wallow

it's been so long since

hitting the streets with poets

my tongue is dry

stumbling on hollered words

looking for answers in tea leaves

at the bottoms of many a drained cup

i never learned this art

but then have i learned any?

i look to the troubadours and find

paths wiped clean by age and dust

(daring us to forge our own

or warning of futility?)

thoughts flit through the wind as ever

don't let me fall too behind

freedom

it's all in your head

he said

beauty and worries and even

the view outside your window

nobody can tell you what is

he said

because what is

is only what you see and feel

cover your eyes

(he did)

see how

it doesn't disappear?

it's all in your head

he said

and if you want to forget

let's lose our minds

projections

silent films

play in our mind

not black and white

but vivid in color

daring us to scream

the visions as loud

as the reel

in our mind

creating in -

silent rooms

silent mouths

silent stares

- stories form

fact or fiction

never knowing

clues in a sudden touch

in unshielded eyes

only glimmers show

so we play the parts

that break our hearts

calendars and countdowns

there are too many nots nots knots crying out but i am deaf in anticipation so i wait wait wait - but time is a weight hanging over me and screaming at me the walls carved with lines steady and consistent as the passing of days, reliableness at its most superficial - but i am blind so come winter spring summer and fall with scraped knees and ambitions right back to the beginning.

when did i let my senses go?

are you the teacher of my heart?

hands so soft

write piercing into eternity

truths that can only be hinted at

how can beauty like yours flourish

amongst decay and debauchery

gardens in a sea of machinery?

yours is a canvas

delicately etched by life

i trace its trajectories to find

wisdom twinkling behind eyes

secrets behind a smile

through stone paved pathways

in midnight's crib

i await your familiar light

speak to me in your sea of eloquence!

speak to me in tongues!

or don't speak to me

and let me learn

in dreams

to where does my mind run,

at nine in the evening

with red eyes and red sun?

floating on breezes

it goes where i cannot.

head bobbing up and down

in agreement to sleep

i mumble words to call it back.

i can't chase something into time,

but still i call my horse until i am

and hope that it's not a mare.

i give one final bob

and,

spilling my drink

i catch up in dreams.

i need

i need thoughts to be tangible

i need to hold them in my hand

unweave them in my fingers

set them against the light

and play Sherlock Holmes

instead they build up in my mind

like air in the lungs of children

who want to be the best

i suffocate under ideas and suspicions

why? how? when?

and most often,

who?

unlike air

i can't find the path from thought to mouth

i blow and blow

but always,

i just turn

blue.

on disappearing

i enjoy disappearing

shutting off my phone

hiding my letters

locking my doors

turning off my eyes

i build labyrinthine worlds

and trace the depths of my mind

just deep enough so that i don't fall in

i dance with phantoms

to the drumbeat of my heart

occasionally interrupted

by the doorbell's call

if the ringing doesn't stop

i kiss the ghosts goodbye

and climb back out

into the void.

synapses

i couldn't tell you what i think

even if i wanted to

for there are three moons and countless stars

(though i spend all my time counting)

maybe Galileo sat at his desk with parch/ment/lips

and tried to find the cure

his method disguised as his pretence

but nonetheless pure

unwinning led to here

we stand in time & space

we here

not you and i

or you and me

but minds are transcendent

they are the key

though we know not

where to find the lock.

in difference

where to?

pressure enveloping my bones

[your collar matches your hands]

caught and released

straying from your gaze

or

stray [you] from mine

anywhere is free

but

here isn't anywhere

now.

torrential triteness

absorbed into the atmosphere

i only appear moved to avoid the quagmires.

returns

a collection of perceptions

convoluted

to the point of becoming

mere fragments,

disjointed like static

and just as loud.

what is real?

time/form/feeling

flowing and meeting

fleeting glimpses

universes conversing

without knowing

holding our ears and

staring up

with clenched eyes

pray that focus

will become of us

while fearing the masterpiece.