Incoming Empties Message

please hang up this is a recording..

please hang up this is a..

please hang up this is..

please hang up this..

please hang up..

please hang..

please..

misfire, message undeliverable. 

the person you are currently calling..

no longer exists,

at this point in time, 

due to some tailspin of dire need to displace 
their heart and stow it away in a case of empties,
 a case you'd never think to look 
because the liquid gold is in the one closest to the door. 

please hang up 

and try your call again..

to be more careful with the decibel for which your voice may falter, 
choose wisely the words you wish to spew because 
there is a certain technicality that can be caused 
if you are too wishy washy 
with the correct instructions you are about to give.

Dislodged Hearts Play Pinball

The heart ticking like a clock in an extravagant case called the human body. The stain glass panes of the eyes reflect the tinkering that snuggles near the lungs. Press two fingers; here, here, here for signs of life and for questions with no answers. The heart beats, sending tiny vibrations on a racetrack of veins and bones and muscles. You can feel it in the soles of your feet, it is still undetermined if the heart navigates with the soul. Knee caps, rounded as if the heart were to dislodge itself and play a smooth game of pinball throughout the beautiful maze of your body. The heart; a gem worn on the sleeve, but also hidden in a treasure cove surrounded in a variety of shades of red and dressed up in your finest attire.  

Chapped

the chap of their lips explores the lush canvas of one another

the leadership is equally shared on the breathing nations of his and hers

the curvature of his being, built with her in mind, a perfect match

the universe sends out its stars

to celebrate their unison

a shiver ripples through her to him 
the climb is met with expectancy and love filled eyes

there is a pulse from two hearts

that beg to collide,

it spreads like wildfire,

gets louder with each throb,

creating a beat that only

they know the dance too

Little Bit of God in Your Hair

a god has decided to take

shelter in your hair

in the right shade of late afternoon

light you can just make out the

faintest bit of its smile

their is a certain spark,

almost like the fizz of mineral water,

that dances about your head

there is a god living in the

essence of your hair

smiling to all those you meet,

inviting us in to stay awhile.

Kisses Floundering in Our Atmosphere

all the kisses thrown off balconies and out car windows to roads of travellers, 

all the kisses tossed off the side of boats that make their way to the ocean floor 

get swept to countries far away. 

all the kisses on the battle fields, there must be a million. 

all the kisses we don't think about on lunch breaks and in between classes, 

all the kisses shared under streetlights and after concerts. 

all the kisses on the beach and patios that would allow them possession, 

the stolen kisses amongst over thinking and after meals. 

all the kisses shared, passed around in a group, the orgy of savoring just one inhale. 

all the kisses over coffee and beer. 

all the kisses on the way to work and on the way home. 

all the kisses just tossed to the world. 

all the kisses resting on the tips of the cigarettes floundering in our atmosphere.

Born Ties

blood

descent

ancestry

pedigree

extraction

what is it?

tiny molecules like dipping dots served from a machine called the human body, is that what has been added up and multiplied and groomed to be called a family?

heritage

lineage

parentage

genealogy

home

where is it?

does the stitching have to be respected, cherished or even loved? do you have to show up for the roll call of your life to be considered part of the pack, or can the lone wolf still survive with this notion of a familiar unit just a distant memory?

grown up

long distance

tantrum

mayhem

bickering

can it get any louder?

tight tiny fists clenching words that mustn't escape the mouth and underline all the important facts, facts becoming fiction becoming truth becoming lies becoming blown up and distorted, have you determined my preconceived notion of what the hell is going on?

truth

lies

love

loss

battle

is it even worth it?

in the grand scheme of things, its etched into the skin, flows with the blood, and will be carried from here to there and it will be this vessel that houses all of the things that aren't associated or are associated but that i have built out of all these ruins.

 

Enunciating the Feels

enunciating the feels.

the constant shift rising upward,

underlining the butterflies...

dancing like flames, dazed,

substance unidentified.

wade in the risky business,

plunge into the scenes that

seem to unfold to a perfected

soundtrack with precision of great fun,

grasp it for the love

of holding something.

the stars couldn't have predicted

a better time and time is applauding

such reverent corresponding..

in the silence is where the beat

effortlessly highfives.. 

but to determine if it is butterfly wings or matching pulses is the luckiest of all interactions.

A Craving Blooms in Your Direction

majestic adoration swims within the pool of colour in your eyes, i crave to skinny dip there. the structure of your being exudes a confidence in your character that inspires me. the almighty strength of your lips is enough to make me surrender. basking in the sunlight of your smile i am drawn to the contentment that rests along your jawline. hands exploring hands, choppy waves fueled by lust, crashing on each other's coastlines. the pull of teeth, the wandering mouth, the growing hunger that seems to be matched with each glance. i trace your heart beat with the tips of my fingers, will it to course throughout my circuitry, electrifying my perspective. a craving blooms, zipping about my being, a craving blooms in your direction.

