an aged wood bench
painted
white,
right beside
a no trespassing sign,
can still spot graffiti
lines,
though can’t quite make out
what they read,
behold youth bursting
to be free.
rhyme
i’m feeding glass to
time machines..
that belch out change
like copper
rain,
tripped up by wires
were never
seen,
eyes scraped raw,
teeth tinted
green.
all hours and
money..
spent
on emptiness,
were lessons well
worth the
cost..
and any sleep
i’ve lost.
pet’s eyes roam
the room,
a clock arm
doesn’t
rest,
panic beads
upon my
neck,
i trace notches
in the door
frame..
fearful you’ve forgotten
your way home
again.
fractured from the
pressure,
i’ve wanted it
too much,
time with you
was the good dream,
you knew just when
to leave
but taught me to
stop running.
planted and
pushing..
strained against
a wall,
poking through
brick,
the
hair caught
between two teeth
pluck it from the source
of its seed,
much like any
weed.
the past claws
us back..
and
for what?
to circle each other
in this same
twisted
cage
baring
our weakness-
in fear of the
kindness..
that may end
our pain?
cool rains cascade from
a heavenly
mouth,
rinsing eyelids and leaves
with the promise
of peace,
in most solemn but
soothing
way,
the window pane
bleeds in
grey.
i kissed a hippie
visitor,
we drank our coffee
stronger..
together and spit
out myths
while tangling
pasts
to free the years
long spent
outcast.
while spilling
soul–
you convey
in such vibrant tones–
wish i lived in the world
you must
know,
feather hands swaying
through dialogue
as if brushing away
all gloom
to freshen the breath
of this sunlight
starved
room.
hands in the garden 
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