you’re a chord change
in quicksand
song
rewound to skip
the fade,
smokescreens only delay
mirror’s gaze,
each surface
blemish-
a stroke of
genius,
both hands firmly on
your helmet,
i spit hornets
but half mean it,
watching a dove
land
in desert hand
of man
like shrine to
longing.
sun kissed music
is a portal
to nostalgia
sponged from pictures
scattered over
split foundations,
daisies strain through teeth
like train tracks-
pleas for pardon while
sweat hardens,
planting garbage in
dream gardens.
lone light
in barren lot,
do you dream? dare i dim
the haze over graves not yet grey,
bless a breath to deaden hate,
reimagining escape
so late.
chatter plucks on nerves
then becomes the chirp of birds
shunning words and fenced in meanings
embracing the beauty of being
and freedom to
dream
closing in on
being true
in light of relapse,
taking up less space
while face to face-
no blame,
curtains parted.-
still no rain.
cloak city blows like
chewing smoke
breath etches fad
past into
glass
finish scraped
from eyes
devised to
hide
graffiti framing
flowers.
the cool sweat of
silence,
a cruel drowsy
pause
for bite like dark coffee
and deep people
reflecting
loss,
fevers bubble under
fangs of
frost.
glitter splattered on
bald beach,
caught flexing like
car salesman’s
teeth,
i can’t reach can in
unlit fridge,
ever kiss
frostbitten lips?
swoll pupils
bob
like tealights on
pound of
clouds,
grey lightning
lips
submerged
in all words turn flood
heart sculpted of wax
and blood
pools like sand in
veins dried
shut.
intimately,
bodies harmonize
with summer mist
spattered on fogged glass
in crystal streaks
pearl beads
weep
from swollen folds
upon sheets dirtied rose
glows each
breath,
stretched cotton thread
swabs skin
raw
of sin made
song-
in reckless waves,
here and
gone.
hands in the garden 
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