Self-Portrait, Prose

A...medley of...
unconscious hum
graceful, tone deaf,
deafening.

All day's worth of thump -
of note, a headache.
bored of orbiting
a great sun.

To change trajectory
is to lose a place,
an etching on someone
else's epitaph.

I am not suited for
such consequence,
much sooner my own!
What is fate but

a bottle for my
fussy grumblings?
All in for the
reaping of persistence!

I'm stubborn to
sensation. The prick
and prod, push and
pull mean little.

Without water,
drowning - reinventing
the flail. The relay
to inhale.

Point of Hostility

I am inhibited by
a disgust...perhaps.

See, she's a real sky
I hate to see her cry
The gray in her blue -
a storm in you.

All wrong.
Semantics, exposition
in constraints.
I am bruised in
bloodied mudcaked
galluses - the night before
the night before last

last night
entry dated - 5/12/15

Parody Dating

The expression he wore-
boredom, abysmal
"faking it for you, honey!"
cool effort disguise.

Pity masked affection,
inflection clear to
sharper, like groaning minds.

Read em and weep
entries - logging many
fruitless hours cataloging
the inane and natures
of poor context.

You remain an adult-
toiling, wailing,
the hope it all
works out with
zero effort, feet
in the air,

swollen eyelids,
heavy cylinders

spelunking to
the depths of
your despair:
a loaded, lopsided
mystery unraveling
into nothing's abyss