pt. 3

laced in the riddles you tell for free air fare and dutch narcotics.
laced fingers.
numb gums.
failed trial and error.
mood swings and sick familiars.
death and the ever growing shade that follows you.
his chubby cheeks.
anger and resentment for lack of communication and your unapparent participation.
his hair combed back.
unease.
unrest.
visas.
passports.
lustful containment.
detainees.
forgetting the names of the people you loved most so you can create something substantial for yourself.
in a place that your friends inside their houses playing xbox with their unborn babies can't understand.
dreams of interviews with comedians overshadow your day job.
its like theravada says, we're always, wanting.
desire is the root of all displeasure.
and the dimension for which we seek it.
disconnected earlobes.
dopey configurations.
the stinch of heat in the summer.
when flesh seemingly rots its way thru peaceless nights.
nights where its too hot to fall asleep.
sticky tossing and turning.
but then
your sick facination with reading and
sad souls makes you who they need you to be;
imperfection.
warrants wave past your ears.
thoughtless participation is the new motive
that laying in gutters was last year.
patience is an unavoidable accordance when
falling in love,
with drunks.
love being, unattainable.

pt. 2

if you're free,
come sit in this dark with me.
we can waste away to an ink blot
a graphic function our atoms collect
a standard invitation that leaves you feeling parched and mute, yet somehow balanced.
i saw a piece of silence waning somewhere beyond the cityscape.
it looked like you and me, your hands fused around my waist.
when you leave me alone, i'm morbid.
and days play straight into chemical addiction.
where lines rob this face of youth and liquid accumulation melts agility.
she sits slurring words.
dark lidded eyes,
beautiful pug lipped features.
sweating out every pore of you,
a mixture of salt and desperation.
words your guild could never understand.
verses you keep locked inside of your clenched fists.

pt 1.

wild sprinter
gliding on blades of grass
devotated naysayer
denier of love and all things frictional.
using life as an excuse
to rotate cylinders
to perpetrate cycles of devoid emotions,
depictions of courage;
a price tag teemed validation.
its a ripped sleeve
exposing the place where your heart once was.