from bed, another year older

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, screaming towards a conclusion

waiting

silently shutting off the situations that swirl around trying to stifle societies’ screaming desires to conform to mores developed by square pegs seeking holes to drop into carving out their own space protected and alone calling out over the phone to release that drone that moans in midnight mood dances shuffling back and forth without hopes of touching another time when we rubbed shoulders not elbows held hands not grudges and crashed through ceilings holding baiting buzzing lights hovering above us begging to become debris carried away and reused to pave paths providing opportunity to close the doors leading to places where our extremes kill dreams

instead

waltz towards celebrating the pieces we all carry and illuminate at different seasons on our trek towards making noise in solidarity

from bed, another block is here

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

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

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

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

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