poet

from bed, another block is here

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

transcripts will tell the tale

if we keep them

tuesday’s found are willing to take the toll of the other hours that walkaway and wish you never entered them

like me to you

them to us

a mess to discuss if we will finish what we left

here

when my wishes ended with defined kisses and cheeks that touched to know we were real in this drastic measure time table i sat at while waiting for you to wake on a saturday morning walking out still horny and dragging nothing behind you

i couldn’t come in

too polluted by others instructions that led to obstruction and i couldn’t stay out of my own way

i wish we could go back

to the trials and errors without death step consequences, when you’d catch me

now i rest easy on symphony scales that reach the walls and bounce around to talk to me people will see this is the train wreck we came to grab hands through

steps to take in order to fake a mind like mine and for fucky fucks sake some time alone

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, half way and switching light

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

crunching sounds came from her room

mornings are done

she spent enough time spitting in moving streams sending stems shooting up where she’d hang her hopes, dreaming of valleys where vapors vault off vailed actor’s faces while they falsely direct attention away from tempting situations

we’ll end up there again

this time the lights will be out

she’ll continue to shout her thumbs into a screen to make sure you understand where she’s been, delegated discoveries of insecure ship captains commanding without a crew

navigating neutral waters

waiting for a breeze

i’ll be there, with her, hoping inspiration at the end of the day will guide us after coming half way.

*I’m halfway through a year of “streaming” everyday. I will now switch to streaming before i go to bed, rather than right when i wake up. i should probably change the title of the blog – in time.

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

from bed, shorty

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i lit the fuse and stayed

i wanted to feel the bomb blast, more importantly the time pass as a hiss would grow to bang and leave my final performance something of a mess

grinding behind curtains

you knew i was back there

words that churn from their mouths syntactic seeds i sprinkled in one-on-one rooms

people don’t think about the farmer alone walking rows before their shower starts

bacon and eggs for lazy legs distant from delivery of what keeps them from death

chain links and locks, layers and series of clicks and clocks, clacks and clucks

removed

nuances delivered developed by detailed rain falling on poor richard’s head as he stands alone in mud tides willing himself to walk to the shoals

studios where elvis was made without awkward hips but rhythm and dips doo dippy doo the wizard is suppose to stay in the shoe and don’t rub three times

i have no wishes

the plates delivered not thinking about dishes

i’ll live back here, behind the forest guiding as you zoom in-and-out

a final testament

the sound that stirs your snooze as i give a final refuse and wait…it’s the end of the fuse

i’m behind the curtain

you won’t have to watch

from bed, at least i’m not angry anymore

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i used to think you’d show up when i left.

visions of a blustery fall day burial scene with cracks of thunder and would be lovers hiding behind trees while my family collected woulda, shoulda, and couldas

these thoughts brought comfort when slitting my throat seemed like a viable option

but

i forgot to rent out a sign to design the image of me i’d assign so you didn’t have to contemplate what i gave

absorbing left me dry

taken for granted

as i lye motionless you don’t deserve to cry while they lie and you skip over the dry sky that left me wanting more

now you’re heading to the store to buy what you were quick to deny

and these other assholes who take out billboards and broadcast simple tasks get your adoration in a shallow nation where everything needs to be spoon fed

here you fucking baby, planes coming in the hangar

i’d jab that spoon deep and carve out your esophagus, wrap it around your neck, and kick you over

the subtle beauty trapped in a clavicle bone draped with falling fabric riding up-and-down

is lost on you

not to be found in this fast forward fuck-fest where fake tits and cock sucking scenes are what you need to understand attraction.

told what to do, who to clap for, no fucking mind of your own to understand that passing fancy each day is what made you smile

keep nodding off to numbed out numbers coming through a real-to-life screen where i finally fall in the background

the worms will know