dciacb

i've missed how
neatly i slip through you
and miss the bits we
never mention,
boring every second
in my soul, drying eyes
to the tune of mothers
sliding past the plans
they laid, rapt attention,
simple plays mad men relayed
between their vivid
orders, sorted by the
sordid fantasies they've
recalled, floating
in their dreams. but fortune
cannot find everything--
leaving quite a bit neglected,
voyeuristic demigods
comment on their
imperfections. every day
still

works  the gap between my
heart and mind,
and we celebrate with grace
the simple-measured melodies
we easily leave behind

paranoid

nothing remains but the web to be seen--you've cast
on me, i can't believe, but i spin my own to deceive
the wrinkled murmurs sharpening in me,
the oracle devised a memorable moment i've
held onto for hours then transformed
into aching years, the smile of a churning mile soaring
for the journey it understands and follows--
missions to help me believe in this, because i know longer see it--
oaths gone on sworn, born, and unsung,
the paranoid remember me as reminiscent
of their dreams--
but i can't empty out my depths to
compensate for emptiness-- after i'm
wasted i'm only spent, day to morning
back to attention's teat,
sipping and dying,
sustaining the simple lies gently
working their soothing magic
and letting me sleep.

pretty

Grimwald smiles and you'll die
defined, disagreeing and divine--
all sick and no sleep, pretty
empty rollers sprinkling
glass in the drying granite slushing in
the sleet,
all
deaf ears curled ivory
roads foreign salted with fresh bile and sweat,
foggy from the furthest reaches,
slipping through beach breaches back
to boats across a map-shorn shore, ailing
for atlantis and beyond,
echoing in seconds after
with regrets alternating against every
long gone fast buck borrowed, spent, and lost

growth apart

give them the world and they'll want to walk it. 
she knows there's something
sad in the logic of a sonnet,
measured, steady-motion rowing
ghosts of hopes from whispering lips
in the weathered rhymes of wintery wits
long since buried in crumbling halls
and forgotten like their fallen fathers.

mental states

sleeve-rolling in the morning,
all hours put off,
strumming infinity's strings.
like oil black hair,
we softly get long--
spines soaking in seltzer,
absorbing their weight,
feeling time in their designs
and space.

osaka

i'm looking forward to being incredibly happy
rising with the sun firmly on my boundary
trapped far from myself and searching for answers
in the hearts and eyes of the loves i'll be lost in, with
no wonderful tongue to know, lost, lost in the
cherry snow, black dark black on streets and trains,
eyes and hairs all matched the same,
all merry madness unfriendly and tame.
i'm looking forward to low expectations
nothing from no one that no one owes me,
unthinking free from the firm hand,
selfish at last, unfolding in the garden of
my own end. they won't have nixon to kick around anymore
(I'm nixon) here, where
i could never be glimpsed, let alone seen,
or ever known in that full capacity through which
they would have known my awesome glory. oh my dead end
self-contradictory android nation, programmed for destruction--
i'll sigh when i see it go, having learned and always known
what not a single person could ever see in wasted years not listening
to me.

mothers thrown off lightly tonight, without a second thought,
their power grown from milk consumed rejected by their healthy sons.
nothing known, by nothing, no one--empty at last, free of delusion.
i'm your disconnected anchor, sinking slowly, smiling,
i've given you that pride you have, and you wield it so capably--
i have no need to fight you, son, because you're still my child--
i'd have destroyed you at any time, if that's what you desired.
instead i'll bow and take my leave, from this sad scene with no worthy audience
to read into the truth and lies and balance of morality--
or who is true and who deluded, who's to say for sure--
all i know is that i don't mind, all i know is i can't care,
i'll exit left with credits kept, the aftermath laid bare

shade

no rest
for wild droves in love,
rebellion, petty, profiting
from half a world away--
the rest of us are wheat and
chaff, shifting, reaped and suffering,
or rooted where we stay.