Intermission Breaks the Illusion

Wrapped in your insecurities I greet the morning with the friction of our flesh, pushing pulling dashed against my dreams. You never slept so poorly. I stood face upturned in your barrage of words you give so easily, and knew this storm could not last but I thought we could ignore the forecast a while longer. And now someone's sunny days have arrived and I find myself again voyeuristic, always leaving leaving never left.

I never dream anymore. Only play pretend with myself and others, your temporary cooperation is appreciated. Thank you, don't come again.

A revolving cast of distinct faces, my roots seep down through the cracks in the stage and I can't help but wonder out loud "Who today, and what tomorrow?"

Put pen to paper, everybody plays and are played.

Maybe I never should've put myself between five sons. Do you reap what you fuck?

Let's See.

Let's talk about what you've done - this breach of the clean break between my solitary valley and your raging forest. I can't work any longer with this son on my back, beating my brow like the drug-fueled rhythm of my pen, scratching throughout the night, curling under my skin, echoing through my head until even the softest sign is amplified with the force of a lover's blow.

I'll take this unmediated approach to your scent and crush it between my palms until your juices run between my fingers and pool in the dips and crevices of the cold dark floor. It drifts in through through the windowsill, seeps into every surface until I'm faced with the fantasy, of you, everywhere I turn; especially in my dreams. Like a series of cascading notes you flow through, leaving moisture in the wake.

The quake subsides and I'm on the precipice of collapsing the deck, giving it away, letting it spoil. Words words words push against the razor edge of my teeth, buzz at the tip of my fingers, leak from the corner of my eye. Details cut against my defense - I'm reduced to a pile of powder waiting waiting waiting for... what?

White Elephant in the Room.

The eyes are pretty important for your status in the line, waiting with certain nameless others bound by the silent volumes screaming to be heard through the curtains of time that have been tightly drawn shut like that time you took her and she closed herself to you, on you, over you again and again until there was nothing but your shut eyes, open mouth and the floating darkness that was filled but not quite because afterall, you were just a boy, not a boulder.

We're building around ourselves a thesis cobbled together with sheets of stained paper cuts in the flesh. So if you'll call this clean and take it to the movies then i guess I'll come along because I once looked like the sun that you used to moon over like a silly bird, singing songs about a future history that you never had. Dust rolls through your town but your can already left so you're stranded with your lists and boxes; the delivery will be delayed indefinitely. Oops.

Glamorized, idolized white image expands in the mirror and I am the spectator hovering above the deep beginning waiting for you to finish its end. He got my nose and never gave it back but I try not to think about the truth that I never cared enough to start with. Line up, why don't you?, at my door with your upturned feet, fists, fists, and slightly used hands, I never knew you weren't happy to see me go. Now that that's returned, we can be literal with each other, unlike when we were young but that was only a little ago, I even almost remember it.

A rusty nail can be two years old. Two years without even a hello on a birthday card that overstays its welcome until conditions change for the worse. At least I brought a song for us to sleep on even if I never waited for a reply you didn't have to carry that monkey up the river. Now that I stole your verse from the secondhand store I'm frankly quite upset with you for not a lot of reasons but still we knew the tree didn't have to burn quite so crisply in the middle of three, didn't we? Shame on us. Shame floats like a brick held down by the balloon I tentatively anchored my arms on with your green pen. Let it sit uncomfortably with them while I ascend down the stairs with with my basket of worries, freshly hatched by the corner. Sharp, she whispered for hours while somewhere I laughed and the parade passed us through skin, kinda clammy but not alltogether unpleasant. Sometime. Smile at me through the crack in the door, the dim is there for a purpose of power attentive.

Close it.

-

The boundaries are not clear. Let's start at 73. And then. Pause, pause, pause like a line of elephants rounding the corner of Regret and Laughter rings through the crown of my head. Back up a little if you want to find out where it'll all end up I'm pretty sure somebody planned for all this ugliness at some pointed edge. I'm sick with fever at the messages of need I threw out just to see what would catch when you're dropped from that high perch simultaneously with the enforced bottom, who hits fully first? Anybody hear read from the red chipped particulars, we might need you but nobody can be sure yet. Eyedealize the relative because deadlines are rising and the vigilance would've paid off if I had enough rules to scatter around the bay.