Burning Slowly

Darkened shadows, slowly erasing you.

Sharp lines, brushing over imperfect whites. 

A deluge of perfected words streams through 

pale cracked lips. Not mentioning wordless fights. 

Staring daggers. You easily despise.    

Backflip and front flip, you twist and contort.

Always grasping, always clawing your prize. 

Not understanding that your teethe distort  

what you hold dear. It blackens your two souls.   

A poisonous love. Warms as its scouring. 

A cancer. Consuming as it controls. 

Seeping into everything. Devouring.

Cherished memories tainted. Devotion. 

Jealousy, one word, simply emotion.     

The Guys and Girls

I'm Drowning in compulsion. Popular novels and
genre fiction. Reality TV and blockbuster movies.
The sell by date on the latest craze.
Pop n'Rock. Fad and fiction. Labels and laziness.

I'm living in dead pixels. Eating electricity and
consuming the wireless. Tumbling down hills
listening to birds and reading books on faces.
His, her, your opinion. Does it matter what I like?

I'm 10, I'm 8, I'm 6. Is that good enough yet?
He's 30 day abs and tall parents. She's make up
and designers whims. I'm the prey to the predators.
I long for a face wipe and crisps. None of this.

I slip up on soap, and fall down on reality.
I'm at home with numbers, but in the wilderness
with fabric. I know about equations and algorithms.
But need to know the contents of Heat. Mundane.

Mundane. I strip down the wall, pull of the sheets.
Whitewashed. Erase. Eat. Put my hand up. Start over.
Choose comics and Woolf. To have a blank profile.
To swim in black and know the answer. To begin.

The Others

A pair of ravens sits on a roof top,
one say to the other, "squawk",
the other nods, dignified. Then
hops of the roof and flies away.  

A pair of cats sit on a garden wall,
one sways its tail in the wind, the
other looks on, nonplused. They watch
the cars rush of in quiet contempt.

A pair of dog sit outside a sliding door,
tied down, they wag their tails as strangers
walk past. One looks to the other and says...
Nothing, they just sit, quietly waiting for master.

A pair of goldfish sit at home.
Floating in the water, being fish.
The humans come in, and be humans.
With no eyes for dogs or cats or birds or fish.
But with just look at the pink thing in there arms.

Dragons

Dragons made of dust blaze across the sky,

common place in the dream of immortal men, 

but unreachable by those who are dragons. 

A dust made of dreams, make of lust and longing. 

Falling into an upward draft, being propelled into 

another life, another age, another love. Into you

or her, or him, or it, or them, or us, or me, or nothing. 

Dragons made of dust blaze across the sky.
But the ground is just a good.