spell it out for her and walk away

it’s splattering motions that leave us today crawling sputter god give me some time to make sure you are the one i want to decline in moments when i’m drenched in sunlight and captured by derelict black emotions every waking second drenched in contradiction bathing in hypocrisy i’m a liar face fat fuck who can’t make ends meet i figured i’d shape myself different for you presenting casualties and my boo hoo sad suck story to cover the glory of opportunities i’ve wasted gliding through forgotten faces and braces were never needed to straighten my teeth i fell once masking this bent up beak i carry as my trademark i know it’s not you it’s the fellow who blew right past me in second grade within a stylized profession he was well paid it was all i knew gilded bannisters sliding now faster beginning to strut in with pants half down it’s the fucking clown who scares me in upright positions a special force fierce passer yet nothing to curse if his hands were chopped off and hamarabi was right i would have caught a glimpse of you tying his shoe when i pulled in the room hoping to hop aboard.

to the few

study a facial feature, slight hand to the desk, whisper to Karl who’ll never take a risk 

corralling corgi harnessing energy and thoughts to box it in so they’ll break it out expand and contract motions to make sure they feel you listening no wrong no right no situation too tight to squeeze through and cater a new understanding of us and them and they and we pronoun punting in the land of the free wipe them clean and dig the ditch it’s our last effort to make a switch they want to know and know they’ll never have a complete picture irrigated with the happy and sad rising faster crashing dead spirits dragging in are we with you entering and trying to begin 

teenage minds rewind remain kind my job is to define a culture of expectations from there it’s yours take the four by four and build stairs to straddle strangers glaring back it’s kill or sunshine the greatest attack to who we are built around cities dusk set in polite canteens with situations met 

grab my heart beating whole and holy filled with scars never stopping this bully who baby’s and panders to beasts and goal line jocks considering the feast of flavors desperately wanting a way in you found me yesterday standing away from everybody i was lost and scared left to my own and unaware that blessings are not from above but below the devil never developed the land or laser light show i dig to find my lasting breathe it’s in front of me clamoring bereft to dance with bubbles bursting as they binge watch cantaloupe stars on soap board situations scrubbing now drubbing and clubbing the enemy who can’t stop loving you. 

Continue to think I care

If that’s the part that helps you start your day without replay of nights soaked in rushed around lies telephoning your friends in an attempt at goodbye 

waking and washing the reality you want, long car rides home songs proving you’re not alone while strategizing ways to shift blame about his name and the city you claim held host to the series of pissed around shame

i left curled curiously crying in a ball 

lights out, 

after i shout as you turn around and force my doubt of your reflection and my intention that should carry the burden of life without a hurry. 

waiting in line for you to decide 
this bulging banter of bigoted banality is baiting us to crawl in the crevices created by dynastic despots deciding to edge out the eager elves elevating to elastic funnels fueling fire for the future finish-line as they gather gophers engaged in gross gadgets hailing heroes who halt the interesting introverts imploding in igloos they’re just jacking jocks juggling jaded jams kicking the keepers of the kings secret killings while lapping in luxury licking little lives of leftover lunches lingering with lapses in language lost and lifting languidly for mighty monsters mixing margaritas with manic moments making nothing new now in open orifices overtaking octopus onlookers ogling people pushing past perfume plastic, patiently poking a queens question quest that rests reliably on ready made relics of stationary shoes so small standing solidly in sequestered towers taking time to tempt tonight’s tantrum unaware underneath ugly underwear is validation vaulting to vanished vulnerability waiting, watching while wincing with xylophone yawns yelling at you a zombie.

snap crackle pop

let everyone drop to their knees sewn up sisters with stitched shut eyes waiting for others reassuring sighs goodbye wanderings when you should have just left it’s nothing new to be part of the theft leaving a reason hanging in our room a dull drum beat thumping sonically resonating booms swishing and sinking with every encounter keeping answers away

still hearts beating

these are not the memories i want to display while age takes away my graying hair 

leaving me blank 

eyelid stares 

yearning to tell you that Sunday’s sitting on benches stretching the scenery listening to mediocrity while silent circles swarm around our gloom is not our killing day’s tomb

get up and take the months of torture with you.

