The Fourth Suspension
What
is in the mind
of the non-dreamer?
Awake,
my mind is
spinning -
colored with a sunny lens;
rainbowed technicolor
of tightened hope.
Asleep
however,
there is nothing.
A blankness -
heavy blanket of deep
dark
cosmos.
What can we call
the memory
of the non-dreamer?
Totally unreliable.
metaphorical knife
to throat
not
physical
gun to head
the beauty of pages
turning
a l l
at
the same
time
;
head bobs
and
enjoyment hums
,
fingers a-tapping
muddled brains
Deluge
in a place
where I can't even
spell the name
of my addiction
in a room
with a group of people
who we can't name;
we're too many
in a system
that blindly targets us
for our craving
keeps us trapped in a loop
in a world
where these temptations exist
man-made created -
men destroying men.
Yolk
Connected eyes
Through the panels
Aggressive stance melted
I sit still, composed
We glance
It's brief
1 2 3
And like that I'm whisked away
A dark face to a light
Two lives
Two loves
Connected so chastely
Goodbye sir
The toll of the train tells me
Next stop.
wispy frilly cloud cover
filtered over acrid land
colossal in its expanse
drying of the sand
waters receded long ago
nothing left to toil
grasses dead dirt to fry
puddles set to boil
sun won't even set ablaze
for there's nothing left to burn
whitened bleach mountaintops
seismic rocks to churn
tectonic plate masterpiece
shaking under the sky
dusty roads abandoned there
the dust bowl's out to dry
Viewfinder
Catch sight of you
From yards away
Like a lumbering weighted thing
So heavy, thick with un-care;
You reach out to me
As if it were the usual miles
As I catch the outline of your form
Against the setting sun.
The passing cars an annoyance -
Blocking you from view
Flowerbeds and a short crosswalk;
Islands of separation.
Far from perfect
But paradise close to lost
Any extra inch unbearable -
Two hours already an eternity.
I let my coffee sweat carelessly,
As I peer through the glass.
My eyes are affixed to you.
Though,
You don't see me.
Your form, it's just enough.
Vibrancy
Red-walled terrarium
Jutted urban vortex,
Darkened skyline in the sight of marquees.
Hyper-vigilant and alone -
Fretting, biting lip
Home a distant thought
Each long-standing customer
Packing up, into the twilight.
My heart is
s i n k i n g
with every departure.
Severe eyes through glass,
Tall-booted dame, waiting -
Her prince, unable to rush.
Distraught, and butt asleep,
Waiting
For hours
At a time.
The lights of this shop
Are not enough
To soothe such a missing ache.
Standing by the art
Trying to find the dialogue.
Maybe, it's asleep.
He packed up his suitcase.
Wedged between a balled up shirt and a
pair of dress
shoes
Sat my heart.
He zipped up the canvas just the same,
Real business-like.
And took all my hopes and dreams
away
in his carry-on bag.
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