the tone is
dour,
a taste grown
sour
on tongue of
beast
in need of
shower,
curtains drawn-
grim features
sketched
on wall to
see..
what’s better
left,
from tower, man
emerges
clean and fresh,
with gentler
urges.
stone by stone,
shoved up
a hill..
to roll back
down,
was built
alone–
this crumbling
home..
on fringes of now
thriving
town-
were bricks
set up..
to fall back
down.
giving all to feel
enough-
loving only to
be loved,
this latex glove,
it fits too
snug,
protects the skin-
protects the
bugs.
sent me
away..
without so much
as a wave-
no smooches
blown
to
the wind,
no fisticuff
to my glass chin,
sounds like
a “win
win“.
red marker mistakes
magnified–
to point
out
the
obvious
to
maker–
as
though
mess can be taken
back..
after it’s
over.
walking,
no..
strolling,
arms swinging-
not folded,
heart pounding
feet rollin’-
bones jerked
and joints
jolted.
tomorrow wakes
me before
i’m done with
now,
then sorrows
shake me..
for what today
would not
allow.
sucking on a
slice of
sun–
tryin’ not to sear
my tongue,
though the taste
is sweet,
i catch the
scent..
of burnt
meat.
stirring a
tea,
watching bubbles
mingle-
dreaming of dancing
with you..
as though it just
came true.
i look alive,
when
she describes
the reasons why
she wants
to be-
the one.. to
reveal
unspoken dreams
to me,
and she comes
alive,
when i don’t
hide
my eyes.. while
small or
shy.
hands in the garden 
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