from  that lurid barrel is the folly of the lost.
I am lost no longer in the contemplation of December
Fully aware and tilted forward, into my devastation
I am head-on into the traffic
Fucking off the tepid warnings that have remained quiet
Destined never to solve equations that stood by
Oblivious to the worry, the intention, the imbalance.
I've weakened in absorbing this repetitious, sucker-punched inertia
Might as well pull that last Ace
Put it to good use-
Tomorrow comes quickly
And I am now the wiser.

Twist

The words move forward but no sound
They gel in their silence, protected.
I am two parts transfixed in my attendance-
One pink-hued and slathered in love for such earned patience
The other- drained of the employ of hindsight
Desiring above all to crack the whip of disgust-
.5: unarmored and unafraid, .5: protected in reasoning
But fuck that protection, fear is the reason for its being
I want to fuck off all fear
Fuck it away into nothingness,
Into a forever that I shall never see again
As its motive never once moved beyond that of victimizing.
I want to strap on the boots of a stranger
Walk away from this life and into his foreign tongue
Translating nothing to comprehend naught.
What do I care of coalescing at this point?
Having earned the simple tools it takes to pry authenticity away from arrogance
I care less for being heard than I do to hear myself
I crave equity away from all this noise
...and the company of a faceless trust
A friend who never sought the need to prove his worth
For time would see to it, that his quiet sound be heard above all.
...and it is, today and all the days to follow.
Fuck the perfunctory notions of what time has taught
For that time has been swindled by the teaching of lambs.
I've been bathed in enough norms and mores of others
Tainted from before time had value, to an infant knowing nothing.
Tonight is before me, and the dark is my tableau
I am a hundred years older in these evenings
With even the wrinkles to soften wise smiles
 I am already aware of tomorrow and her lachrymose test
 As each day ages my mind adjusts, maturing in kindness
Forgiving the wasted minutes of the day
Feeling old but with less acuity in the ache of the aged
For the Sage is my Shepard and I shall not want...
Flesh dries like the desert and the more I am aware of the perspiring twist
The easier it becomes to relent upon the relentless
Bidding a hefty 'adieu' to the wasted wetness that never left my side.