a bed for my poems

These days,
the crosstalk gets confusing.
The aftertaste of light
wasted on words to force
the point across-

watching closely as each thought
gathers traction
and though each interaction
breeds compassion,

this didn't happen
by accident.

Back against the wall,
I'd call my own bluff
and then adjust the brunt of it
just to excite me
into surviving
for the hell of it.

Ha ha ha ha ha
What are you so afraid of?
Growth and change is great.

I strung my photos from the ceiling-
hung myself smiling
next to the swinging plant
whose vines are waving from the fan
and gradually along the line
floats my friends and
our occasionally documented
memories.

Nights I lied about my well-being
and days we raced the sun to
reach the trees.
Well I'll be...

Perpetually in-between.

Where the nail meets drywall
and the dishes are all my fault
is my home. I know
the mail stacks like jenga
and I have to flip the breaker
everytime I use the microwave but
what can I say?

This is home
and I'm alone
basking in the afterglow of what was love.

Early this morning I noticed
my coffee mug matched the pattern
on my jewelry box.
I helped it shatter and
I smiled, swept the shards
under the rug.

Always last to know,
feels like butt end of the joke.
Where is the punchline?

The sympathetic system
paired with para- of the like
go hand in hand to compose
some form of mostly fine.

One works to calm
and one works to excite.
Been fighting demons all my life,
though flying's also nice.

I've watched hell freeze over
a couple dozen times.

The view's not worth the sound
of scraping off the ice.

My shimmer was lost to the moon
hiding all shy and brand new.
I don't shine without a nightlight now
convincing the hallways
to feign safety.
I still tiptoe like a child
rushing to the restroom
past midnight.
Quick to hit the lights.
Check behind the shower curtain.
Only say Bloody Mary twice.

Make a wish.
Flourish. Reminisce.
Exist amidst the winds whistling
dust from every direction.
Reckon lessons don't lie
but often smirk when confronted.
Trust the rush of the moment
tucked in beneath the seams.
It seems to be to me out of reach but
I think it's a stretch. Guess regression
has its benefits when wise men
bring magic tricks. Pull another rabbit
out of your hat for the kids!
Yes I admit I'm unfit to oversee
the ship but in theory, if it were
to hit an iceberg, I would
carry bandage in hand, kiss the wound,
swim to land.
Wait and think really hard about
a warm and dry room. It is Truth I pursue
but dreaming solutions will do.
If the world can be so cruel, then
the least I could do is chew
through the wish to the
minutes that follow it
and believe in something new.

Lord knows the knots
don't untangle lightly
with slightly frayed yarn
acting as a stand in for
binding
finding this stitch could twist
a stomach if it doesn't
learn to shift wisely
but loose ends
are good friends
who know where to find me.

Confusion is a muse
that refuses to be
outed.
Included are the cues,
both social and of looped habit.

Imagine having passion
for what happens to be
a fraction
of the whole wide world;
glass half-
hearted chain reaction.

Satisfaction is a sham,
but by all means, please
get it.
Better yet, overstep
the line a bit,
toe to toe.
Wit to fist.