If then the waves are

Loud and terrifying

To your senses,

You might begin to drown

In the sounds

Of a frightening world.

Hold your breath

To stay afloat

With lungs unhealthily

Black, yet still functioning.

You haven’t the time to

Learn how to swim in

Soundwaves.

Whistling gladly, hanging from a bridge.

What were you thinking?

I measure you with metric straight

Lines,

Cutting corners and breathing water

All the

While I think of flying the most recent image of Mars

As a flag.

Your dress is red,

Sand

And imagination,

I lose track of the centimeters.

Do you also feel

The bridge is shrinking?

Or am I growing

To an enormous size

And bump my head on the moon,

Brush the dust off, and

I now flatten the Earth with a misstep

And whistle

Goodbye.

A line of several blue jays

Came flying through the air,

But when passion o’er my forehead,

The weight they couldn’t bear.

I know that air is empty

So what would make them stop.

If not the thoughts of everything

goes up and then must drop.

He melts on the side of the street,

A corner in honesty,

While thinking of December.

He thinks,

“How did I get my feet stuck

So far from home?”

Absent mindedly,

He reaches to tie his shoes

And his hands stick

In the molten rubber,

Thread,

And flesh.

Doubled over,

He thinks about the ocean.

And slowly,

His height shrinks from both

His hands and feet.

I am tired,

Like cab drivers with families in the morning,

Eating breakfast before going to their second job kind of tired.

How many times can you wear a smile before it goes threadbare?

How many times will the same person think it’s real?

Do you tumble dry or cold wash a grin so worn down that

The teeth are stumps cracked down the middle,

With colonies of ants exploring the great unknown?

I am tired.

 

I’ve slept on a mattress on the floor,

I’ve kissed an old friend

All night

And wanted more.

I’ve begged my eyes to bleed

Those rare salty waters

And waited all night

For them to heal

What bothered

My furious mind all anxious

And wanting

For feeling not sinking.

Oh god please cure me quickly.

Sinking

In bile and desire and regret,

I think I’ll

Never get it back

From the edge I left it on,

All full of purpose and words,

But breaking off into the ocean

As I wave goodbye

Like a good, well-adjusted boy.

In some odd world

Where shadows push light

Around like school yard bullies,

I found myself on a cracking sidewalk,

Under a fading streetlight.

I read the words on the corner of the road.

East and West and somewhere else

Where I can’t go with mirrored hallways of

Storefront glass.

I’ll stand there in thought and hope and

Doubt as the world revolves around my latest

Mistakes.

But chaos is good in equal doses

And life isn’t much accommodating

To a predictable path.

 

A thought experiment with several disabilities

Who, at the end of the day, decides that life is

Very little fun.

And, at the end of a week, is tired from his

Deliberating on life and death in

Hypothetical environments.

Laughing at the thinking men

In white coats who treat what might be broken,

He begs them to try a bit harder

Next time,

But they’re caught up in dimly lit,

Incandescent passions with little room

For more.

They scribble in their books,

Recluse into their nooks,

And give him quaint, emotionless looks.

When you knocked drunkenly

Upon the secrets of human composition,

I begged you to think,

But something strange,

Like honor in the 21st century,

A misnomer of pride,

Put black to a coloring book page.

What made you think of yourself as God,

Besides your parents and your 5 senses?

Pull the curtains before your final act plays out.

The lines are unfinished and quite unknown.

One can hope for quick thinking ,

But, truly, how could that be better than practice?

I beg you to break from ambition

For a little while

And learn the world outside of knowledge.

The doorway is screaming
As we tear it apart to leave
After spilling our blood on the floor.
Breathe out
And out
And out and out and out
Until something inside you
Commands you to inhale.
Beads of sweat on the eyebrows
And then they dance on your lips
Before you swallow them whole.
I’ll suffer for art, sure
But I’d rather suffer for my own.
And the door is yelling once again,
Begging and clawing at itself
Like a schizophrenic who is both
Hero and villain.