emotions

from bed, ready for it

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

reveal those parts that others relate to and relish in the reaction that we are all revolving around the same renegade revelations that connect our retail rate emotions simmering in caldrons of disjointed sustenance ensuring we are all fed before bed distanced from dread calculating new measures of what it takes to open our eyes when mornings draw open our shades

we know the new dawn will bring us to understanding the ticking of time created by a mime who acts out the sunshine spreading its wings to open mist fields of starlings feeding and catching wind

flocking in sequence

taking turns with no sense

what it means to be alone

we can imitate

climb out of fear fate

feel the feather’s beat in rhythms meant to join us once again to common goals.

from bed, regrets disregarded

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

Contemplating confused states of misunderstanding when i should keep my mouth closed and let you lead the way

it’s not easy

standing by

shuffling states of being in hopes of drawing the trump card we can all use to hit our target number of tricks

dialed in without knowing what one another wants

needs

the author of this confrontation bleeds

as we hop over her limp blue body denying deaths drumbeat. the dum dum sish boom bahs of our rhythmless foot steps marching to bodies of water waiting for our crownless souls to dip in and become a part of losing control

featherless flyers

filtering out the pieces of mystery to stay sane on a spinning orb of indecision and deception

i can’t claim i wasn’t there

you saw me

huddled in a corner

wishing i hadn’t stated my purpose

now you know

i couldn’t join you

even when i grabbed tight and kept you tethered to past triumphs that have become meaningless

i’ll let you go

if you promise to visit the stone remains that prove our time spent together

from bed, we’re there while they’re here

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

when did we stop watching fireflies fade during summer nights spent spinning in circles shrouded by stunned emotions holding tightly to the thoughts that we were alone in parks where patrons left hours before leaving us to wade in shallow water, splashing the day’s leftover innocence on one another’s goose bumped flesh cleansing the marks left from the quiet deaths their judgements marked while widened dreams danced off our lips sucking away every desire of a new day while we held the night tight drifting out of sight from the oglers need to be where we were meant to be tripping away from the pain deserted pathways overgrown from knowing it wasn’t the way.

from bed, another year older

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

holding back the hoards of train wreck images throbbing through my synapses swerving to avoid truthful touches while trying to stay on track

words in patterns switched around

happy birthday

blow out your years, wash your hands, and keep bending love lust life language to meet the needs of friends who bare their souls searching for common goals during southern winters spent muscling shoals to the shore.

no magic needed

we created more and fed one another.

let the caboose fly off the track while we dead-aim attack with box cars clashing and engine thrashing every destructive picture gets ripped in two flying in pieces left in grey smog hue.

we can’t look back

we must look within

steady our speed

as we begin again.

from bed, trite tripe rhymes

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

how do we decide

the importance to place

on sidetracking imaginations

are we forgetting or remembering

relying on or plunging

forward without worrying about the outcome decidedly doomed to give us another surprise eating the well wishes delivered on paper plates

we travel forward

without a dance

we can’t find our feet

without a chance

we can’t feel the beat

reflect

maybe we’ll meet

deflect

i can’t feel your heat

i want to stand near you

from bed, i rose to the occasion

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

stumbling towards blocks in a road that twists through backroads in a boarder-less country

i turned around

nothing left to be found

on virgin paths leading underground

i chose the high road of memories

pieces of me examined through distant eyes without the flash of a coming surprise i could supply my supple ego and charm with enough calm to disarm relics causing alarm

peace

solitude found in replayed imaginations

comfort in connecting to the past

let me sit, loaf, and find the place where it all begin

a spectator to my own birth

squeezing through mush-hole-muddy mounds where burial dances softened an awakening ground

for the next round

where i’ll be found

distracting myself with where i’m bound

a mere reflection

in everyone’s crown

from bed, after the dance

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

Male-1

that sounds like fun with double edged swords hanging above as i lay on a table set for two

with you crouching below

Damocles would be proud

it was shallow and baseless the crowds that gathered waiting to watch as we both vowed to leave together with a common cause casually understanding the reality that we would get shocked by sunlight peaking through a stained glass window carrying the memories of a religion lost to human interactions that didn’t match their masters wish

love

be loved

the rest will take us from this sphere of rational thoughts that power and steer us through the eye of the needle passing the middle while he played the fiddle

a tune that we all could hum

om

or shalom

my friend

Male-1

Adam and a friend

starting over to rediscover the purpose of this undercover time

from bed, you can figure that out

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

talented skeptics waking from the magic that flows from the fingertips of gremlin werewitches wishing they were born into a tribe of spanish conquistadors stirring in the sea of shivering dreams when taking over another’s home was normal and needed to exchange the throne of kings who wanted to pollute their position of power for profit limply leaning on edges of mountain-top snow drifts blown to shape our emotional lifts lovers gifts delivered during days of lamppost parades with whistle blowing well wishers signaling a confrontation with the few of us who still believe

it’s not stirring spells that circumvent our need for control, it’s the collective soul reaching this goal

from bed, sometimes sphinx rest in the middle

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

the pharaoh didn’t walk alone

on that gilded sand

legions of weak dreams followed her around

fading away to a blur

still strong enough to stir the breath of fresh water waiting for warmth in the morning stream of thought that hadn’t occurred without the jarring distant discontented sounds breaking on our painstaking turn to burn the love we adjourn without acknowledging the slight differences between us

i’m not stunned anymore

indifferent

she confronted me as i stumbled with squinting eyes searching for answers to the riddle stranded in the middle of barren emotions balanced on the line of where we’re going and where we went

now

she’s waiting for me

on that gilded sand

leading me to the land of tomorrow’s memories

from bed, bath, and walking upstairs – traffic was heavy

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

stranded and willing

copper plated evening attire drew me to you and kept us circulating thoughts of wonder and tragedy.

the way we started

moving in circles with motion to sense our lack of control the way we hid in remote locations and occasions of caution with the stream line left to linger on a wandering night through blowing sand and dead elf wishes when cruising through the forest was easier than waking through gilded rooms of gold and silver wishes

deciding it was you who would lose themselves in grafted family trees where it was meant to be

i shouldn’t have been drawn to you

magnetic malice blew through the door halting progress passing through conduits dreamt up by our lost lips remembering the taste of penniless moments dreaming we could be coated again to pass freely to one another’s passions