Lick of Dynamite

a knuckle ball of something definite yet totally undefinable is zooming right down the middle of intrigue. connecting the dots or adding more to the mix? a feeling erupts like a like flame licking closer to a stick of dynamite. moving in and out of focus. shadow puppets of potential conversations dance on the tip of tongues and adventure forms. the mind, a playground of tantalizing ideas, waiting for someone else to walk through the cranium door. a sliver of disbelief, a gallon of impulse, one big zap of curiosity and waves jump out, see them stretching. the reach is past the horizon line and half blind there is an epic pull, creating enormous opportunity. there is a radical shift in the bedrock and i can't help but want to get dirty.

Catching Secondhand Feelings

two steady charges of smoke jet stream from his nostrils, outlining his lips, i can almost see his words take form in midair before swept away into the atmosphere. i can just about feel the pull of the cigarette on my heart. it buoys there waiting for him to exhale and release both nicotine and me from his grasp. i am aware, live and humming inside my body. catching secondhand feelings. a defiant toe on the stub punctuates our conversation. he flicks the lighter in his free hand, tosses it back and forth. almost daring, roulette, what's it going to be; earth wind or fire? the scratch of flame announces the results in a different language that we do not try to translate. answers turning in the light to unasked questions, an outpouring of information stuffed into my pockets to be dissected later, privately. drenched in his identity there is a swell of shared experiences, quick conclusions swapped like kisses or did we kiss? i feel a lip print starting to form right under my temple.

Sentimental Uncorking

heavy hands filled with thought 

slam keyboards filled with letters

feelings take on a tangible form

hold them to the light

inspect their authenticity,

searching for the crease

the weighted smudge of soul has left

the paper damp in your hands.

it buckles at your admiration,

threatening to tear,

an ironic action for the flimsiness of feelings

the firmly anchored bits tossed out by the pageful

a sentimental uncorking of the personal reservoir of bubbly.

 

You've Got a Sentence in Your Teeth

A salty grin with a twist like a lime right into the cocktail of my intuition. Drumming fingers on a shiny cool table top casting vibrations, they float my way and clink against my thoughts like ice cubes. I am thawed. I am intrigued. I move closer. Words I can't calculate tumble out of my mouth unpunctuated, shaken not stirred, here we bask in a shadowy orange glow of neon lights and a conversation sugary and saturated in a constant buzz. No names, no dates, no places to be but right in the middle of a sentence caught between my teeth.. 

Velcro Ideas

Do you see me the way I see you? With evergreens growing from your ears because you've embraced nature, that's what you say, but I'm suspecting you've just enjoyed the new car smell a little bit more than others. Are you as mundane as you're try not to be? All frilly and puff but forbid the rest of us to embrace in such material lust, whatever keeps you warm at night. Polyester lies and Velcro ideas, quit trying to stick to my passion. Pull away the band aid and you're not going to find a wound, just what I am trying to hide from you, you on the brink of another lie. 

Give Them Your Syllables

A small sizzling sense of self glitters on the cusp of something different yet familiar. An exchange of currency in the form of affection, transactions tallied up and totaled. Cashing in snippets of words for much bigger paragraphs. Give them your syllables. That grit on your skin that you can't quite shake, life causing reactions. You are a hurricane. 

A Good Dose of One Another

Sugar coated jokes that fizz on the tip of the tongue and zaps laughter throughout the body. The smile spreads to the knees, a wobbly place. Invite people to swim in your smirk and bask in the glimmering anticipation of getting a good dose of one another. Carry your humor in a good place.

Undressing Into Chaotic Creativity

Slow sleepy souls, restless desire; quick paced and undoubtedly remarkable characteristics. Warm as toast… tall tales but not fibs just vast in their details. Emptied pockets, no more possessions. Quilted fevers mesh with palpable thoughts that continue to submerge in reverent idealistics. Uniformed creativity, undressing into chaotic serenity; crawling up the walls to reach new heights and breaking through to a different perspective. Fresh air and rain, feel everything. 

Draft Dreams to iTrash

A stream of words comets across your screen in the dead of night while you sleep with someone new. Your past comes bubbling up with cartoony bings and is punctuated by the cutest of emoticons. Quick short blurbs blister in a shade of neon and sit excitingly to burst your morning wide open, into a million little pieces. Draft dreams go right to the trash app and you'll be better off cutting the tie and flushing the device right down the drain. Go back to bed and fear your favourite street corner at noon and not the bedside table, and never your pocket. 

Elaborate Eye Sockets

There is an elaborate joke tucked behind his eyes, when he sees beautiful things he laughs. You thought he was being cruel, he was actually falling in love. He didn't realize all the guts he had busted laughing would change the way he sees beautiful things. When he no longer saw your love his eyes no longer hid an elaborate joke but an immense sense that all he knew, once upon a time, of jokes and beautiful things would remain a grainy crust in the corner of his eyes. Blurring. Everything. Beautiful. You.

