Monochrome

We’re only rhythms:
breaths expressed spent compressed
for future syllabic vivacities.
Monochrome.
But look how far we’ve come,
glance right to over the shoulder
circumstantial sighs while
over to the left accrued tongues tied
neatly knotted charted plotted.
And what’s become?
My speech as dull as
everyone’s thoughts:
running drain drills.
At least my head’s still spinning,
axis askew.
Oh, and Hallelu! for carbonation rejuvenation
(saving souls from sanity.)
Keep cloudy between my ears friend,
or foe. Phantom perceptions never know.

Dodger

Eardrums clanked kitchen cutlery
whisking words to sisters
like they had aspirations.
Oh, sit still or Madam Im adaM
will find someone who will.
I swear I’m on fire this time.
Prefer risk of repetition?
Tell your friends’ friends.
Unexpected plot twist.

Plain Sight

Plans left in plain sight,
law applies.
Knowing what was to come
I jumped. Spun twice.
And held my breath with both hands.
Eyes slammed tight,
I exhaled empathy.
But she couldn’t see either.
And as my empathy zeroed in
her sympathetic strategy
took effect, and I was gone.

Particles In Motion

So I’ve been lying,
stretching my teeth.
Seems to be a
wolf in sheep’s clothing
specialty.
Sinking claws deep
makes it all too easy.
And I do.
Smooth talker ‘til
I lose my jaw along with
words that circle drains
situated in my lungs.
Oh hell,
I only take your breath away.

Carnivore

What to say, I intra-think.
These words I deem,
ill-fitting, to say the least.
I’m dire and grim, and
maybe quick with wit.
Conniptions.

Childish

There’s blood on my hands:
monosyllabic confessions.
Let my common reactor
refer to her by name
while I skewed the meaning
of songs I hum.
It’s an ongoing process,
throwing civility out the window.

Lover Boy

Neck cricked back and
out the door, ready to strike.
Confirming unhinged sins
with heart string chords
in Eb major. Satisfaction
stole my breathe as
you acknowledged I was on fire.
Credits rolling, tight
like eyelids.
Shotty articulation left me slightly
confused, but bewildered all the same.

Yum

Words rub lips raw upon exit,
but I have to keep singing.
Every point is proving moot
but I still find comfort in
reaffirming what little sense I have.
I remember when every
thought had a process and
every process had meaning.
But then again, my memory
is who I used to be.

Jack, My Friend

Thinking is a feeling I can't quite place,

and he puts me to sleep once the sun

hits my face.

Stifling my swing, blurring,

he says I just need some time.

But with our staring contests

he always forgets, and blinks

when she catches his eye.

And if fingers go for a walk, tonight

I won't be talking,

just trying to find my feet.

Soda, popped

Fizzled, bubbles still tickle my nose though.
Can’t help but think of you,
damn my creativity and affinity for
love.