insomnia

Sleeplessness is my affliction,

Symptoms including sibilance,

          reluctance,

          conscience,

And a particular        dissonance acutely heard midst the

                                                                 Herds of exhales and squeaks,

                                                                                                    Creaks and

                                                                                                     Meek sighs,

Polka dot                                                                                                Eyes perceiving opaque shadows, which

                 Grow and

                                                                                                                        Weave

Through cracks on the ceiling. I can smell the paint chips

                                    Peeling,                         daintily they fall

Through air, on

              Their way they spell red

                                                Zeds, zigzagging

                                                               Draggingly to the floor.

What’s                                                                                more,

The air turns cold as my

                       Old,

      Fair hands, purple-painted, spasm in reaction to

                                                  Chasms of white; my fingers

                                                                                     Linger long enough to

                                                                                                           Snuff out the

                                                                                              oblong space no longer void of any                                                                                                     trace of the human

                                                                                                           race. Before my mind can                                                                                                      pace

the realm of the                                                                                                             blind each                                                                                                                                 line must be weighed down with

              faded      nouns,

no egg whites

            right of the margin can I keep, and

then

I

may

                                                 

sleep.

                                                                                                                                               

coming what may

Take it slow or don't take it at all

i said to myself in our high-tension timebomb.

But it's easy to say 

from the corners of your mouth

while staring wide eyed at the What Is To Come.

in the end our pangs of thirst overcame my orderly conduct

and your fingers and palms overcame my mind.

we writhed in a purposeful, lustful stupor

planned out yet by accident, grappling for each other's intentions

take it a step back? retrace the movements that got us to this standstill of feeble mumblings and awkward good nights?

or lean forward, and catch a glimpse of what might be -

disoriented decisions with outstanding outcomes,

or a misguided moment, a momentary mindfuck, a fucking bad call.

for now we'll hang on to this new kind of tension

magnetically shifting our every move.

of willing to wait

of waiting to see

of seeing what comes

of coming what may.

andwhatnewthrilldoesthisonebring

And what new thrill does this one bring

With legs astride and eyes aglow;

How many praises can one sing

Of something someone cannot know?

flight of fancy

And so continues our flight of fancy

Feigned romance elated dancing

Waltzing under rose-tinted spotlight

tock the clocks but time is not right

twist and swing like metronomes

beat slows down and even though

disaccord and inconvenience

plague this ghostly white dream sequence

concrete confines couldn’t stop me

for the beat and you still rock me

-

"You'd better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around. I know what I'm talking about. You're lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world."

-

-

--Franny and Zooey, J.D. Salinger

-

verging

On the verge

verging on

urging on

sleep but

slurring thoughts, blurring dots

converging so deep in eyes,

thinking hovering why,

love lovering ties

parallel so as never to meet.

A

cheap way of sinning

Ego bubbling brimming

Spilling over and slopping

But too great for stopping,

For separate lies

Make for cruel compromise

And love never dies

When it’s played on repeat.

It's a dangerous game, forseeing the future;
it's almost always never true.
To think that life is a product of fate
is to be tremendously fooled.
It's a dangerous game, foreseeing the future;
it's almost always never true.
If you have to believe in something,
Believe in you.