Soggy Sunday Servings

a heaping of dreary drivel..

i do so little
too much

twiddling for green
thumbs to
handle-

spilling seed with
little joy,

but garden is ripe
and air’s
moist

off that crutch
now-

growing
boy.

*****

beach house on
cloudy bluff

recedes into
coastline
in time

to obscure
tourist

eyes wandering
towards
mine,

wasn’t groomed
with the
heart

for hands out
hospitality-

only living
lonely.

****

fear’s the
lapse

in sound thinking
when others

face the boot
for my

wormy skin
feelings-

fear’s snapping
jaws shut,

caged in
mouth,

key to
lock

swallowed
up.

*****

if you were in me
to write

why’d you put
up such

a passive
fight-

with pillows
pressed
over

your smile more
haunting
bright-

than lurkers of
my depths
tend to
like.

****

life of the tree
within a
leaf,

greens of flush
clover

adorn regal
wreath,

and no one speaks
of former
king-

save to polish up
his memory,

like flat rock
tossed in
river

leaves its
ripples
and

rings.

****

when it’s gone,
i won’t
miss

how the day
shone-

when it’s done
i won’t
rush

to
rewind,

but if needle
skips on
our

song a few
times-

i don’t
mind

hearing its
lies.

****

it’s a great time
not to count

to not tally up
scores,

a fine time to layer
our kisses over
cold sores.

****

can’t keep tune,
not like
this,

i’m crumbling tower,
just dust of
your..

vine scaling
prince,

dear
songbird,

you’ve heard the
whimpers
right-

heart’s too
weak

for risking the
view from
your

heights.

****

pantomime a
tableaux

of our best dressed
performance

never drew the
applause

hype machine
promised,

just summer seeds
swallowed

as we paled behind
screen-

unnoticed.

****

cold diamond
light
in

dead man’s
din-

cut open my
fly eyes-

drawn like freak
to sticky
tape

and silly string for
deep heart
aches-

i’m not sure it
will work
but

how bad can
it hurt?

****

burn a book, euthanize
and bury the
author,

eulogize while
eyes well
up

with see through tears
jerk off about

how you’d have edited
composer’s story

down to the
letter-

how you’d have
spent
his

golden years
better.

****

yet another test
failure,

rates of my
success
rest

outside page’s
margins

where scribbled
is all i find
vile..

and
inspiring.

****

for sickly or swell, that’s the ending..
thank you few for enduring,
hope it was distracting.