honey

up and stood against a bare backdrop
with a steamy thigh high smile
colored in by context, style, gums and diction--
only remembering the puke paisley dreams of the sun settled
on the edge of where his vision stretched--
damn curved world--
cursed, and now still sick with worry.
please, we plead,
give me a second day to sort the honey from the tea
and compute all this
disorienting nonsense

the world impressed i knew and felt
and remembered details never left
and miles gone the way of drinks
caloric wasted and left to sit
the world alone in cold and shade,
i've memorized the fields for days but
grains can die and sleep and reap
themselves to hell the morning's keep--
the dawn long gone tonight evolves into
the next fat steel red wrung and wrong
i've kept myself and faded away
the memories can only stay

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.