I wait, watch and ponder. Hours pass and I find myself asking, if you wander? Words of extension don’t reach extension; walls of construct are pillars of our domestication.
Do we find each other in fields anew, was it always you? … my dear, are you so clear? We grab tightly with pseudo noose protection, for wants and desires of a future never so near.
Failure ever spent; I don’t want you to be my next regret. Words of concerned misplacement guide your inner displacement. For you are the end, the beginning, my today, tell me love will it be okay?
Gone boy, gone girl, our bellies are full. Concessions of past regression give a kind dinner of hearts the fanciful cull. We poke at livers, skin and fat; if you eat quickly it will bear fruit from prodding all of my that (and then).
You taste and I swallow, we chew gristle and paste. I loved you more than first mistake.
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Friday, July 12, 2019
Fondness for Fermented Fruit
The faulty breath of life flows through; passions of illusion welcome the misfits of wander. Take my hand, I found you in the salt mines of sallow, breathe for me and we will be less hollow.
Do you depart my love? Have you found your home of homelessness? Beautiful shacks arose and clothe us, there are no mysteries here.
Fine tapestries of lament are amid the bedding. We lie and lie for comfort, falling deeper into the toils of warmth. I bid you farewell and good day, all the while spoiling in your fermented fruit.
We build a bowl or cherries, apples and peaches. Sometimes a lemon to get us through. Discovering the complexities of humor and jest, often crying at the promises to be our best.
You wither and I plant you, a dead seed of expectation. For I always loved the delusion, and hold you until your death.
Do you depart my love? Have you found your home of homelessness? Beautiful shacks arose and clothe us, there are no mysteries here.
Fine tapestries of lament are amid the bedding. We lie and lie for comfort, falling deeper into the toils of warmth. I bid you farewell and good day, all the while spoiling in your fermented fruit.
We build a bowl or cherries, apples and peaches. Sometimes a lemon to get us through. Discovering the complexities of humor and jest, often crying at the promises to be our best.
You wither and I plant you, a dead seed of expectation. For I always loved the delusion, and hold you until your death.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
She Shells, Sea Shells
As the illusion of time rolls forward, shells are washed onto the beach. Empty vessels of grandeur per hustled dreams leave their bodies.
Outside beauty leaves a spectacle of a fancy fallacy. The young she walks through the valley of shells; I want to be like her or him, I want to be them. The unconscious wind blows and the shells sing their mythical hymns.
They speak of dependence, acceptance and folly; be our version of beautiful and you will be quite jolly. The girl begins placing the shells in her purple laden dress; I want to be like them.
Heavier near, more beautiful shells. Listen. Gather. Keep. More. She keeps placing the lovely fragments in her dress, heavier still. More.
As the tide washes in, she scrambles to take the last bits of treasure. They speak to her so. As the water grabs her innocence, the weight of the shells is too burdensome and downward she sinks.
As the illusion of time rolls forward, shells are washed onto the beach. A purple shell is on the beach.
Outside beauty leaves a spectacle of a fancy fallacy. The young she walks through the valley of shells; I want to be like her or him, I want to be them. The unconscious wind blows and the shells sing their mythical hymns.
They speak of dependence, acceptance and folly; be our version of beautiful and you will be quite jolly. The girl begins placing the shells in her purple laden dress; I want to be like them.
Heavier near, more beautiful shells. Listen. Gather. Keep. More. She keeps placing the lovely fragments in her dress, heavier still. More.
As the tide washes in, she scrambles to take the last bits of treasure. They speak to her so. As the water grabs her innocence, the weight of the shells is too burdensome and downward she sinks.
As the illusion of time rolls forward, shells are washed onto the beach. A purple shell is on the beach.
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