bookworm love

that feeling
breathlessly
holding the corner of the page,
reading as fast as you can
because you can’t wait
to turn the page
to see what’s next

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bus depot

sweet diesel coats the tongue
sliding home in crusty cloth seats
air brakes a melodious lullaby

shabby coats with cigarette burns
flickering fluorescent light
coffee stained flimsy paper ticket to freedom
sloppy kisses, tears of discomfort

cycle

dawn:
there’s indeed shame in the wanting
though it seems just beyond me
baser instincts take hold
thrash me like a shark with prey
it’s my fault really
looking for absolution
on an idiots playground

dusk:
if I could just remember how I got here
I found something buried
am still dusting it off
whether it’s diamond or obsidian
it’s mine, for me
I’m very tempted to leave it buried
or at least carry the filthy burden
in my pocket

an aura

starburst seasons
aural tangents splayed
listen with your body
there are no holes to fall into
just spaces to rest
delivered messages
with unlocked pinions
crystal dissonance
laborious deciphering
without ruminating
fresh breezes float by
too soon it’s all gone
enclosed again in silence

que sera, sera

severed noose fashion statement
dragging hemp through the mud
tracks leading in circles
too busy to recognize prints
spend time chasing echoes
capture something almost forgotten
chaffing and bleeding to keep awake
sleep is a dangerous state

one eye open
seeing shapes in the dark
comforting awareness
disconcerting apathy
sleep brings truth in circus form
flying and juggling, popcorn and clowns
making sense is secondary
survival is first

letting the day wash away
is not the same as a life down the drain
hoarding world’s paint supplies
won’t paint a masterpiece
que sera, sera
tell it the best you can
standing firm and proud and fearless
or at least sensible, unlike me