desert drag defenseless stray
batting hands
away-
unmasked henchmen
closing in
on..
sunset gone to
forewarn
dawn.
oft mistaken
mortal
grazing garden on
horizon,
golden lemon drop
propping
jaw,
melt me to my
knees-
eyelids part like
dying
sea,
a slip through lips
like portal
to flee what
battle?
a neon light turned
off by small
talk,
tuned into blocked
out canceled
channel-
pinching wick of
twitching
candle.
midst haggard times,
with ease..
reflections skim
along flat
air
as if flecked with
motes of
err.
not new to musing
you again,
lemon trees
forever,
we take the
stairs
lead nowhere
better
than last
time
we felt around for
each other
blind.
whose turn to feed
owner’s
pet
bred solely to
attack
fists
for treats,
hope dried up
meat
won’t upset
gut-
unmuzzle
me
not one to
trust.
true, had i been
keen
to
scale siren’s
braid,
i’d now be
there-
peeled of
pride
and balled up
scared
of blood pact
made.
clinging to what won’t
stop moving?
to us keep from
fossilizing
to three hundred
count thread
despite cravings to
watch sun
climb
to
heights
unperceived-
uprooted to
leave.
burning unfinished
furniture,
i watch nocturnals
flinch by
flame-
pale and shackled
to chatter
bared in costume
company
fresh from
zoo,
keepers free to
turn away-
free to lean
in too.
unlearning, declining
expectations
of what seasonal
transitions
may
yield to the
scythe
splayed upon
table
for final family
meal
goes
undigested,
little
fondness
for who feels?
distaste bores
deep
in minefield rusty
with wheat
not ripe enough
to reap.
bending a fifth
string-
gushing sedimental
sentiment
in company of
critics
i seldom know
what not
to say,
deeply content with
incomplete-
despite fleeting need
to patch old
wrongs-
to wander where i
don’t belong.
hands in the garden 
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