Flirt

On webs and moldy draw, these visions lift. A thing to flirt, a Thing of dirt. Waxing down after foot, creeped. Between your neck and that cold that cracks, this Thing exists behind veiled threats, to form your blur and spoil our bones…snapped…on distance it endures.

From wings of sleep, it floats. Your eyes are still…there.

This Thing. This ghost.

Crumbed

However.

That’s how time clicks down to teeth, contrapt. A steep to tick and wriggled loose, sent to spill, and kept…yet separate? As plan unfolds for march, for mile.

Your weird can’t breathe a second chance.

And that’s just the way it is…crumbed.

However.

Maze

These certain things exist upon secret maze and split. These certain things revolve (around a round) to test resolve of sand and fog. To sink a wave and offer oar. Align in the sand. Drawn to meet and bleached.

Fallen and fair, a haze of darting shine, spinning and spinning. A shape (a mold). A shape appears from not and fades to naught, yet still a shape.

And for and from these things exist.

And for and from the fog persists.

Groan

And now you’ve made your bones (from seas to stars), locking step with comet’s fall (as rings and moons) and tidal crawl. As night stays drape (black and full) of rotten cold. Sealed in lids, sealed in boxes beneath hinging groan, behind a thousand suns. Burst with not but knots and twist, a maze of those wrapped upon the other still, falling from your window sill.

Limb

This useless limb can crack and twist, in infinite repetition. In between this thing and the shadow of a thousand doubts, however stacked in fever. This dream repeats to your catching seize, and burns and burns on open seas and slumber breaks as ashes float from lash to lash. The terror rolls on waves, you see, and settles down to sunken graves.

Squat

This nebulous caress sits squat and shade, between the fade and different rhythm. Under broken hands fold, untold as certain spots still stain, tracked down the line and rain or shine.

All collect to meet them on stares and stares and fit to be tied, selected to be seen. Middled by now and been and here comes the rain again…and the shine.

As clouds, we leave, on stairs.

Wax

Such creatures are these, disguised in masks of melted wax. As far as feathers fray, these beasts we speak of, these beasts. With backs as wrenched as seven days, they crawl and die on covered tracks, with eyes as sharp as heaven’s gaze.

Rise

Secret away and scrape a depth, inched to ash and hidden night. Sealed tight to suffocate what’s kept and clawed, tucked. A terrible thing, this tearable thing.  This black fills where breath would fit, dissolved from mist and tattered rags.  And each grain contains a thousand more until it disappears. And each moon remains a thousand days until it fades away.

Bubble

As words lose weight and sink to silt. As sleeping fish won’t swim with you, resigned to waves of different form. As sentence strung with last breath slipped. As lips turn blue and eyes fall still.

The bubble falls, too cold to care.

Turn

It sits in still, not quite waiting. More like something else than knotted nerves and verse’s twist. Far away a wave breaks in crest.  Seems like the tide has turned, over and out, rolled up to rest in puddles and pools.

d r i p p i n g

The want has become even odder, two halves split to be tied and bound…for distant courses. Mapped out on ripples spread from here to somewhere beyond the seen.

Sometimes a single grain is all it takes, when in fact and fiction it wants them all.

Beyond

Beyond the sifted ash of your wildest dreams, that’s where these beasts sleep sound. Snarling huffs and tired groans drip from teeth unclenched, as waves keep pace and moons fall in and out of tune. Rolled upon warm swells, steeped in swaying blades, huddled against the cool chill of your breath.

Dead

This is where my words come to die, sneaking out between your sighs and held high above your lowered head. A thousand things to consider, crashed and breaking in the slowest dim, captured by my tired eyes but gone like ghosts get gone when lights hit back, reflecting dawn.

I will bury them with my breath, dropped to sink beneath this subtext.

Sing

At night, when dreams sing behind your eyes. Is that the answer I was looking for? Sneaking around these waves, curled up to beat the shore. Shuffled and shut against the light, still caught up and kept, try as I might.