Grab Bag of Mixed Emotions

i used the space between my heart and ribs, the entry way into properly ending a life, to store all my mixed emotions; bumping into old flames, craving that person who was in a relationship, crossing the street when it wasn't my turn.. sometimes i would carry the whole lot in that spot, just west of my gut and hope someone would bump into me so that it would slosh about, perhaps fall into my leg and down to my foot so i could go for a run and slam it out on the concrete. that very rarely happened. there is currently a gully of mixed emotions somewhere south west of my heart and i can only hope the beating of the muscle will pound it to a pulpy substance and dissolve it into a case of slow churning heart burn. it wouldn't be the worst thing. the mixed emotions buoy on a tether connected somewhere in the depths of my mind and flap about like a sad inflatable creature with giant wavy arms and a placid smile.

Magnet Into Traffic

Running into people on street corners. The same tingle spills from the mind rather than the stubbed toe. You've avoided that street for years, thinking you were safe or maybe not thinking at all… an absentminded stroll has you knocking shoulders, brushing hands with a body you once couldn't get enough of. You don't have to see the face to know. Your body has a pulse to stay and to go. But the magnet in your anger wins and pushes you into traffic. 

Spacebar For An Electronic Taxi

instantly dancing,

thinking of you and then and there,

when i was who and what and where.

doing the math, keep the difference,

a little long short of love and lust

a simple study of

i don't know, a struggle for glory

and cyber gold. a constant banter,

on an endless loop.. you can' see it

but i am waving at

you and you and you. 
little darlings; settle and fill your glasses, 

cheers to everything.

spacebar for an electronic taxi

the strangers we keep passing vs. the ones we go 

out of our way to plug in, load, buffer, log in.. 

 

Fit For The Bottle

the money piles up like leaves,

raked with clawed hands,

burns easily with a match,

disappears into the ocean

like the experiences of past lovers.

desire rushes forward,

leaves an ink stained blotch,

lips murmur truths

we don't really want to hear,

ride the coat tails and you can 

fathom something fit for the bottle.

clouds sort of fall into place,

showing off the pretty and ugly things.

the heart and the mind  

with the same style dress code, 

operating at their own miles per hour.

Rubber-Necked At Your Complexion

you crept in like a storm from the south;

warm and violent and flushed,

unexpected and eager to make your mark.

i rubber-necked at your complexion.

tried to make sense of myself in your freckles.

in a rush to make things different,

you threw your words like bullets,

looking to hit just about anything.

you nicked my mind,

grazed my soul,

left a symptom,
similar to a soldier's,
there in the folds of cranium.
embedded like a bad infection.
i can't seem to keep you off my mind.

Eliminating Weeks

the overly involved rummaging 
through deep dish 

emotional baggage that 
may or may not eliminate 

the next couple of weeks 
into a blurry haze of 

shoulda, coulda, wouldas..

the sombre thoughts of maybes that seem 

to be piling up under the leaky window, 

the disconnected telephone making long 

distances calls to your guts that are filled 

with butterflies and lightening. 
optical preservation 

of things you saw in fashion 
magazines getting distorted 

by things you've seen on the news and why 

shouldn't we be able to 
walk home alone at night..

turn the lamp on it's side for a
different perspective, 

having a conversation that
 doesn't come back to fornication..

and when was the last time you
addressed an envelope with good news..

finish off the bottle, 

i don't care what the reason is anymore.

Hamburger Solutions

my thoughts play a game of chicken on the busy circuit board in my mind, late at night when i am trying to sleep. distracted to a point past slumber, i really am awake, trying to solve my subconscious problems. nothing makes sense in there and factors like the burger i was craving three days prior suddenly rise as probable answers. anything can be solved with a hamburger. i run away from myself to end up facing myself, its a twisted maze of self creating. when i awake i cant remember everything to it's fullest and that irks me more than ever having met myself in a dream anyway. one thing for certain i could go for a hamburger right about now. 

Social Blunders

you pick up your socks and you displace yourself, feels good don't it? you unfold your socks into their spots and stretch out, comfortable, right? you fiddle with an old lighter that was tucked into a front pocket of your best pair of jeans, a mini firework show at the tips of your fingers. you think back. you think on it. you've come this far, lost a few gained, a few more. the world levels itself out. your world, on a teeter totter of social blunders. you think back on them, their faces and in all your memories you remember some malice 

but can't find the point in time when they aimed it at you.

Hanging Out With Your Past Selves

a suspension of sorts,

buoying in a sky of a haphazard daydream,
elated by the sunlight coming in through a window
stained with broken glass and bits of fabric.
hanging out with your past selves,
the ones who are encouraging you 

to clamber out of the window
into memory. you swerve against the grain

end up in recent percolations of things 

that have half happened,
things you've half felt, 

things you haven't fully embraced 

but you want to,
you sure as hell want to.
intrigued by your own memory, 

fact or fiction?
it is the way you perceived it…  

the way you interperatated things,
but you stop and reel on the fact 

of how authentic
is the gray matter atop your head, 

the same mishapened orb
that controls the waves of notice 

that are coursing through your body map.
when you tumble forward into current day, 

closer to the possibilities of nightmares,
your mind still sizzling 

with the opportunity of an experience you're craving.

A Freckle of Boredom

silly wabbit, what's up doc?

placate the brewing storm of thoughts as a frenzy of enchanted indifference seeps into the entire self worth of possibilities. waiting for a walking man that is never going to show up and making mad dashes across intersections of your heart. tipping the wire, a means for explosion, knocking off the top hat on your sheltered secrets. a magic man has lost his rabbit and finds it's meekness in you; divine and beautiful, 

interesting with a freckle of boredom., i want every other freckle.