Funny Bones + Headlight Eyes

projected dreams cast eyelash

drawn storms in the harbour of your

intentions, pop rock rain kills the silence.

a brewing notion of caffeinated affection

keeps your dancing shoes on while you sleep.
the pitter patter of love drawn moments 
duel each other for a piece of peace.
curse words written in cursive so they don't hurt as much,
nothing like a bold font to icing the cherries on top.
new words froth and beg to be poured 
into the space you were afraid to tread;
a swimming pool of funny bones and headlight eyes 
and tan lines and skyscrapers you intend to climb. 

buckle up or buckle down, you won't know until it's too late.

calculations upon calculations and nothing will add up, 

when it feels this good the arguments are weak.

and stronger coffee creates stronger ties,
we are on the brink,

of jabbering thoughts and something called love which is rare, 
the way we like our stakes.
steaks?
hunger.

City Current Man

He wears the grit of his life on the surface. His brow has become a private, yet very exposed cityscape. Two eyes set on fire, embers of smoldering cigarettes casting smoke signals into the night. Streetlights reflect his thoughts and his whiskey breath is punctuated by wine stained lips. His mouth, a gated community to rows of houses, when opened you see the pull of tiny teeth gnaw on its plumpness. Below you see the ridge of his chin, an upside down mountain. Shoulders sturdy, his veins pulse through his two arms like telephone wires begging you to call. The trunk of his body, home to his core and I suppose an inner mayor self indulges in the dance of his heart beat. If you listen closely you can hear the car horns beep. His legs support a current that drips into his feet and carries him throughout the world. 

A city inside a man, a man inside a city. Feel the hum of their electricity. 

Unsaid Blotted Wine Sentences

I see you trying to make out my unsaid sentences in the blotted wine on my cocktail napkin, but the drumming of my fingers on the bar top has got you distracted. The fullness of your lips matches the contents of my glass but your glass is a reflection of why we're here. The empty pauses between sips is making you one sour grape. The pours become our clock, closer to the bottom signaling goodbye o'clock. I toss the cork, no evidence of this. Our final image of one another, two court jesters with stained lips and lopsided smiles. Retiring this place and time to the rack in exchange for a bottle. Your future encounters jaded by your own memories. Sluggish slips to torment me, a quick drain to fill the self and suppress the things you've never tried to say. 

You're Easier to Make Up Than Experience

they're thinking on you under the moonlight on a frigid night. their thoughts of you bloom into a wine stain on their lips that they rush to speak of. you are their best shared secret, they admire and dispise you all at the same time. they watch you from across the body of water that separates you, for their eyes cannot trace the roads that lead to your front door. the vision of those who you once knew falls directly on the tower across the way in your vacinitity. they evny it's height, they envy your proxy. the words of you are tossed against a backdrop of other words and all these things form sentences that don't quite make sense, but they do. they boom and shout and ripple out of their minds. they are going out of their minds for you. they're thinking of you, in the silent sun and they are not only warmed by their want, but their need and they are warmed by their absolute reasoning for only speaking of you, keeping things at bay, and never concreting actualities, because the fleeting possibilities of whomever you're becoming is easier to make up then experience, but they are thinking of you.

A Bruise Percolates

the crossword hint points to the word, SIGH. there is a heavy flickering on the roads of my heart that are signaling thoughts that my mind can't quite churn. they have taken to the avenues of my arteries to express their weight within me. the moment when your heart and mind cannot respectively connect the dots appropriately. the inside of me must look like a child's colouring book, skewed outside the lines, yet still a lovely picture. everything in it's proper place pulsating keeping the person that i am alive, but the person i am becoming is to be determined to destroy that. Personal contradictions. I am my own worst friend, my best enemy. A bruise percolates colour to the surface and exposes a galaxy that was harvested long before I had decided anything. A trove of treasures of exactly what I should be is revealing itself on the shrunken shore of futuristic moves and in this game called life I ought to take a spin, with you. 

Jocks For Our Hearts

you demand the drama, the sexiest quality of every television show out there; we should all be supporting jocks for our hearts. when did the heart become this other thing that doesnt need protecting, a condom to ward off an infestation of hatred and lust that seems to percolate endlessly. the drip of dreams and wants and desires brewing a steaming cup of contemplations. to weigh the options heavily on the cutting board before slicing into each tiny detail later down the line, when you've made up your mind and things suddenly start to bother you it won't matter then, you won't suit up and make a move you'll adjust the jock and shut up and move on and let your heart twist with the bitterness of stale candy. you demand the drama, boys and girls of this weirdo lifestyle.

