Seasonal Offender

Wicked smiles decapitating the little

dancing fingertips left in the cold.

No lessons are learned when winter coats

are clever. Singing along with the wind

something finally sinks. All the windows

were kicked in and back out. Sign language.

Get the party off the mantelpiece,

how unspecific. It must be love.

Fame

You're only a four letter word.

I dropped a hint for our audience

seemingly off-hand so you wouldn't notice.

Empty pockets can't buy your heart, and

the well's a little on the shallow side these days.

Do you remember when I told you

I would never lie? How ironic right.

Having chased down your shadow,

I see it was you all along.

Oh boy, where do I start?

My weatherman's a fascist.

Leitmotif

Marching as the drummer
of our recklessly assembled fairy tale,
I'm off half a beat.
My charisma let it pass,
though Peter doesn't seem too fond
of this calling card percussionist
I've become.
I'm switching to the French Horn,
in too much of a hurry to chew.
But boys like him are not afraid
of stomach aches.
If you listen closely you can hear
my oboe abdomen blues.

Uncles

Calling our names backward and

leaving nothing to the imagination

digital eyes pry past our insides

stealing your breath in the process.

Why did you ask why I ask

so many questions

if you were just going to dance

on my answers like feedback?

Spitting tongues at those red eyes.

We'll blink like we have a purpose tonight,

no dreams for analog deceptions.

Half Full

Blessed my lips with something like scandal

as I explored what was left of her human vessel.

She was plenty empty but her implicit objectives

were too good to abscond to probability, or Canada.

Left me feeling a specter; what a dark assignment

she turned out to be. My nubile apprentice,

I just wanted to see your insides

maybe fill them a quarter or so.

Combustible

Damaged goods,

never taking it easy

on his readers.

Slipping hints of

discontent through language;

still searching for that

first time high.

If nothing else, he's

proof of blackened wombs

and malignancy.

Oedipus

Trenching through knee deep personality
praying for quicksand, I know
tastes like plastic wafer skin
are meant for my palette.
Falling victim to strawberries
blowing kisses at no one in particular,
St.Confession left me wanting more
at the bottom of the hotel pool
where we learned to leave
the most beautiful things.
Bodies blush, all over.
We aren't dead yet;
give us time to blacken our thoughts.
Oh, just confess Oedipus.

Younger Eyes

Slicked lenses,

we didn't know better than

vaseline love.

She even bores my camera.

Chasing spiders around

drain spun webs.

Collect debris from

a timeline orbit,

pretty pages.

Remember your number.

Choose Your Own Adventure

It's hard when you know what could be.

And when does potential love

lose its beginning anyway?

Waiting for words to be forgotten

I'm sticking around with two feet

half off the ground and

a door ready to close.

You're a genuine inquiry to me,

tempo dragging a little.

Maybe it's up to me to cut

this two/four bullshit

and hike it up a notch.

Or eight.

My thoughts are always illegible.

Secular Love

Onset.

Counting back to get up

higher than my single mind allows.

Give me speed and strength

I can do this alone,

but enlist the help of thirty others.

Little help they may be,

but fallen in love

has my stomach.