sitting down across from you 

eyes darting

your head turns to get up

i left before you could grab your bag

turn, twist and wring this out 

guided musing 

the sleep sludge grate my eyes can’t see

passerbys is what you left

goodbye kisses aching on my forehead

left for all to notice 

the captured side

safe without a border to keep you in

they sort

contort

resort 

nothing can catch this vile way you purport

grinding in a cache land 

stand a while and grab this hand 

thrash my situation bland 

i can’t taste this rerun plan 

in and out 

leather slides 

leaving 

passion pitted against itself

left a tale to tell on the shelf

worn out bindings and false findings

just grab my tie and show me my needs

i can’t see through the envious haze

captured in a momentary silence 

They were held to a lampshade by a bulky clip that couldn’t quite fit the contours 

 
it came undone constantly sending the crumbling, crunchy reminders of a casket to the ground. wrinkled, purple, pink and weak. remnants he couldn’t find a way for his fingers to put in a final place to be taken away, he left them to become the carpet. always around never restored like his neighbors kitten and the reason he is bitten and unwilling to let anyone through the door. it was only a few weeks ago they were fresh, fully bloomed masking the death stink sounds that filled a room where two people gathered to say goodbye she didn’t let people see her lip curl cry, the wrinkled eyes when laughing at guys who came through a box on top of stacked crates. he had to visit. duty calls when shit filled sheets are easier to change than to imagine being rolled around in. the final guilt, he’d trip his way through the door her cursing leading him to the drawer, a costume change and soup once more it’s nothing now. she fell asleep, snow inches deep he couldn’t find a way. she sat days. opening the door her lies and filth filled his eyes. calls were made. expenses paid. two people cared enough to parade through the alley to grab a bottle and say goodbye to their mom. 

thinking i know what you want when you come to me in need is the mistake i make when we undertake showing compassion

listen, actually hear and feel the words as they spell circumstances i’d rather not be a part of 

my brother left and the cord still strikes 
i don’t want to be held sometimes that happens at night, stop giving me food i can’t stand to bite i need to chew through the news and apply the blues to 50s kitchen hues and realize making one and one a two can put me closer to you. stop handing me your fidget toys, quit playing that dull white noise and please for the love of god, i don’t like yoga. 
i told you about this morning, tuesday night and the closet at my sisters wedding so you’d know, you’d know i’d work harder to get out. i appreciate your concern and look away when you notice a burn, please 

i need one thing. understand that when i’m late it’s not out of disrespect my brother is seven, sister eleven and cold shower parades with hand swiping braids, time just fades, all i want are those grades that can lift us to a place without raids. 

so, thank you for hearing me. 

if you could listen to one thing

the compassion you can show isn’t more attention, or stuff

it’s knowing i’m doing my best, and that shouldn’t be enough

push me, no one else does

rabbits dart back in their hole if they don’t like what they see

Shredded circles ripped by images 

stages of development 

a harbor 

i hang out with help wanted friends

stitching together pieces of evidence to keep us whole, at least tethered in an effort to be acknowledged

we can’t do it alone

trust me

i spent years on that wall 

buried in books 

scurrying through malls 

the only time people stopped was to apologize for kicking me

at least, most did

i lost my eyes years ago

no ones using them

they were beaten bloody, ripped and torn 

the scorn worn from not knowing ‘we don’t go in there’

‘there’ was the pantry before dinner

‘there’ was soccer day saturdays

‘there’ was the house i had no choice to go to after passing through the plasma tunnel into this shell game

we started meeting a few weeks back

you gave me your baby blues

they used to be brown

to be fair, and feel like i have a part, you couldn’t push a shopping cart without my left hand 

and that north side kid made the plan, that although foul and not quite full we could use his mouth

until he has to move again

jane’s coming tonight with a couple of friends

rumor is they have hearts

senses stripped leaving us to stitch together the best of us to feel whole, a joining soul our final goal to complete one another and feel more than the holes that strangers, family, flakes and friends gave us as we rounded out the bends 

of life

If this doesn’t work out?

I’ll fold my clothes and myself on the top shelf of closets closed by cloudy days when grey pours from me and just, kinda, stays.

back in the hole

Balancing this cup standing in line 

it’s you who will see a mark less benign the lateral move to get away from a mistake i made while falling in the shade of an oak where i sat and spoke to a crowd of sparrows who knew to take notes this important transition i find myself in is guiding me to repeat a final sin dragging with me next of kin you’re the sad weasel who forgets hearts and modes are less than profound stop thinking and start reacting to people who don’t want you to hear.use words more judicially. you shackled my senses with stammering hope gulping the fire and creating smoke.