Strange Times & Odd Disguises

I continuously lean onto people on public transit, their eyes constantly racing; dragging across trees and cement and billboards and empty bottles. I catch fragments in their pupils. They lick their lips at the thought of the last wine drop drying in the bottom of a dislocated bottle, lodged between a bus stop and an abandon parking lot, silently self-hating themselves for never being able to obtain the crispness of the billboard people. A deep dissatisfaction flutters with their eyelashes and if I could see things through their eyes I think I would be unhappier than I already am. Strange times and odd disguises for what we all call worth. An assumed tragedy to one is nothing but a paper cut to another. Swallowing empty feelings and waiting to approach your stop you can't help but find home in their eyes. The images of their futures happening in milliseconds in swift paintbrush strokes, you can't help but want to tell them their fortune. That they will get off this bus and something will happen. Something always happens. 

Thoughts Unravel Like Her Ponytail

His thoughts unravel like her ponytail, cascading down his spine. His eyes blink sleep away and as his lids hiccup his brain reflects on the stains of her image that smile murkily back at him. This tugs on the corner of his mouth and he puckers his lips, little pulsating movements as if he is searching for her mouth or collarbone or heart to leave an impression of himself on her. He licks his lips and let's them air dry, they crack and he smiles out loud remembering a time she shared her freshly chapsticked lips with his to punctuate his remedy. He taps his toe to swooshing sound of blood that zips up and down and over and across his body. He pulls a chunk of something out of his pocket, rubs it between his fingers as if it's a crisp one hundred dollar bill, he covers his eyes with it— willing to see its treasures. Slowly he opens it and there she is, diving into her azure eyes he is immediately transported to a time and place that could've would've should've happened if she had just decided to really see him. 

Summer, a Hot Dandy Lioness

has the summer season perhaps just toyed with our emotions, pretending to be all hot and interesting like the sleazy eyed girl at the bar, furthest from the crowd downing whiskey sours like no one is watching only to scold us with a cold gust of dissatisfaction to fall suddenly and crisply into a tundra faced bitch. luring you in with that break of dawn mouth, a hot breath laced with sweet nothings hits your neck making you sweat, she notices you're enjoying her company or perhaps her attributes and closes off. sitting perched on her bar stool you watch the hot dandy lioness transform to the ice queen. Better get your parka, the ice cube she is about to lob at you isn't going to make mouth to mouth contact, she's aiming for your core and you best beware of the hurricane storm.. 

Call it a night, better take flight for Hibernation Nation has come early this year and Miss Summer Thang is taking flight.

Infringement Life

the devilish relaxation that comes with the dividing of things, the neatly tucking away all the sorrows in each corner of the room to preserve its disappearance.. we will never use these corners again. stay close to the middle of things and do not touch the edges, like an old child's game of lava. hearts will sink as they beat and ebb and flow and things will not make sense, and not everything will add up correctly. the game of subtraction can be quite light depending on your reasons for suffering. do not be sad, for anger is easier to handle. keep eyes dry while passing the time and do not mind the infringement that is taking its toll on your life. justice, im not sure there is a thing, but do not pray to mock gods in frocked costumes looking for a savior, sink your teeth in for support, its going to be quite the adventure through your newly tinted 

(or have they been cleaned) glasses.

Horde Your Emotions, Start The Poaching

the rhetorical expressions, the damned feeling damned in a world of damnation. funny how things don't matter until they've seemed to pick someone else's brain matter. there is no temperamental idealistics when the pot is calling the kettle black. harvest season is approaching, horde your emotions and start the poaching. two wrongs don't make a right but it makes the wrongs rightly wrong. hushed dislike fueled by the explosion of opinions that have seemed to burst through the already cracking egg shell. you're hardly as innocent as you're ventriloquist face perceives and i haven't been given the opportunity to deceive you, try me.. i dare you. the wishy washy tone of your whole existence is trying to paint a satire picture for your dwindling audience. rise to the occasion, welcome to the freak show, we're different types of monsters but i'm sure we can handle this like mere foes.

Isolation Nation. Population: ?

it is odd, watching you try to cram 

yourself into the weak frame of another person. 

taking all their insecurities and wearing them as your own, 

but not in a protective or slightly loving way, 

in an obsessive and crazed kind. 

isolation nation, population two

or possibly only one. 

two faced, and not in a catty way 

this isn't high school musical 

cause you're just a mean girl 

but, you, you look just the same 

with a tomboy slant on a pair of rubber bands. 

gross. and ill watch you two bounce 

and crash hard into one another, 

a pair of moths with no flame, 

but everyone around you definitely enraged.