EXTRA! EXTRA!
Enhanced medical imaging confirms that love can be quantified by meticulously following the scientific method…
And yet (in spite of this breakthrough),
I often make feeble attempts to summon the Moon and harness her powers.
But away from the harsh eyes of Helios
We all turn into bats and owls.
A traveler at heart-on-sleeve,
Circumnavigating the sun,
All the while carrying her negative presuppositions on my back.
A willful suspension of disbelief allows me to steal steps.
Sedulous strides suspended in the shadows of Arlington’s bones.
Treading thin air up on the steely, solid, Potomac stream.
My dream?
Strung out on the gallows of her dancing rooftop balance beam…
Entrails, Disappointment, and Failure.
I hid my face,
Disguised my voice,
Buried my body,
Eradicated Truth & Love…
Left for dead, yet lying (inside of a black and white book),
Are my prosaic memories,
Once the loveliest brides,
Now spinsters, not wives,
All veiled in lexiconic clouds,
Of jargon fleece,
And double-talk hides.
So, why should we tell each other secrets?
So as to relive heartbreak?
So as to relieve the plate tectonic pressure before an earthquake?
Wondering,
I let my mind wander
Into the murky green and blue
Cellophane sea.
When suddenly
A snake dressed in cat’s clothes
Stands on a soapbox and calls it theatre.
A cunning actor once told me that acting is not like lying, it’s more like sleight of hand.
With that in mind, I cannot help but admire the power of bold, black hair,
Bleeding its sable ink through sandy brown skin.
Behold the black chaos of the world in our souls.
And behold the black majesty of tranquil, teacup tears.
An orphan's hopelessness homogenized with the helpless heat in this deserted summer,
Erupts into vapor.
A sweaty smog that beats my heart
And fills to the brim of my brain.
So that my brow belches blood.
Are you amazed?
Surprised?
That my madman rationale is found in your Byzantine canal,
And was born of your blind haste.
A faithful, foreboding brood fuels your frenetic, phobic pace.
Sweet sleepy sighs,
I fear thine eyes…
A saccharine sentiment,
Caught between your cold thighs
No alarm, no surprise.
A tragic cessation,
She paints it by number,
She takes it in stride
She yawns like my brother.
Her secret is ancient,
A well-known lover.
She loses her lust
And by sundown yet another,
Hath come,
Hath gone,
Hath lost like my father.
Her youth doth dote on idolatry,
Forgetting that her rose too,
Doth wither gently.
Her mother weeps,
Her sanity swept,
Under so many rugs
Lie semen and sweat.
And dreams of days
Gone far, far west,
And dreams of love
And dream-filled rest.
A catch in California,
A Virgin’s stately Vernacular…
Some feeble attempts
To fornicate forever.
Now blown is my mind
And 7 seasons since,
The rise and the fall,
Of a jet-fuel romance.
My crop-duster heart now beats no more,
But the world’s holy Rhythm
Is found in Rhyme’s lore.
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