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

Possum Crossing

sensory delay,
love was unplugged
before the best moments
were stored, saved,
sealed with an embrace.

With distance between
disorders shrinking,
two figures trembled
before love and
its grandiosity .

The air was thin,
the figures took shape:
recognition - he studied
her with calm desire.

Exhibition

What's to a few more worthless lines?
Sit
    you
           ated
Be
    tween
The
      Greatest
                   Pros
In
   Our
         Area?

reMission Statement

He writes songs of mockery:
Burning with desire
Drowning in irony
Baring his soul
yada yada blah blah

He tries in vain
to tap into his
emotional vein,
but finds dust
and spiders in
place of the fluids
he thought sustaining
his righteous gimmick

He fancies himself
integrity's vigilante,
weeding and smoking
out the phonies and fakes

But what's to come
of the hero with no
ideas of his own,
when he stands
face-to-face with
the man who taught
him everything
he knows?

Starch

If you only knew,
could you put two
saltines by sardines
we could feast
by candlelight
remembering the
names of off-brand
cereal, as we pick
out the marshmallows
we'll name our
children after