a whisper for the wiser

sitting on your shovel
longing in your loath
yet you keep on digging
a grave to make your home
and sleep is still a mystery
like smiles you used to know
when your heart was yet to find
that it was so alone
that theres no use in trying
 to hold it all so close
and its much more fulfilling
to let it all go

a truth to steal

the tidiest of messes

anyone of us make

are the lies and the secrets we keep

the mysteries we wish

and prove to believe

in case we cant handle

the lives that we lead

the infamous things

the laughter to cry for

the hearts we decieve

cleaning the dust.

clear the lines from the plate
and make some more
a deep inhale
another lift
another lift
another score

make the conversations quickly
just in case
you forget the lines
on the plate again
take another
and interrupt each other
over and over
inhale
and make the words spring forth
all unimportant
and without sort
yet still racked with desire
to exist
to come off the lips
for the air, a kiss
and again.
lift.
inhale.
lift.
until the drought comes
and you want to fill it again.

the right way to apologize

only so many movements the mouth can make
while the tongue slithers
and the breathe exhales
to make some auditory mistake
and it never seems to be...

an early adieu

and autumn showed its head
long before summer could begin
and as the flower wilted in front of him
petals leaning towards the ground
their glimmer almost gone
he could only wish for the smell
of winter ending again.

and how.

the all of it
was misused to the point of distraction
was disassembled inaction
and the thoughts that implode
in the end
only make the maker morose
a miser of his own mechanization
and all the while

the missus.
the miss. us.

sword swallowers

and these pixels you send
one at a time
and slowly read
without a hope for recompense
and just inches
off the ledge
and all i miss
is all i am
the wounds opened
so wide again

this cannot
be mine again
this cannot
be fine again

all the kisses that were left
to parch the lips
assassinate smiles
and cut off hands.

(and without those hands
how could i grasp
the way that none of this
has come to last)

lest unforgotten kinder ask something.

his fingertips only slightly stained
from tar and wondering
and rubbing his eyes clean
of all hope and sodomy
and wishing you well.
wishing you well.