i’m not even trying anymore
to go after anything but the loneliness of my existence is the treasure I seek
no longer willing to be an active friend
but to be a loner that feeds and grabs grass on the side of a busy highway

im around the corner at 55 miles an hour
I embrace
the dreams of my other splitting image of the frozen elements
how water rises above the cloud in the desert
that is moving like a monster

I breathe in to feel something I never felt before
like a nose thats been tarnished on the brink of forgiveness
loving all that is special on the tide of something else

the dogs are scared
they may need to be put down
for scaring the children
ones without consciousnessthe deepest sleep
the last sleep
but will I ever dream again?

nouns, verbs, and adjectives are forever following me and asking me to be a friend
to hold a hand in need
or lift up a chin to give a glass of irish cream
yellowing stained fingers handing over the stained blue glass
a religious notion unlike any other we have never felt

broken porcupines hand over the cloud of forgetfulness
a sigh of relief
the multiplying distance to usher in reality
on the night when I became my former self

I’m to be triggered on the scale of bewilderment that even you found appetizing
hungry for something to fill the stomach to the feeling of disillusionment
my senses broken backwards on the tail of a spine
end pieces reuniting in the dance of the ancestors
as the open channel caved in on the flow of clear water

the overpouring light of the mandolins
teach the manual dream
noises from my eyes begin to hover over what my head of intense specks of dreams call the violent paper sunrise

the entitled boy who cries in the corner with his bottle caps on
he spoke to me and told me stories
We tried on different clothes we tried to see if he was mentioned
was it remotely true?
it may be broken
it made me think of the outside days
when the snow comes down from the sky in a perplexing pattern of remote wisdom

I make our own insulated shields
you block me from my own desires and turn me into a little boy
its you who looks in the mirror
I await for a rain storm to take my own beliefs

dreams down the pond on the shore
the fluid of the situation is in such a state of disarray that my own daughters seem to erase the time
with a movement of a hand I look forward at your green eyes
looking through you to find the emerald jade of five fingernails
you’re scratching the chalkboard without my permission

my dreams have been erased by the object of time and memory
and to be anything less but a spirit away and always moving in the exact definition of fear

my insecurity is a belt around my neck
cut me down and place me under a patch of lilacs
my favorite flowers always enhance the situation
the ones where the flood of the past
it helps me drown in my own thoughts

im worried about the water in the future
and the planets
and the air
you may have seen me on the side of a road begging for change with a cup
or playing harmonica to the tune as the cars pass by
attempting to save something that is not even myself
but the judgment of all man

the boiling oil chases down the burglar in his own house
the fragility of the spoon
and the coffee that turns and swirls the cars off the track
colliding trains send bodies into the water
where they look and scramble for their own models of themselves

the two porcelain dolls are considered but a stick figure
to the blue battled boats made of shadows in the image
that exploit the winners for your own personal gain

im make a mountain out of a male hill
turning nonsense into the apex

theres an elephant stomping his fat feet on the ground
the force cracks eyes over the eggshells
the broken yolks turn swallowed jokes into nothing sweet